The man waves a hand in friendly acquiescence. He's busy now with looking bemused at his tangled flock of poodles, all of whom have sidled as far away from Galadan as their leashes will permit.

"You got it, chief," he says, and immediately contradicts himself by adding, "Hey, weird. Usually they're much friendlier."

"Go on, boys," he chivvies, with a completely ineffectual tug on the handful of leashes. "Who's a good little hellhound? Say hi to the nice folk!"

River's letting Galadan lead the way, if he wants. She has no dislike of poodles, though no particular desire to stick around either, and she's amused.