The walls of the township are beginning to come into view through the trees. Carrying a full-grown man is little effort for a beast like Khoriya, but he does find himself idly shifting the weight over his shoulders, calloused grip now held firm around a muscled thigh. If the human cannot feel his grasp, then it does not particularly matter where his hands go, does it? Not much further now, before he can wash his hands of this and they can both forg-

The question catches him off guard, ragged ears flicking sidelong in momentary bafflement before Khoriya gives a shrug, expression indifferent.

"...It does not matter. Call me what you like." See how he doesn't ask for Bob's name? That's because they will never speak of this again after parting ways.