Stavanger Bay Now they're turning us into monsters

he's wandering the borders idly when he catches the stranger's scent, marking here and there as he walks. it's not a true patrol; he doesn't think himself formidable enough for that. it's a stroll with some semblance of purpose framed around it, he decides. it seems to be of some use today, anyway. he quickens his pace, following the scent until he catches sight of the towering, swarthy stranger lingering at the borders like a ghost. he chuffs softly to announce himself, steps slowing as he nears. his posture is neutral, expression guarded but lacking hostility; he's wary of any lurking stranger who deigns not to call for an audience, but the man has given him no reason to assume the worst yet. he refrains from calling ford for now, hoping to discern the other's intentions first, if he can.