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There were times when he almost seemed to realize that his habitual lack of direction could be very frustrating. These were the moments when he had thought he had seen that tree or that mongoose (all the more exasperating because of course a living creature moved and therefore could not be a reliable trail marker, but he didn't seem to realize that) before, thought he knew where he was, only to find that he had never been here. Or at least he didn't remember being here before (who knew what he remembered at all). It was a very brief moment, a small narrowing of his brow as his mouth thinned. And then he'd see something, rarely anything extraordinary, which would make that momentarily sensibility whither.

That's how he found himself on the outskirts of the swamp. This particular spot was very quiet (others might have found that dull) but he thought there was something nice about it. He moved with a considering glance, a strand of dried vine pushed by the wind, with such an unbothered air it seemed that he was at home. He stopped and drew in a breath. Something smelled very nice out here.

A crack, or perhaps it was a crunch, stole his attention then. Was someone actually out here? Not one to cower because the thought never occurred to him, he instead smiled. "Hello?" and because this was Travels in Circles he had to add, "Do you know what that smell is?" (The cheetah crowding his back hooves looked very very put off, almost as if despite how much he adored his overgrown pet it truly was the dumbest one in existence.)

If it had not been for the white markings and glow of the doe's eyes, there was a chance he might not have noticed her at all. As he did notice her, he smiled. He paid special attention to the branch end she placed before her, before looking back up. The darker specks of fur created wrapping vines around her pelt and for a moment he thought she either was covered in wandering ivy or perhaps was a plant herself. He was quite sure plants did not usually walk or talk and would not look so like a kimeti though.

"A spice bush," he repeated even as he wondered if that meant the taste of the bush would be spicy or if it simply had a nice smell. "Yes, a very nice scent I'd say. I quite like it." It occurred to him that he could smell that nice if he rubbed or rolled against the leaves and berries but then if the berries were so filling, she must be eating them and she might not be very happy if he crushed her meal.

Not wanting to give the impression he'd steal her berries, he made sure to look at her instead of the small red fruits dotting the branch. He shuffled his hooves -- what had he said the last time he met someone? It seemed to happen so rarely he found himself a bit stumped as to what to do. He thought a moment and remembered a doe, a question that implied a name was the first thing one was to give. And he decided that was a good idea.

He'd said his name so many times to anything that seemed even remotely curious that for once he forgot to remark that it was in fact his name and without one speck of clarification, mouth spread wide with a grin, "Travels in Circles," popped out. He felt very proud of himself for introducing his name first rather than last. Why it was almost straightforward!

His brow furrowed and he thought. He had heard many names in passing and more than a few had made him pause but "um excuse me" had to be the oddest. He wondered what kind of dream she had had in her sac to receive such a name. "That is a," he paused in order to think of the right word, "different name," he said aloud finally.

The more he looked at her, the more he thought she would have some earthy or plant name. The way she looked he wondered how she had not had a dream about vines or climbing ivy. Then again he had heard of names that had nothing to do with appearance, his first (and perhaps only) friend was a sign of that surely. And he hadn't named his cat after his sand colored fur or the dark spots that flecked his coat, nor had he let the name come from his apparently red clay muddied feet. No, names didn't have to have anything to do with appearance. But it always helped in remembering them.

"Tell me, whatever do they call you -- pardon?" He shook his head, he didn't like that. Was it terribly rude of him if he renamed her? Surely she wouldn't mind with a name like that. The Motherfather might though and he didn't want to upset them. He tutted, whatever was he to do?

"Oh," he exhaled and then nodded. It was not vines or climbing ivy but it was a plant. "That --" he paused and tried it out on his own tongue, "Mint -- is a very nice name." For you, he added in his head. He was incredibly biased for he felt his name was the very best name -- at least for him. He didn't think it'd have quite the same ring or zest if someone else tried to take it.

He wondered if she had not realized he was offering his name earlier. Another kimeti might have thought her slow if indeed she hadn't but he imagined she was momentarily confused. He was starting to realize he had that effect on others he met. Even his cat. Even his mother. And if a mother who was used to him found herself boggled, well it was no surprise that others might.

"I am Travels in Circles," he stated, this time quite making sure that it was an introduction. He smiled and then seemed to blink as though hit between the eyes with a stone -- or swatted by a cheetah's paw, the look really was incredibly similar. He turned his head slowly and regarded the cat (the beast seemed to make an excellent play at innocence). "This is my cat, Guide." His brows rose -- oh bother, what was the rest of it?

That was a hard question to answer. What brought him anywhere? Well sometimes his mother did. Although clearly not this time because she wasn't in front of him (or beside him, nudging him to stay on the direct path). Sometimes it was his cat but again that wasn't the case today (Guide was letting him lead himself today -- it was a tiring and thankless task). He pondered a little more as he really did want to try answering the question.

Eventually he opened his mouth to give some reply, "The path beneath my hooves, perhaps, or the wind. I go many places without meaning to." This seemed to make him think, although briefly, "Maybe I'm meant to." Whether he meant to find places or being here, well maybe he meant both. Either way, he gave his head a shake to sweep all the complicated thoughts out of his head.

"And you? Are you here for a reason?" he queried back. She, unlike him, probably had a reason. And if that was so, he was interested to know it. Maybe then if someone asked him why he was somewhere he could answer.

Solitude. He thought that over and decided as much as he liked the sound of it, there was little chance that it would ever be a reason he could use. He never had to seek out a place that was quiet for he found plenty of those. Whether it was a natural occurrence or because some kin had the good sense to run when such a confusing buck was coming... It could have been either. Though it was doubtful, Travels had any such thought in his head.

He was used to not welcoming, partly because he took words as they were, instead of inflecting meaning within them. Naturally that meant unless one told him outright to or he felt the need to leave, unwelcoming went right over his head. And then some. Still the correction was nice.

The offer of the berries had his eyes sliding down to the branch and he gave a nod, "Yes, I think so." He took a step forward and lowered his head, mouth opening until one berry vanished while his teeth severed the fruit from it's stem. He chewed carefully and nodded at the rather delicious taste. The smell was better though. He wondered if he could get his cat to carry around a branch. He might follow such a lovely scent.

"I think I would, yes," he nodded. And though it was just over there, his gaze found the direction well enough, the cat behind him already seemed to be ready to herd him to the right place. Expecting him to find it himself was an exercise in futility. It simply would never happen.

Travels did not move right away. He stood thoughtfully and then smiled at the doe called Mint. "Thank you for the berries and farewell." It didn't seem quite exactly the right thing to say but his mind was drifting again or still even as his hooves were placed firm. Oh well, it could not have been important. One shoulder seemed to roll in a shrug before he moved away, cat swatting or nipping to keep him in line.

A breeze crested through as he disappeared through the gap she had come from, carrying his voice towards her, "I wonder if eating mint leaves would be an insult to her..."