Dertharion took a deep breath of the moist forest air as he swooped beneath the reaching shadow of the foliage. Finally! Air that did not cut his lungs with every breath he took. He took another, but snorted and coughed as he inhaled a bug. Zendrayus, hovering nearby, eyed him with a faint amusement that annoyed the Green - once he had expelled the insect from his respiratory system, that is.

"There is a village nearby. You could rest there before we move on," Zendrayus said.

Dertharion huffed impatiently. "Rest? I don't need any rest. I'm fine. Let's go." He wanted his reward, and the less time he could spend with the Plaguehide, the better.

"Oh, of course. It's not like you were passed out on the ground a day ago," Zendrayus observed. 

While the Poisonhide would have loved to cast the scorn on the comment that it deserved, the White had a point. A small point.

"Unless you're in a hurry?" the Plaguehide asked, something ominous in his pink eyes.

Dertharion returned the White's stare. "I believe Saliss values punctuality in his servants."

Zendrayus chuckled. "Very true. Though I imagine he would prefer to see them arrive alive, not dead...however, in this case, I am just as well equipped to carry that ember."

Dertharion started, but the White's gaze had lost its animosity and returned to its usual deadness. He hesitated, unsure what course to take. "Fine. Let's stop at the village briefly."

The Plaguehide nodded, and they both flew off on a tangent through the woods, the Green following the White. The woods were soothing to the Poisonhide's sore eyes. Here the colors were soft greens and blues, unlike the sand's harsh, almost blinding yellows. The arborage overhead shaded them from almost all of the sunlight, though some filtered through the treetops to dance along the mossy forest floor. 

A scent caught at Dertharion's nostrils, and hunger probed at his empty stomach. He scanned the forest for the source of the odor. It was faint, but warm and meaty. A mammal's scent.  Below them, brown fur flashed as a stag delicately picked his way through the undergrowth. Dertharion was just opening his mouth to quietly point the beast out to Zendrayus when the Plaguehide plunged downwards, sinking his thin claws into the deer.

The stag thrashed feebly, but the slashing teeth of the White were too much for its delicate frame, and it collapsed. Zendrayus crawled off it. He glanced up at the stunned Green. "You must be hungry. Come, eat."

"It's your kill," Dertharion demurred, disgusted at the idea of sharing a meal with the Plaguehide.

Zendrayus shrugged his shoulders, the paper-thin membranes of his wings flapping limply. "I don't eat anymore." The White eyed the Green for a moment, and then understanding seemed to dawn on him. Drawing out a knife from a hidden pouch on his underbelly, he waved it at Dertharion. "Here is a solution to your problem."

Swiftly, deftly, he cut around the contaminated portions where his claws and fangs had sunk into the deer and ripped them out. "There, my squeamish ally, now you have no fear of contamination. Eat. I insist," he said with one of his sickly smiles.