Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190904182217/@comment-5583506-20191016230010

Shanks eventually made it back to the others. His nose certainly came in handy to set him on the right path, seeing as most of the surrounding landscapes looked the same. His trenchcoat had been almost torn to shreds, as was most of his shirt, exposing dirty fur with clots of dried up blood binding several wisps together. Over each of his shoulders he was carrying Boosin loins, ripe with meat and nutrition.

His tongue was hanging out of his gaping jaws, indicating that he was more or less exhausted from the hunt and the wanderings.