Kazyth glances around curiously at the frenzy of honey-pouring, muffing distribution, and signs of sudden industry that seem to flood the little villiage. With a soft chuff of irritation, he lumbers off to find a nice, quiet hut with a soft bed and a well-stocked pantry. "We haven't even been here a few hours and already the place has devolved into chaos," he mutters to himself before selecting a nice little whitewashed cottage as his own. Gnawed-upon bones are swept out into a tidy pile next to his door for the time being, to be disposed of in the morning. The sounds of dusting, mopping, and other such domestic affairs emenate from the cottage for some time. Finally, he finds the place cleaned to his liking, and he wanders out onto the little porch with a pot of tea, settling in the rocking chair he finds there and sipping from a small, battered cup.