It would be extremely rude to refuse the put out hand of this canned remnant of past wars, thus extremely tempting. A part of him wanted to just get up and say something smug, and another part wanted to unleash that so-called "tiny-box" into a friendly and frankly unwinnable feud. But in the end he listened to that biter-sweet voice in his head called reason, much to his displease. A miracle he was able to make it out alive for the number of times in his short life he listened to pure instinct instead.<br/>And so he got up to be part of a beautiful display of comradeship, the faces of both adventurers glistening in the downstrum unleashed by god or whoever, eye-contacting eachother in an oddly erotic brief moment.<br/><br/>"You mind if I use a part of that tiny box ?" Without admitting it he really liked that metaphor.<br/><br/>He then proceded to grab the leg of the smashed pathetic creature and yanked it in the decor, decorating the road and himself in goblin brains.<br/><br/>"Time to track some goblin tracks !" He said while advancing towards the cart, his hand in a rubbing motion.