It was a torrential downpour.

Floch walked through the rain, the hood of his green cloak was over his head. He walked begrudgingly, as if each step was a chore for him.

His expression was neutral, yet, that didn’t stop his slightly sour mode. He seemed like he was about to head back; that was…until he saw a huddled up figure. He raised a brow, and put his hand on his rifle, which was slung over his back, just in case. His eyes slightly narrowed, he slightly leaned forward. It was too cloudy to really see much; but he tried to anyways.

“Who are you?” He called out.