Dunsk, like most whers, had a fairly good sense of smell, and a solid memory to boot. He tended to remember people's smells best of all, a byproduct of being bonded to a man like Dunsmith, who put a lot of emphasis on his social ties. So when Dunsk came across a scene he recognized in the Weyr's plateau, one from his past, one Dunsmith was obsessed with...well, Dusnk immediately knew who it was, and immediately knew it was his duty to make sure Dunsmith never caught wind of that scent.
Dunsk bided his time until a particularly busy day for the duo, one where Dunsmith was tired and just wanted to go to bed - not hard to do with an older man who enjoyed his sleep. Then, Dunsk just had to creep out of their weyr while the man was sound asleep and follow the scent trail until he found himself outside of Thatch's personal abode.
It was a little before dawn. Dunsk had his goggles in his mouth, because he expected to need them by the time he left the young man's weyr, but he lacked the thumbs to put them on himself. Quietly, gently, he scratched at the door, trying to make noise but not leave a mark. Thatch? He projected into the room. Thatch, please open door. Is me. Is Dunsk. Am alone.