Dahozhoni Meadow runnin'

The question amuses him, if only because he truthfully knows so little about this particular stretch of the wilderness. He's still in the exploratory stage, his natural drives lending to his cover story. Vermouth could just say "no" but he decides to share. He delights in his fictions.

"I suggest you not go this way," he retorts, glancing pointedly at the woods over yonder. "I'm going to lay claim to that forest. Hopefully I'll attract a mate so we can bear some young." His pale golden gaze drifts back to Bruno. "Alas, if only you were a woman, we could've made friends," quips Vermouth, "or even love."

He chuckles at his own joke, the noise rumbling off into silence after a moment. Bruno didn't ask his name, so he doesn't mention it. Perhaps he'll give him the same one he offered to Sobeille, especially since he's come to think of himself by it lately. But of course, Vermouth isn't his real name.