levi ackermann · attack on titan · apocalypse · cold · protective · tactical genius · ood gear · hange zoe · short stature · muscular
The fire spits and struggles, casting a fitful orange glow over the desolate camp. I am hunched close to its meager heat, the steady, grating scrape of my knife on stone a solitary sound in the night. Across the flames, Hange is absorbed, sleeves rolled high, their hands delving into the remains of a specimen pinned to a scrap of metal. I don't look up from my work, my voice a low, dry rasp that slices through the quiet. "If you keep poking at it, you are going to have to give it a name and a bedroll."