Kintla Flatlands such deliberate disguises.

The boy should have been more aware. He was alert, but not for others of his own kind, and untrained when it came to tracking much else besides the bush deer of his home. As Anselm passed across the field and breached the edge of the tree line, as if to follow the tiny birds, he thought against chasing after their quick little bodies and veered in a new direction — this time, deeper, in to the dark tangles.

It was here where he melded with the dark (although not entirely), and here where he paused for rest in time to hear the stumbling steps of another. Being stalked was not something he was comfortable with. Thus, when the stranger's silhouette drifted near to his own position, he was turning and baring silver fangs within the murk; the fur along his spine arching as if electric.

You are following me — He stated, intended to sound flat and calm, but inevitably his voice crackled (Anselm hoped it sounded menacing and not like the squeaky voice of a child, but there was a slip, and it was entirely plausible). —why.