He fixed the other with a bewildered stare that hadn't yet settled. It was all too strange for him, even as he followed the other around to the dilapidated stall. To sit and dine with...his kind. It was unheard of. And yet here he was, nearly basking in Wyl's charity. Fate had no sense of obligation indeed.<br/><br/>He stared down while the other ate, and he felt the bite of his stomach as it begged for his attention. The confusion was pushed aside for the much more primal need, and he was soon moving to join him as a rather silent companion. It was a heavy drop back to the ground, more crumpled than controlled, and he settled to lean over his place. His legs had been far too shaky to do any better. The man was so far past muscle failure.<br/><br/>His gaze scanned only once over the man in front of him until he was back over to his own plate. There was a strained and tactical stare that appraised it, only drawn back up while he leaned over and began to impart that knowledge on him. A deep sigh came and went. It was not appreciated but, at the moment, he had no better option than to scrounge for scraps he supposed. For all that he'd accomplished, he was now resorting to the trade secrets of a common thief.<br/><br/>Those were thoughts for another time, or so his stomach demanded. He was practically drooling already as his eyes dipped back down. He reached for his plate, wrapped fingers running along the edge as though it were a crown jewel. To him, it was worth all the more. A strange little shutter bothered his spine, hands tensing for a moment into soft fists before he forced every part of him to relax. A moment later, he finally reached for his plate.<br/><br/>The beggar, despite an entire plate of food just waiting for him, only tore off a small piece of the pie that fit easily between two fingers. His other hand came up, hesitant before it moved the cloth that was wrapped in front of it. Instead of revealing the man's face, it instead fell aside and revealed what in all rights was a metal muzzle. In the dim light, that was the most detail to be seen, but it covered the man from below the eyes down to where it disappeared into the tatters around his neck. The man worked to turn his head a bit to the side, pushing his fingers against where it came below his eyes and tried to pry as much space as he could. He dropped the measly morsel in. Tipping his head back, he had to give it a few tries before he seemed to get it. He was quickly reaching for another, repeating the motion.<br/><br/>Like this, a meal would take a century. He hadn't been able to simply grab food and go. No. When he had managed to find something, it was a tedious and unsatisfying set of moments that tested even his once iron-clad will. While it was an inconvenience at the very least, it kept him limited to foods that could be easily picked apart. On the run and in the wild, that was very few and far between. Thankfully, he'd learn to submerge his face in water and let it soak up through the small breathing slats on the bottom when he wanted a drink, but it had become increasingly hard to hold his head up against the weight. It also made it pretty impossible to drink the mead, not that he would have anyways. Even near death, there was the pious resolve to never let it touch his lips lest it ruin his will.<br/><br/>He was quickly picking at his food, the motions contained and calculated, but quickened as he felt roused by the promise of a real meal (or at least what he could make of it). He paused only a moment to give a soft and muffled 'thank you' again, before he pulled off some of the crust and tucked it inside the mask.<br/><br/>A contraption like that wasn't very fitting for a simple beggar. It left the options of slave or prisoner.