*It's a shantytown, barely even held together. In ways, it's worse than the clutch of them that lived under the bridge, or the group he found in the alleyway or in the squathouse. At least those places were clearly temporary and nomadic. This place has a grim permanence to it that the others did not, a sense that there are people who might even call it home. It feels wrong, invasive, to walk the paths they have worn through the grass.

Sirius lifts another tent flap, looking for a sleeping person, a child, a pet, anything.*