The night air is familiar, cool, something that Ro can certainly get behind as he changes into a more suitable form for skulking about the grounds. On four, rough paws and with sturdy form, he makes his way through the gardens, sniffing about the grass and hearing the soft pitter pattering of tinier feet, minute squeaking noises and soft chirrups from night birds. Hunting at night affords his feral nature privacy that daylight can't cover. Fewer people to get in the way to scare his prey just as well. He moves slowly through the dark, canine shoulders hunched forward as he pursues and catches himself a particularly fat-looking rodent. He's digging into it quite vigorously and by the time he's through with it, there's nothing left but a few scattered bones and some hair he couldn't care for.

It's the odd scent of blood and plastic that has his nose turning upwards, tongue sliding over his teeth and jaw as he looks around and makes his way towards the shape of a young woman sitting in the garden, a book spread open in her lap and bag full of blood being sipped at.

Huh.

He's certainly not after her blood, but rather, the company might be nice. His muzzle is still a bit stained, but he decides he doesn't look too menacing. Just like any other dog. Most people can't tell the different between dingos and regular old house breeds anyways. So here is just peeking out from some bushes and looking at her. Hello.