Rosewater Oasis oh, i get it. you're not allowed to talk.

The tension in the air seemed to dissipate as the piebald fur along Machiavelli's spine settled, though his rounded ears remained cautiously pricked. With deliberate steps, he approached the edge of the bright pink blooms, careful not to stray too close to the stranger.

Very well then, Machi replied, enjoy your water. His opal eyes briefly flickered down to the stained silver paw, a slight wrinkle forming on his nose as he observed the scene before him. I shan't be the one to take it from you.

With practiced efficiency, Machiavelli opened one of the pouches and set to work. Retrieving two small skins, he cradled one carefully in his mouth while deftly plucking some of the vibrant flowers and uprooted several more.

Once satisfied with the harvest, he gingerly placed the blooms into the container, arranging them with meticulous care before securing the makeshift glove back in place. The other pelt he picked up now, turning to face the water and see if the other man was quite finished. He would not dare pace any closer until the traveler had moved off.