Lion Head Mesa con[m]igo

belen whirled at the drawl. the flower she had been trying to attach to her own fur fell, landing silently alongside the first. "noble one," belen murmured, delivering a bow to the admittedly small but fascinating man. he stank! the girl fought the urge to cover her nose and regarded the odd and ragged pelt-thing covering his torso. it was matted and filthy. "how may i serve you, neb?" she glanced toward the water and cleared her throat with a diplomatic air. "perhaps i might bathe you here. it is enlivening." and belen was curious.