As the two finished their meal, Cedar waved goodbye to the old man, then placed the empty stew pot in the general place that the Baker had indicated.
He wasn't sure why, but he was very sad to see the old man go. He kept reminding himself that Reinhold was NOT his father, no matter how much the old man's personality and lifestyle coincided. He had his own life, and it was time to go their separate ways.
He heaved a sigh, then decided to go check on the horses. There was still some bread left, and the creatures would enjoy a nice treat, he felt.
The horses where tied up, right where they had been left. Absently, he tried to reassure the nags that he was not going to eat them, having already just eaten, before offering chunks of the bread. It was always a slow process, winning the trust of herbivores. Their instinct was to be wary, and his nature did not align well with circumventing that.
He rubbed their noses gently, despite the wide-eyed look it garnered him. He looked behind and saw Matilda and the Prince still seated within. Matilda looked all-business, and ready to chew iron into nails. He decided that was poor company, and the wary horses were a better option, in his opinion. Maybe they would like a good brushing?
He turned and headed to the small livery barn the Baker kept for all-nighter patrons to put up their horses for the night. He'd surely find what he was looking for in there.
The tackroom was immaculately kept, something the bearman noted as probably indicative of the man's fastidiousness, and he located a stiff boar-bristle grooming brush in short order. It felt small in his hand, but then again, anything human-sized always did. The door and interior of the tackroom too, were woefully undersized for a person of his stature. Carefully, he squeezed back out the door with his prize, then closed it neatly behind him, and returned to where the horses were tied, then started grooming them.
As expected, they were not the most receptive of his ministrations as a groomsman. After several minutes, and irritated horses that just wanted him to leave them be snorting air at him, he gave up. Then he had the idea of using the brush on himself-- and wanted to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner.
The baker did not seem to have an easily accessible well outside, for whatever reason. Cedar could only make wild guesses as to why, but for whatever reason, there just wasn't one. This lack had put a damper on his earlier plan to get a quick wash, and get the muck off of him that way, but the brush posed a less thorough, but alternative method of getting clean. At least it would get the majority of it off.
Idly, he returned to the door of the livery stable, took a seat on the ground nearby, then started brushing. Puffs of dust, and bits of mud flaked off with each passing of the bristles, as they worked through his fur, and did their magic. A few minutes later, and he felt like a new bear. He was still dirty of course, but the majority of it was now several patches of dirt, dust, and undercoat fuzz that clung to the grass where he had pulled it from the brush during the process. Respectfully, he returned the brush where he found it, then considered going inside. He had seen several of the others already go in without him, and now free of the dried on muck, he should be mostly presentable to go in, if still rather under-dressed. Clothing was mostly a formality anyway.
He stood up, and gave his fur a shake. A poofy cloud of dust billowed out as he did so, ejecting the last of the heavy soiling. The rest would cling to his skin until he could get a proper wash, but at least it wouldnt drop off and leave "leavings" for the baker and his daughter, if he went inside.
Eager to break the melancholy of his mood, he headed back to the terrace, collected the now mostly empty vegetable bag, then entered the door.
