Grouse Thicket cry wolf [malice]

He tastes success - his eyes alive with need and when he is sated, he is interrupted by a cough, a clearing of throat. Ysengrin looks up, looks around for the source and it is forthcoming indeed - a lady! A lady of soot and ash, large and dark. He thinks, to himself and himself only, of the nature of such a woman but she is not simply woman, no. She holds herself highly, present in the raise of tail, in the gaze that digs through him, in the confidence of her movement.

But he does not tremble. Ysengrin only waits for her to finish her actions, considering, considering, considering. He sees the dominance in her stance and yet he does not flinch - it is well within his rights to be here. Perhaps, from her scent, she hides a pack nearby and she does not wish him to find them. Or perhaps her pack itself finds sustenance here - ah, what a fantasy it be!

Ysen sees, oh, he sees the look in her eyes, the hunger to know in yellow pools, shock of his being here, his feeding. He is careful not to make sudden movements so he turns fluidly, standing over his meal - for it he has worked and he will not give it up so easily, though civil he may be. For now.

"Madam," says he, a short, quick bow. Gentlemanly - he must always embody it, so says his Madir. "A pleasant day. How fare you? And what be your business in these parts?"
@Malice