Shadewood you are at war, even in your dreams

Her head lowers, as if Nero could think that it was possibly and the body language he attempts to read is confusing to him. If she did not wish company all she had to do was speak such, release him from the bonds of obligation and he would leave her. He would be on his way in search of retracing his father’s path years ago as he fled from these Wilds — in much the same manner that Nero himself fled from Mount Pompeii. Perhaps cowardice runs in the family, the contemplation has certainly not escaped him. Her return chuff is less of a wolven sound and moreso that of a noise a bird might make. It is swathed in muteness that, if not for his exceptional hearing, Nero might have thought he hadn’t even heard it all. He watches as she takes a step forward and then retracts her paw, hesitant. Unsure.

A wise choice, likely. Her eyes make a silent plea that she does not (perhaps cannot) give voice to that he not attack. A small noise of contemplation is given but he already knows he will not. He is a loner and is not afforded the luxury, besides she (thus far) has given him no reason for such a course of action and he has nothing to defend. Getting into a scrap would be foolish and unwise. “Do not be afraid,” The macedonian speaks in voice softened by the richness of honeyed tones. There is also no reason to speak in the sharp, concise, commanding tones that the vespertine has gotten used to. “I am Nero.” He offers introduction as a further olive branch between them, intending to soothe her by communicating that he has no interest in harming her.