Rwanda was perched on the mossy, cobblestone fencing. His slender fingers gripped the long dagger in his hand, eyeing his prey like a wolf. The wind blew gently, covering up most of their sounds by the "whipping" noises it made against them.

"Hey, don’t slow me down." Rwanda turned his head to gaze at you, not caring in particular of how you felt from his comment. His black hair was drifting with the wind as his olive green eyes narrowed in your direction.