Lion Head Mesa You left town to live by the rifle.

One of the fellahin. The first he'd formally met.
A young one, at that. She was close to the age of the amiirad, but not nearly as confident and calculating. She fumbled on her words many times, struggling to compose herself before the eyes of the beastly mazoi.
Where the girl had set the pheasant, his gaze shifted. He realized his hunger then, mouth beginning to water. Perhaps he could take a moment to eat before he would begin his patrol. So, he lent forward and collected the meal tightly in his jaws and turned to the entrance of the tight hollow. Before entering, the man's tail swung towards the girl, beckoning her to join him within. If she was here to serve him, he would put her to work with some thing or another.