Ranuk's head was turned to the sky, his ears perked at the sounds of the rustling trees, the chill of the wind a balm against his hide. They flickered as Tamlin spoke, and the demon tilted his head to look down to his elvish fiance. The prince was clearly still taken with the wine, sitting propped up as if he might topple over any moment. Ranuk could not help but be amused. He gave Tamlin so little. Either the prince was a lightweight or all elves were susceptible to demonic liquor.<br/><br/>"I have not....have... pig, in a long....time," the elvish was slow to roll out of his mouth, but he made the effort to speak it. The boar had been more than just delicious, a childhood memory bought back to life with a simple bite.<br/><br/>He used to hunt the boar with his sire, the fatty meat sweetened by autumn yams and truffles. There was no such animal in the swamps, whatever caught there was gamey and sour with the brackish waters and reedy grass. Ranuk had been subsisting on bugs and fish for centuries when he was meant to feast on boar and venison.<br/><br/>Ranuk would have wept if he hadnt been so busy eating his fill.