Sun Mote Copse choke all my love away

The fae's young aquaintance seemed silightly naive to the subtilities of language, specifically to her specialty - sarcasm. His response came out as defensive and was lilted with a trace of instability - whether it was due to the cold weather or a stutter, she did not know. Feyre's brow rose to form a pitch, her had inclining to the side ever so slightly.

"I see." This time the wolf would be correct to assume she was judging him. The wolf seemed odd to her, but it was not as if she had anything better to do than to wander about the forests. Although it was suit her better to be in search of her next meal, she was not nessesarily starving. She could not judge whether or not the stranger had eaten for a while. "I don't know about yourself, but I would prefer not to hunt in this... undesirable weather." She enunciated her point by lowering herself down upon her haunches and leaning as close to the trees trunk as she could get.