Ravenshook Cliffs in the game of thrones, there is no middle ground

One neared the precipice she stood upon and left. Perhaps it was her overall demeanour that sparked uneasiness within the stranger, and rightfully so. The dark woman was nothing to be trifled with, nor instigated to the point of aggression. Meetings of interlopers often ended in claw against claw; so had her series with Malice concluded. However, as she retreated, the call and scent of yet another rose to her senses, and the entrapment of curiosity began. The scent neared and neared, until the other, she assumed, lurked not far behind her. It was odd, for one to seek her out when where her presence sulked followed the ominous feeling of dread -- or so she had been told. 

She peered at the other from a distance over her shoulder, with her own inquiry, 'What do you want?' Optics narrowed, both interest and skepticism were aroused within her; enflamed, her lips pulled back, quivering slight as just to show the blink of her ivory teeth. She does not speak, mimicking the other, but asks all the same. Regardless of her ability to command other's within her own pack, Nemesis was without a tongue among those she was unfamiliar with. The dark woods had taught her to be wary, of everyone and everything; it had riddled itself deep within her inner workings and she was unable to shake the unease in the face of the un-analyzed stranger; not out of fear but suspicion. She, herself, carried the appearance of any other -- overlooking scars and marks -- and she was the farthest from sane. A less than audible snarl pushed its way through her lungs, but she made no move to run the other from her presence, not yet.