On their way out of town, Artaith stops to listen. She makes no effort to hide that she's paying attention to the young guard and indeed quickly begins to frown deeply. Probably not far enough to prevent being overheard herself, she strikes up conversation. "Sounds like somethin' making normal folks turn feral? Or maybe were-folk of some sort. Either way, it's a lead and a serious problem, but one we can maybe solve. Here's hoping there's people left under all the skin."

She draws shield and axe as she stomps along, several paces behind Phil (to afford some possibility of a furtive approach). Her eyes scan the woods on either side of the road sporadically, though even she would admit she doesn't rightly know what she's looking for.

Spoiler: OOC
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Artaith is utterly untrained at most things, really, but especially outdoorsy stuff. Still, decent wisdom, right?

(1d20+3)[20] perception, survival