Wild Berry Meadow [m] some gin and juice

the man coughs and wheezes, as if to extricate the phlegm and lime that cakes the inside of his dilapidated body.

kaxwaan surges forward like electricity. he snaps at the softer skin behind the stranger's ears, but catches nothing but air. the noise is percussive, a salvo which hangs like a physical presence in the half-light and sends crows flying over their heads for refuge, or for a better vantage point -- because they too can scent violence before it occurs.

he lifts his head to watch these psychopomps with dead eyes.

then his attention returns to the matter at hand.

yes, they can dance.

GIDAAN!

his voice is joyous.