The Sentinels come to my arms, my beamish boy!

“oh, it is, ah…nothing too much, i hope.” she seems willing enough to stand and speak with him, even in the rain still drizzling down from the hanging clouds, so he can at least do her the courtesy of presenting his questions, in as clear a tone as he can manage. “as i said, i have not been here long, and i should, i think…know of packs. territories. if there are any who…” he trails off, searching for the words he needs.

it is, after all, not his first meeting in these new wilds. though, perhaps, this time he finds himself less defensive than last, as anxious and awkward as he nonetheless must seem. he takes one breath and, determinedly, continues.

“i have met a…legion.” he forms the word with an underlying distaste, though it is more at the name than the memory. their meeting could have gone worse, as strained as it had been. “i have heard warnings. of people to the south, past the mountains.” an ear flicks in the appropriate direction, head twitching as if to follow before he remembers himself; it swings back the other way.

“i do not like that. the conflict. i would like to avoid it. and it seems the best way to do this would be to ask someone who knows this area.” caligula lowers his head a fraction. “if you are willing to provide such information, of course.”