Kintla Flatlands such deliberate disguises.

Anselm may have been picking up what Mordecai was layin' down, but he didn't take the bait so readily. Rather, he accepted the statement as a tiny fact, a rhetorical muttering which rang true and needed no further discussion. Packs did rise up all over the place in the most worthwhile locations. It was the way of things.

He ruminated over the passing conversation for a bit, listening to the stillness and the subtle rainfall, inevitably growing a bit antsy. When his hind legs started to go a bit numb from lack of use, he stood up and stretched - working the joints a little bit, to get the blood flowing.

And now that he was up, he felt the urge to explore some more. Perhaps he'd take Mordecai's advice and head further inland after all - he could backtrack, at least along the route he was a bit familiar with, and start on the other side of the forest, the other edge of the mountains. Something about the coast really called to him. The boy could brave a bit of winter rain - it was only water after all.

With a turn of his head, Anselm caught the other man's silhouette in his gaze, and gave him a tiny nod of thanks. I'm going to get a move on... Maybe I'll see you around. And with this said, he began to make his gradual departure.