An adolescent cat hisses nearby and the ground is suddenly clear of mice for a good three feet or so. Only it's not quite a cat, because instead of fur it has the feathers of a peahen, the fan traded for more moderately sized feathers to allow for cat-like movements. Walking with the creature is a young blonde.

Steph is out only because she has to be. Neither she nor Jason can be bothered to prepare hot meals for themselves, so she gets them from the inn when she can. She's been warned about the mice, so she's grateful for the peacock-cat's support here.

"Sorry, did you say something?" she asks curiously. She couldn't quite hear what he was muttering to himself, but if it has to do with the mice she definitely needs to know. She's like a cat that way.