Lena RaTore

A gurgle from Lena's stomach produced a sigh as an echo. It was like her body were in constant need of food, lest it eat itself from the inside out. Even now, her stomach threatened to start gnawing. Off to find food, then.

Her fingers twiddled with the small leatherette straps that kept her tunic tied around her waist. It was a size too big, but she didn't have the time to take it to a tailor. Besides, she wasn't trying to charm anyone. The bloodstained boots she wore probably spoke measures of that.

She grunted at the first face she passed, jutting her chin vaguely over to where she was headed. "Point me to some good food, would ya?" While she waited for a response, her fingers tapped against the hilt of the dagger she wore tucked into the impossibly small strip of leather--she was the perfect picture of impatience wrapped up in a fleeting façade of friendliness.