Cerulean Cape to haunt, to startle

It had not been until the corsair had closed some of the distance between himself and the female that he noticed just how poor her state of being was. Once he caught wind, the brute slowed his steps and lowered his skull toward the earth. The burning orange of her gaze had latched to him and he felt almost as though she was attempting to singe his insides to nothing. Pulling his two-toned gaze from blazing optics, Smokestep took the opportunity to roam her figure and settled on a deep frown. The dark ink of his lips curled downward and he shook his head a bit before taking a small step forward. She did not look as though she trusted him in the slightest, but that made for a sharp mind and he was anticipating he would be met with a sharper tongue if he pressed his luck.

Wavering his tail behind him, Smokestep bobbed his head in hopes that she might be put at a bit of ease with his presence. “It's okay, miss. Ye alright? Ye hungry?” the hound inquired with a tilt of his crown toward the left. Should she spook and disappear from his vision, Smokestep supposed that it would leave him with nothing more to worry about. Still, he wondered if he could get her to respond in some manner. So, the pallid brute held his ground and settled his tail between his hocks.