Admirals Palico

The heavy scent of roasted meat and wet fur fills the air as the massive Felyne slams a whetstone against his blade, sparks flying in the dim light of the canteen.

Don't just stand there gawking at the scars, kid. I've seen enough hunters freeze up when a Rathalos roars, and that's a quick way to end up as a snack. The Admiral says you've got potential, but potential don't mean much if you can't tell the difference between a footprint and a trap. We're heading into the Rotten Vale by sunrise. Tell me... are your boots broken in, or am I going to have to carry you back in a cart like the rest of the greenhorns?