After that whole fiasco at the border where he'd targeted those Exilers ( and rightfully so, might he add ), Sal had excused himself to allow steam to blow off of his shoulders. The accusations laid upon him weren't taken as lightly as he seemed to have, thinly veiled annoyance being held within the tones of his smooth voice. However, he knew that Amelia wouldn't be able to do much against him -- that partnership of theirs had been ruined, thus allowing him to do as he pleased under the guise of avenging one of their own. Quite a quaint little story it was, wasn't it?
He'd since retrieved the body of the NPC Exiler he had killed previously, reckoning he ought to take it before someone else had the idea to take it back to where it belonged. Dragging the limp form of the deceased Exiler by the scruff of its neck, the pale furred hybrid, lightly spattered with left over blood he had been unable to clean from himself, would search for a spot to enjoy his meal in peace. There was no better place than that of one of the lakes the Painted Brigade owned, he thought. Even in the chilliness of the area, he'd much rather eat away from camp than in it, mostly out of fear that he would be bothered. He drops the body of the Exiler by the bank of the lake and laid himself beside it, his powerful jaws locking onto the sensitive flank of the feline to begin to tear into the flesh.