Oh yay! Larkspur has his utili-kilt and knife on him, for reference.
Rowan, behind him, spotted the girl long before her master. She let out a low, soft warning that had the Arbiter looking almost as soon as the girl announced herself. He rose to his full height, a giant amongst wolves, and smiled fondly at the girl. Since she had joined, he had seen little of her. It had worried him to think she might be uneasy in Salsola, but he had faith in the Thistle Kingdom. Either way, she would remain here for life.
“Hello Magnolia,” he called, coming away from the bank. He had to bend in order to greet her properly, brushing his muzzle against her own. Formalities finished, he brushed his hands off on his kilt and eyed the girl with something akin to pride. She had put on weight from the last time he had seen her. This was pleasing, for she had looked unhealthy to him before; skinny women often did. “It has been some time,” the D’Angelo went on. “Are y'hungry? Ther'll be food soon.”
Rowan, watching the food intently, kept both ears lifted high in order to listen for commands. She had adapted to the role of a slave quite well, though she did not consider herself quite so low as the others. Certainly not at all like the filthy man thing the pack kept.
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