Honeyed Pasture First we eat, then we do everything else.

He shakes his head at the apology of the other, one of the many things that confuses him about his species. The need to apologize for things that could not be helped. Regardless, he recognizes this as curteousy, and reciprocates the gesture. "No need. I'll find something soon." He'd better. His time is limited while the Cerberus prowl around every bend, or so, he believes. But he shoves ill thoughts of his enemies to the side in favour of focussing on the stranger he faces, changing the topic of conversation again in favour of himself. "Where do you come from?" He inquires of the other, curious as to where the stranger hails from. Vaati cannot place the scent of a familiar pack upon the other, and it leads him to doubt the suspicion that the other may be a spy. One could never know when the threat of war is in the air. Anyone could be anybody. But the distinct irk of danger does not arise to cause the hair on his neck to stand in the presence of the other, and Vaati relaxes a fraction.