⢠â jack my meat, perhaps?
PROPHECY 01: 2/2.
   ERENâS becoming is still fresh in his mind, raw like the soul he thinks would slide between each row of teeth. All he knows is that it went from a possibility to a must, transition abrupt and almost violent. Itâs not a game of when and where anymore; those witches have upped the ante. He canât hesitate if an opportunity presents itself.Â
   Oh, and present itself, it does.Â
   The scent is unbearably distinct -- his memory of the prophecyâs initial half still ringing clear. Hunched over a wounded, open corpse in the empty fields is a boy with silver hair. Winds tear at his will, prompting him to turn around and run. He can only assume that the otherâs motivation is just as persuasive as his own, and conclude that their circumstances are similar enough to make a move.Â
   With half of a breath stuck in the chasm of his throat, Eren closes one hand and winds it up. The wound on the inside of his hand has yet to recover completely, wrapped with a makeshift bandage and scarring somewhere below. Presenting his wrist before him (though just barely), body language a subtle offer, Eren furrows his brow and tries to get a closer look. It doesnât seem like heâll stop without warning, so he may as well speak up and grab his attention properly.
   âYou-- you, too?â Though he knows better than to speak of their orders, forbidden to do so, he figures even ambiguity should at least clear some of the air. This way, he takes someone innocent out of the line of fire -- and fulfills his prophecy,. Two birds, one stone, and half of a carcass left to rot under the fog. Tough to tell exactly what it means for him, or for the others... but it doesnât matter. It shouldnât, anyway.
