Hoshor Plains Over Hill and Under Hill

Mal turned back at last, setting a path that would hopefully loop back one last time and maybe deliver his prey to him, but instead something else came to his attention.  He didn't see her at the moment, but he could smell her.  Something was kind of familiar about it, but Mal's memory of other people he didn't expect to ever see again was about equal to that of a goldfish.  That useless information was binned almost before he'd left Diaspora's borders.  Hell, had enough time passed that he'd even recognize the girl if he saw her?  Mal couldn't change his spots even if his attitude had changed and he'd maybe filled out a bit more, but kids grew fast, not that he knew -- he only knew that from the kid's perspective.

From the sort of begrudging surrender to the will of the world, he quite obviously changed in mood as he stopped in his tracks.  Mal halted, head raised, his nose twitching as he tried to find some sort of hint among the grasses.  Inquisitive, and because of the familiarity it made him cautious.  Maybe it was one of the freaks from the sea.  Or something.  He didn't exactly know many wolves.  I smell you, he sort of warned them.  If they were up to no good, he'd kick the snot out of them.  Not that he'd ever had to really fight other than to screw with that one idiot in the mountains, and he was pretty sure she'd been so aghast at getting chomped that the whole thing didn't count.  Bluff or not, he waited to see if they were going to respond or if they were really some no good creep.