As the attendants and servants of Hemming busied themselves with preparations for the imminent journey to Paolou, Silhainlé rested on his haunches. While one of his ears was relaxed by the side of his head the other was up, turning and taking in the sounds around him; a dispute about the packing of a wagon, gossip about the towns folk, complaints about the amount of pay, and may other typical human matters. There was nothing giving him cause to worry, nor anything particularly interesting for that matter, but he was happy to sit there quietly and enjoy his breakfast. He was developing a slight pain in one of his front teeth, it was in need of some wearing down. He made note to himself to find something to gnaw on for a while once they set out. A good, tough piece of bark ought to do the trick. For now it was nothing urgent, just an occasional, mild discomfort. He hopped out of the way as they brought another horse in for one of the wagons, quite a large, imposing beast of a thing. He didn't mind horses, but he certainly wouldn't want to be charged at by one.
He had finished his breakfast by the time more White Guard started arriving. He recognised a few of the faces as they gathered nearby. He kept his head down, not yet the most bold in conversation. Human customs were a little strange and sometimes he feared offending someone, and considering what a violent race they could sometimes be he wanted to avoid doing anything of the sort. Luckily none of the White Guard seemed too unpersonable, some were a little rowdy but that was the worst of it, at least from what he could see.
Silhainlé saw a man approaching, he recognised his face quite vividly compared to the others, and had some vague memory of the name Marcel. He didn't want to be rude so he sheepishly raised a hand and gave a small wave in return as he came closer. He found that the man smelled a little peculiar. Under the pleasant smell of baked wheat and sweet somethings there was a hint of... something. It was stale and old, like something burnt long ago.
He didn't have time to think on it further. He would have spoken to Marcel and greeted him but before he could the woman – Adele – joined them. She seemed cheerful, smiling as she joined them. Before he spoke his nose twitched a little, catching the scent coming off of her. Peonies, pears and juniper berries, sweet and calming smells to his sensitive senses. He managed a small smile and said hello.
"I'm afraid I have little experience with caravans myself." He admitted, his slight Lessir accent lilting in his voice. "I am not the most experienced of guardsmen." That was a considerable amount for him to say to acquaintances, but the pleasant smell from Adele had put him in a more relaxed mindset. Such natural scents often did. This part of human culture where the women would adorn themselves with fruit and flower smells was something he was becoming very fond of. He wondered why it was not something the men partook in.
The man called Rook arrived and greeted them all. Silhainlé gave a small nod in return but little else.