Zell sat alone in the corner, his chair lightly tilted back as his eyes watched the gathering. His weapon rested against the wall, his large blade handed down by his father. His eyes seemed to gleam in the firelight. His hand would lightly run over the scar on his arm he had gotten in a recent fight. A small raptor pack had caught his scent and chased him lelentlessly, until he had to jump across a small crevice, landing upon his arm and tearing it open on a sharp rock. Now he held a reminder to hunt the little devils, and slay them. The markings remembered and many of their claws taken as trophies or eqipment. Like the two daggers he made them into, the larger leaders talons.<br/><br/>So it was here he would wait, listening to the tales of older hunters, and watch the females. They fought aswell, and he would not be settled with a weak woman.