"Alright!"

For setting up to call and trap a critter, he was being rather loud about it.

With altogether too much gear on his back and a spring in his step that was hard to physically keep up with, he'd taken you down to the Dalterian Belt to show you the ancient art of Yalmor calling. From the start of the trip to now, he seemed to be producing a never ending stream of exposé that all came delivered with his usual excited tone of voice.

"Now, as I'm sure you know, my pop-pop was the one to teach me Yalmor calling. It's been a little while since then, but I'm sure I've still got it."

He placed the bags down, fussing about a bit in making almost a Rube Goldberg machine type contraption, pointing out bits and pieces with almost incomprehensible labels and instructions. Eventually, he returned back to his spot next to you in the bushes. You would've liked to help out a bit, but the speed and accuracy in which he worked was both all too daunting and too mesmerizing to cut in. And with a few seconds of mental preparation and physical stretching that were probably unnecessary—though, what did you know? You weren't the expert here—he called out into the open clearing.

A sort of squeaking, groaning, droning sound. Eaah-Eaah-Eeaahoowoo. It was impressive a man of his age could even make such a noise. He puffed out his chest and straightened the lapels of his top.

"That was a perfect traditional Yalmor call."

Even more impressive was that it worked and soon after a Yalmor wandered out from the woodwork. It was fuzzy, a long trunk with equally long ears, no larger than a beagle or a large cat. Tufts of fur and armadillo-like skin, it seemed curious, but not curious enough to fall into Coran's overly complicated trap. Although, with how effective his call was, you'd bet now that he'd made the trap just as perfectly.

"You try. Do as I just did and it'll come right over. Easy."