As Fellrik carefully tried to maneuver himself around the giant bull turned mount, a blur of fur and paws shot passed him, narrowly avoiding being bowled over by the excited canine. Turning about to watch the aftermath, the young man watched bemused as the dog... no, a<span style="font-style: italic">wolf</span>sat before the giant bovine, barking at it almost as if it were asking it how it was enjoying the weather. More than a little confused, the Human tore his eyes from the spectacle, looking in the direction the beast had come from. It did not take long to spot the distraught young woman, looking as if she wanted to run and hide as the wolf threw its head back and howled. She certainly did not look like she was a local, given her strange garb, nervous disposition, and...<span style="font-style: italic">those ears!</span>Instinctively, Fellrik's hand crept to the hilt of his sword, taking care not to make the movement too obvious.<br/><br/>As the wolf trotted back to it's master, the threat this elf seemed to pose rapidly diminished, the chances of her suddenly springing to the attack more remote with each passing second. Sharp green eyes picked the elf woman apart, the young man's expression as stern, hawk-like as ever. What could be her purpose here? Fellrik had never laid eyes on an elf before, and the girl standing there in the street didn't seem like the child-eating monster from the bedtime stories of his childhood. Instead, she seemed more like a refugee, an exile.<br/><br/>Regardless of her plight, or how non-threatening she seemed, Fellrik wanted nothing to do with her.<br/><br/>Having had enough of the spectacle, the Human turned to continue on his way. He had not taken more than three steps when he felt a sharp blow to the ankle.<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">"Watch where you stick those piking boots, I'm walking here!"</span></span>Fellrik whirled about, assuming to find the culprit standing behind him, or to the side. Nostrils flaring, he clenched his fist, ready to break the nose of the wise-ass who kicked him... But nobody was there. At least, not until it occurred to him look down. Standing before him was a scrappy little halfling, who looked like she had been ambushed in the night by a bucket of paint, a pair of shears, and a box of jagged metal. The human's eyes narrowed, his fist clenching as he mentally talked himself down from striking the girl. Not that she looked nor spoke much like one, but rules were rules, irritating as her type usually were. Little things with a chip on their shoulder, but not the length of reach to back up all that talk when it counted.<br/><br/>As he fumed, the halfling seemed to realize the error of her ways, her expression changing before his eyes. Though he didn't show his satisfaction as she hastily apologized, it was enough to calm him back down. "That mouth will get you killed if you're not more careful..." His tone was more irritated than anything, more irked by another thing in his way to whatever watering hole this town had now that he had calmed himself enough. In the seedier parts of Blackrock he had inhabited for the past decade, a confrontation like this often led to at least a few bloody knuckles and busted faced, sometimes even with somebody dead in the gutter depending on how many drinks the combatants had in them. Getting used to a softer place like this would take time.