The Sentinels young as the morning; old as the sea

As Deirdre replied, a walking shadow materialized beside the white witch. It lent him a investigatory look with two clear eyes; one a fathomless blue, the other a vivid green. The female was a small woman; lithe, graceful, and bound to a form that suited the cadence of her movement. This was, perhaps, the sister of which Deirdre spoke. 

Marcello offered her a friendly smile, and a nod, before turning his ears and eyes back on the snowy she-wolf. "I can understand that," he remarked, "it was with similar ideals that I once met with strangers on our borders. 'Most everyone has some good in them, it just takes a little push to help them find it,' my father said. But," he flicked his ear and chuckled, albeit nervously, "I'm not here to talk about myself, er, not like that anyway." 

"I don't want to keep you here all day, but I wouldn't mind learning more about you, your wolves," To this he smiled at Emaleth, "and the forest. Perhaps, I could trade my own flesh, bone, and mind in service to it?"