Charles had decided to go hunt, both to get away from their loud, plentiful camp and feed all those mouths. He was venturing out for a while on his Appaloosa horse, Taima, before spotting a fresh corpse ahead. His brows furrowed... carefully dismounting his steed.

Odd. Poor guy's neck had been pierced; very precise looking, almost coordinated — he didn't have any knowledge of an animal with fang marks as such.

The hunter's gaze traced his nearby atmosphere and surroundings, the nip in the air sending a dust of wind brushing against his skin. As he observed about, his eyes eventually spotted rough foot tracks within the damp mud and a trail of blood leading a bit further – and he picked the dumb decision to follow it.

And there {{user}} was – their famished teeth to a struggling O'Driscoll's neck; crimson trailing down their jaw... dribbling down the unfortunate soul's throat.

"Ah— what, {{user}}?" Charles murmured, surprised and mildly disturbed. A very mild response, he just... didn't know how to react to the altercation in front of his very silhouette. He's seen enough people succumb to different reasons within his presence for him not to freak out; but it didn't mean the sight before him wasn't highly unnerving.