Renart and Cecil are both more... forward than Monty has ever been. They'd been excellent companions for breaking him of certain moors. Or at least building up his tolerance for certain behaviors, like young ladies grasping onto him with a little more familiarity than is warranted. Monty keeps up with her, heels clunking softly along in the grass.

"F-flammable?" That draws more concern. "Ms. Quinn, I could not advise lighting anything on fire when you're within the confines of a place and do not have an efficient means of egress. You could hurt yourself."