Hawke's journal

-=Guess who pops up on the PCDs in the pre-dawn light! He's dirty with what looks like reddish-brown mud, still mostly naked, and looks positively exhausted. There are fresh, thin, red lines down the insides of his forearms, but they look more like red marker lines than what they really were. Hawke's lockjaw has become a beast of burden and is hauling not only Hawke's gear, but some animals that have been hunted.=-

-=Hawke speaks something in his own language, not caring that the musical lilt won't be understood by people here. And then a moment later he gives a loose translation.=-

I am home. I have brought meat, but I do not have the strength to finish preparing it. And I would need a bath, first.

-=For Hawke, this morning is not like any other morning. The PCD flicks on, and his face is tense, eyes not looking at his PCD as he speaks softly. Still shirtless. We can't forget he refuses to wear those pants. >.>=-

If there are people who wanted to visit... do not. Please.

I have a ... My mother and Aunt calls them Lockjaw. There is one here, and it is not tame. I do not wish any one hurt.

-=There's the sound of teeth chattering and Hawke looks sharply off to the side, baring his teeth before leaping to the side. The PCD is suddenly knocked over with a flash of grey-black scales and the machine is shut down.=-






[[OOC: Information about the Lockjaw is here and more will be added on as I keep recalling the 10 year old information. Also, a log will be going up for those people who don't want to heed Hawke's warning and come tra-la la la-ing to his home. Like this log]]