Half his luck.

The little tike burst into tears, though whether or not it was Banjo’s decisive course of action (insisting as it were, that a solid feed was in order), or the general elimination of personal space and tranquility, he wasn’t exactly sure. Nevertheless, it was not the reaction - like usual, that the bronze-pelted buck had perceived. It was about time he stopped caring about the moody, over-sensitive creatures swanning about the land called Helovia. He wanted to be sympathetic, wanted to show his compassion - but what was the point.

Around about the same moment that the waterworks increased, the smoky chick he’d found novelty in following of the peaks, stepped back also. Banjo didn’t slide sideways to stand nearer though, such manoeuvring just wasn’t possible with his kind off anatomy - and heaven forbid he might offend someone else in the process… It was hard to be yourself when the population refused to accept you (unless you were a crying deer with a deformed nose and all the wrong antler - what made his oddities so acceptable).

The crowd only gathered further as time ambled on. Every man and his dog blew in and Banjo thought to give them all a wide berth, skipping clear of the eggshells all scattered around the floorspace. It sure would've been easier to abandon ship. But Helovia was a massive place and there wasn’t a hope in hell of tracking Sielu down again, if ever he was to lose her.

A strange looking stripy thing that looked like it’d fallen fresh off an ocean reef began to speak and his nose twitched with interest. She was querying the calf’s own question - the one about the weird, goose-shaped rock. After ‘Seahorse’, everyone threw in their two-bob about where the squirt’s folks were hiding and Banjo’s eyes glazed and began to drift between the chaos of colours, faces and personalities - each still more intent to help than the next. As over-sized ears drank in the chorus of suggestions, the buck noticed Vu (Chaska’s bird), but bit his tongue before calling out this time. Instead he sighed and shrank back across his haunches, blending into the group.

One of the first on scene (presumably, she’d been there before Banjo and Sielu arrived anyway), turned to acknowledge his backpacking buddy - the first it seemed, who realised that that voice of reason in their head wasn’t actually their conscience. He smiled quietly, glancing from mare to child, but soon found himself back on track - finding the smallest’s mummy, so they could get on with their business; which wasn’t very much at all actually besides passing the breeze.

“I would offer you a ride in the ol… old pouch, little one… if you felt too tired to walk. Its warm...” he stopped, there wouldn't be one among them who should understand. Slowly, he leant back to reveal the furry slit across his belly. Naturally he expected about as much backlash as that first time he’d spoken (perhaps he'd dissolve right into a puddle now?) - though this time, he made a rather remarkable effort to sound exactly like the rest of the entourage. Was that unimposing enough?