Kintla Flatlands such deliberate disguises.

Anselm side-eyed the stranger as he spoke. While he wished to continue his trek in to the unknown, he had been starved for attention lately - having met only a few individuals, and none which interested him too greatly. This guy was hardly different from the others; however, he was plain-spoken and, from what the boy could tell, honest. So he chuffed softly as if to protest, and sank to his weary haunches.

The rain could go on for hours more, there was no way for the boy to tell. Perhaps if he had been trained in weather-watching like his sisters — a thought which made him mentally come to a stand-still, and focus on the present. That was a life left far, far behind him.

Ain't having a bad day. Anselm muttered, breaking the silence after a brief interlude. For a moment the rain was all that could be heard pitter-pattering across the tree tops - but he continued. Just got used to lookin' out for myself, is all. And being followed through a strange land by a strange beast didn't help either.