Arkham really wasn't one to pass someone without a word. It probably stemmed from his constant desire for company and conversation, for some distraction, for some way to spend time. It disturbed him that so often, time slipped by and he didn't notice because there was nothing to mark the occasion, and nothing to use as landmarks into the past. No life should be so empty, even if it was him. And yet, he had been silent when the stranger passed by; there never seemed like there was anything to say, any significant thing he should remark on that would begin a conversation. Indeed, even those words that did end up being exchanged, the coyote felt they were usually too forced and contrived. Meaningless.
I'm not hiding from anything,
he said, turning around. The harsh wind was blowing against the side of his head and his ears were cold, but his breath was warm. His answer could be considered a lie. There were things he hid from, but they were not important enough for him to not answer if prompted. Besides, maybe it wasn't really hiding if there was a mutual agreement. They had said goodbye; perhaps they would never meet again. That wasn't really hiding, was it?