Yes, Piotr's seen the little mutant slinking around the camp, or at least slinking away from him, far from escaping his notice. His age is difficult to judge, but he can't be that much younger than Piotr himself. He must have the devil's luck, to have survived to that age. Vor and prole alike would likely have chosen to excise what mutated child he must have looked like on the spot. Vor especially. And yet there's something about him that doesn't exactly ring true as prole.

But no, what has least failed to escape Piotr's notice is that among the outsiders, he isn't one. He seemed to arrive here with the others, but perhaps he merely managed to blend in with them long enough to be taken to camp. But he doesn't strike Piotr for a beggar, far from it.

Piotr might not have invited the crippled little man into the stables personally, but he seems to know what he's doing. Still, Piotr's brows draw together as his gaze shifts to the little man. That sounded a trifle strangled for a greeting. Is the man so intimidated by authority? Or simple fear of the consequence of society, belike. Piotr's gaze is cool, his lips thin, but his gaze flicks to the mare the little man had been trying to court.

"Don't give her any treats. She's getting stubborn enough as it is." His gaze shifts back to the other man with the weight of his full attention. "And your name?"