Grouse Thicket maybe i'm not listening

rannveig was nothing if not a food hound, and like most food hounds, was obligated to follow his nose. 

a most curious scent had settled settled over the wilds lately. he couldn’t say what it was. it smelled sweet and somehow wrong at once, like a flower out of season. 

and what do you know, just as he was sure he was at the source, a crash the sound of staggering hit his ears. looking up he saw a male that looked uncoordinated - but blissfully so?

it just so happened that strange reek was strongest here, and seemed to hang about the agouti stranger like a miasma. rannveig wondered if the man was sick — he had heard of a uncontrollable and fatal disease that sometimes afflicted his kind, and feeling worried he cleared his throat, mostly to see if there was any comprehension in the strangers gaze.