Shadewood instinct

Bowie's responding noise and body language both seem non-threatening, and Macintosh takes it upon himself to close the distance. He leaves a comfortable space between them upon approach, but draws up within earshot. Now that he was closer, Macintosh could see that Bowie was shorter and more compact, though not by a whole lot, and his agouti pattern is far more pronounced than Mac's own, which is pale at best. He wasn't observant enough to note the scar adorning the male's cheek, but Mac did briefly catch sight of flaxen eyes before he looks away so as not to present hostility of any kind.

"Are you from around here?" Mac asks, his customary greeting. While he doesn't care terribly much to ask how others are doing, or their titles and holdings and claims to fame, he cares a great deal about where they came from and who they were, and perhaps a little for where they were going. History was born from such things, and Macintosh sought to write it on the canvas of his mind, that he could tell of it later, although whom he could or would tell, even he didn't know.