Astarion had his suspicions. The same cat always rubbed its cheek against his boot. But he quickly realised the ruse; it was the camp's impish druid. Astarion chuckled to himself, feeling the familiar thrill of mischief stirring within him.

He knew the druid was up to something, and he wasn't going to let them get away with it. Astarion quietly made his way over to the small furball and scooped it up with a sly smirk. "Ah-ah," he cooed, his fangs peeking through his smile. "No scratching now."