Kintla Flatlands such deliberate disguises.

Anselm didn't know what to expect out of the stranger, which effectively made him expect nothing at all — no remuneration for his efforts, no lambasting for abandoning an entire group of individuals who were in need of him and him alone. What he got was something else entirely, and it was quite unexpected for the boy. The man agreed with him. Sort of. In the barest, most vague sense. But it was enough to endear the old man to the boy to some extent.

"So what brings you out here? Just hitting the road to see what's around?" The man verbally prodded, likely hoping for something to pass the time. Anselm could have told the truth — that he had disobeyed orders, run away from home like a little child, but... That would ruin his well cultivated badass rogue nomad persona (or something).

In response to Mordecai's name being given, Anselm shifted his weight and coyly responded with his own title. Anselm.

And yeah, you could say that. He added after a beat. His ears flickered back against his sooty scalp, only to return to their pointed place atop his head when the rain became abruptly heavier. Ducking his head, Anselm tried to peer beyond the edge of the trees to see it. Didn't like being stuck at home, so I decided to see the world. Not much out here, though.

Except for water, apparently. And random strangers who lurk in dark places.