Otatso Wetlands tatarmoon

Like Thyme, Gavrel did not notice him until they stood only a few yards apart. He spoke out of mindless reflex.

Hey, he said through the mouthful of goose, before dropping it on a dryer patch of dirt. He coughed out a feather.

Lookin' for something?

His face was screwed with suspicion, his body similarly tense -- he placed a paw over the body of the goose even as his working eye appraised the stranger and found little to be threatening about him.

He was spare, and from where he stood Gavrel could not scent a pack on him. He knew what young men without connections were capable of because he had been one himself, up until half a moon ago.

So he did not let his guard down.