Ah, the scribble. You meet again. It- no, he, is standing behind hanging decor and shelves of miscellaneous, messily labelled jars of who-knows-what. As you approach, a stick snaps beneath your heavy paws. He whips around, expecting another hyena looking to chew on his coat, but begins to eagerly hop up and down upon spotting you. He gestures to the nearby nonsense, and while he doesn't have a proper face, you can almost sense his grin.