Mad Dogs

The stranger's boots crunched against the uneven dirt path as he approached the outskirts of the city. The air grew heavier with the stench of unwashed bodies and cheap ale, mixed with the faint metallic tang of rusting weapons. Makeshift tents and crude campfires dotted the area, their flickering light casting jagged shadows on the grimy surroundings. 

As the man stepped into the camp, conversations hushed, and the general air of debauchery stilled, replaced by a wary tension. Heads turned to look at him—some with open hostility, others with thinly veiled curiosity. A few of the rougher types licked their lips, their expressions promising trouble if he wasn't careful.