"I was startin' to wonder where you were," Hawk said. Numair couldn't help but smile a bit to match Hawk's expression, as he moved forward.

"Hello, Hawk."

"Are they yours?" Numair asked, meaning the chickens, which were busily pecking in and around the garden beds. He was now perched on top of whatever was under a blue tarp off to one side of the garden, with Hawk--who had donned a flannel shirt over his white tank top, but not buttoned it, and had rolled the sleeves up--leaning beside him.

"Nah, they belong to one of the neighbors," Hawk replied. "The whole block shares this lot, it's a community garden. They hired me t'put up a fence t'keep the hens outta the plant beds."

"Ah, you build things for a living?"

Hawk hesitated. "Uh...I do odd jobs right now. Not sure what else t' do," he added in an undertone. Numair merely looked puzzled by Hawk's sudden discomfort, but before he said anything else, Hawk asked, "Uh, how are you doin', by the way?"

"In what sense?" Numair replied blithely.

"Wull you were coughin' up blood when I picked you up..."

"Ah, that," Numair said dismissively. "It is congenital. I just had a rather bad attack. It is aggravated by magic use."

"Really?" Hawk said with surprise. "I din't know that could happen."