As Morys was bending down to pull the blade out of his foot, the offending demon continued to stand and call his battle cry. He still didn't seem fully conscious, and it looked to Garash like he was just shouting to keep himself awake. The rogue demon strolled around until he was in a good position not to hit the human, and rested his hand on the wounded demon's shoulder. *<span style="color: #FF0000">"Върни се спи,"</span>he said calmly. He then proceeded to crescent kick the poor thing. One leg wheeled up and the heel of his foot connected with his adversary's temple. The kick proceeded through its entire range of motion, taking the demon's head with it, until it slammed into the packed earth and was utterly crushed underfoot. Garash strolled to the grass and started wiping his bare and bloody foot off in the dew.<br/><br/>Today was a good day for him. For three days before he was one foot in the grave. For centuries before that he was incarcerated. And before that his childhood had been joyless. But today? Today was good. He'd satisfied his basic needs for food, drink, and rest; he'd met the first kind people (rather, to his mind, the first non-demons) he'd seen in his lifetime; and he'd just killed his sixth demon today. Eleven more and he would have beaten his record.<br/><br/>A thought occurred to him: an etiquette technique he'd observed several times this past day. He liked this society, and decided to try it for himself. In his best common, Garash quoted what he'd heard from others. "Pleasure to meet you. My name is Garash. What I should call you?" ... He flubbed it.<br/><br/>*"Go back to sleep."