Grouse Thicket drinking at a playground, tequila for one

The appearance of another causes her to prickle.  Her pale eyes have a dangerous glint as they sweep upwards towards the oncoming wolf, and she worries for a split second that it's someone like Colt or Raven, and she'll have to explain herself.  

It isn't.  It's some stranger.  She doesn't recognize him by scent or appearance and he does not offer his name.  She's so drunk at this point that it might not click anyway; Niamh had only mentioned him once in passing and she was yet to spend much time with Ambrose.  Her paw moves protectively over one of the few apples she has left.  

Suit yourself.  The words aren't exactly welcoming, but with a sweep of her foreleg she moves both herself and her apples to make room for this other man.  What brings you out this way?