It was not an uncommon thing that Moony found himself lost. It wasn't as though Moony didn't know where his house was; he didn't have one, after all. The whole town was his home, or lack thereof, as he tended to stick to the abandoned houses on the outskirts of town where the sounds of carriages and loud cheerful shouting wasn't so prominent. Moony was having trouble as it was; he'd been chasing a chicken that had gotten lost through the forest and into the town, and suddenly found himself in the thick of the townspeople's midday shopping. When his focus on the fleeing bird was lost, the sounds and movements of every human under the sun finally seemed to snap to Moony's psyche and cling to it like a miasma, and he immediately screwed up his eyes and stood stock still in the middle of the walkway, taking in the sounds of irate muttering and 'Get out of the way, kid!' with a tense set to his shoulders. Thank god no one touched him, during all that.
At last he felt it safe to open his eyes and take in the sights, but found his head ringing with whitenoise every time he tried to focus on one of the people. So he took it in as a whole, as one entity; the crowd was a monster and Moony was staring down its throat and it was so loud, and colorful and he began to sweat as every sense was overwhelmed, his mirrorlike eyes going cloudy...
No, he needed to calm down. Find something to focus on. He turned, swooning slightly as he tried to reel his mind back in, and found an fruit stand selling fragrant oranges. He stumbled over, ragged clothes swishing around him slightly as he reaffirmed his statuelike position, his light blue eyes locked on a singular piece of fruit dutifully. The man at the stall noticed him and offered a hello, then another hello when Moony gave no response. Finally, the man conceded to leave Moony be, though he kept an eye on him just in case the street urchin decided to swipe a fruit. Moony had no such purpose in mind, immediately, though his stomach had been clawing at the insides for days. Ah, the orange. The orange. What a nice thing, Moony thought quietly to himself, effectively tuning out the crowds. So round, such a bright color, such a nice-smelling familiar object. Tentatively Moony reached out to touch it, running a finger along the perforated surface, completely oblivious to the eagle-eyed stare of the shopkeeper as he tended to another customer quite distractedly.