Hmm. Well-maintained, despite the lack of people. [that sort of cut on the grass can't be done by a grazing animal. those were made with a blade wielded by a person with intent.

with a little difficulty and some finagling of his crutch, nehan manages to crouch down and examine the soil a little more, patting the ground, rubbing the leaves of various bushes, so on and so forth. he's so dedicated to this that he even removes the glove on his right hand, revealing a thin hand full of old scars that he pushes against the damp grass. he's really not paying attention to his surroundings, despite his large, wolf-like ears suggesting excellent hearing.]

Healthy-looking soil, despite the lack of maintenance or animals to provide dung... Hmm. [this is a mystery, and one that nehan can't contemplate. then he rises to his feet again, patting his hand clean with a bit of vigor-- enough that some dirt might just fly onto anybody walking close to him. though, he just gives them a look as if to ask "why are you so close?" or "personal space, please".]

Excuse me. [those two words are entirely grumpy.]

[he makes sure to lock eyes with the first person he sees in the graveyard, as he's standing before one particular headstone. then he points at it with his crutch.]

I'll owe you a favor if you read those markings and tell me what they say, if they're still legible to you.

[and why would this wolf-man ask that? anyone would be forgiven for assuming that it's because of the cloth on his face, covering up one eye, which may make his sight weak. but, on the contrary, nehan just wants to make sure that his sight isn't weak, that this is a quirk of the world and his one good eye isn't getting weaker for one reason or another. but he just thought he saw some familiar name, and he can't get it out of his head, even if his vision tells him that the markings on the headstone are almost completely eroded.

he has to be sure.]

And even if you can't read it, I'll just owe you a favor for trying.

That's bullshit. [nehan says that of a label on the shelf, particularly that of a jar with some sort of herb in it, before moving on.] This, too, is bullshit. [another herb. and he goes on to say the same thing about more labels and jars-- and every single one of them has a plant of some sort in it, or a plant-based product, like incense.]

A forest hermit with strange ideas might as well live here. [his tone, normally so bland, is now quite grumpy. growly. he huffs, and shakes his head in dismay, before trudging back to the middle of the shop.] Every label is wrong, as if they were making up names and effects.

I would not trust anything in this place, if I were you. Especially whatever fortune you're about to ask. [and from where, honestly.]