Cricket Creek Bog fragile stuff, all show

ah, it's alright, ridgeback brushes away the apology at being startled. letting out a chuff is normal social procedure; meant to grab attention. it had served its purpose and in hindsight was a whole lot better than just invading personal space, in ridgeback's book. i was preoccupied by the symphony the crickets are playing. it can't be heard in all territories; and here it sounds much more natural than it always sounded in the ruins of his homeland where it echoes eerily off of crumbling stone walls. the copse boy — introduced as bronco — informs him that he was looking for muskrat dams. ridgeback gives a solemn nod, pretending he knows what a muskrat is while loosely assuming it's a prey animal of some type. ridgeback, he offers his name with a charming tug of his lips and a sweep of his gaze over bronco's tank-built form. admiring, as one is wont to do. i have no home and live by the wiles of lawlessness and exploration. his grin turns a little bit dastardly then.