Silverlight Terrace private reserve

Eigma was not well versed in the behavior of pack wolves, their habits, or their hangups. But she knew rogues. She was rogue, born and bred. So when no words met her in response, she was unphased. 

It made sense that a feral beast would hold their tongue (if they could speak at all); but that meant they heard her, and it was very likely they lingered in the area. The woman chuffed softly to herself, slipping around one of the many ruined piles of tree matter, and turned her head. It was at that moment she spotted the pale creature; he was not very close, but seemed intent on watching her. 

Eigma's head bowed below her shoulders, and she eased herself closer to the ghost among the ruined forest. While her posture was defensive, it was not antagonistic - she was after a meal, and perhaps this stranger could be persuaded to aid her. The wolves of Moonspear might have thought her to be socially stunted, but she knew this language well enough.