Shy Deer Steppes in the junkyard, it's every dog for himself.

Curse women, the auburn brute thought with a scowl over his shoulder. Tamar was there, flitting along the back of them like a ghost. Arsenio returned his cold gaze to the man beside him, taking stock of the stranger’s physique and build. He was thick and stout, made to endure it seemed. The Greek man thought he might have made a good fighter, but he was still uncertain. He would watch the stranger hunt, would see how well he moved against prey before determining if he would be a fitting member for the queen’s guard.

From where do you hail? the misthofóros inquired gruffly, russet ears swiveling to catch whatever answer he might receive. The man did not speak with a Greek voice, so Arsenio did not believe that they shared the same homeland. Still, he was built firmly, and the mercenary was curious.