Ostus looked around at all the seemingly happy couples. Some were content with just holding hands and gazing in each other's eyes. Others danced and held quiet conversation at the same time. One couple was all over each other, a mess of limbs and slobbery kisses; someone had too much to drink!

He rolled his eyes. "Dance here, now, alone?" He held his arms up as though holding an invisible woman, swaying to the music. He puckered his lips and made exaggerated kissing noises before dropping his arms. "Fuck that," he muttered. "Come one, let's go get some grub; I'm starving." 

Just like that, the polite, respectable Ostus dissolved away with the thought of food.

Not bothering to see if Kiara was following or not, Ostus made his way over to the caravan's cook. Something was roasting over a spit; he had no idea what as it was skinned and beheaded to be unrecognizable, just that one of the caravan hunters had killed it for tonight's meal. It smelled delicious, whatever it was, so he had a sizable chunk of that along with some hard bread and some wild onions. To him, this was good camping food. He'd miss it once he and Kiara were on their own.

With plate of food in one hand and a tall mug of ale in the other, Ostus settled down to a quiet place to eat where he could also watch and possibly make fun of some of the dancers.