Cinna turns, albeit slowly, at the sound of another voice. The man he sees all in white—he can see it for a second. The hair, the eyes, even the innate strangeness speaks to him in the moment of a true fox, sly but wary. Clever enough to make his way, but choosing not to, choosing to defer to Cinna, the true interloper, instead.

“No—stay.” He assures the man, corners of his mouth twitching up as he looks around them.

“I don’t wanna deprive anyone of a single blade of grass.” He breathes. “I’ve…I didn’t know there could be so much green in one place. So much…life. It’s all been stolen from my people for so long.”