[ Oliver is in town, fully shifted. His turnskin form that of what he would call a werebear. He is tall, and furry, and looks, well, like someone squished a bear and a man together, and then wrapped loosely tied leathers around him, and added a quiver and a bow.

The moon's pull has him irritable, and shifty, and makes him feel like his skin is itching all the time, and... and it is instilling urges in him. Ones he is resisting, but having a hard time doing so.

Spotting the woman standing on her own with a drink, he drifts closer, only to hear her words, and reply, his voice something between a growl and true human speech. ]

It reminds me a little of home as well, of staring out into the city I lived in, and breathing in the air....

[ The rumble of his voice is low, and heavy, and he falls silent near her. ]