Deepwood Weald to wield old partisans in hands as old

She spoke more sounds that he did not understand, but her posture and shift in demeanor spoke volumes; this, he understood. This, he mirrored. Her submission gave him an opening to be more dominant and so, boldly, he breached the space between them and began to investigate her in earnest. The wolf probed with his nose through her scruff, along her flank, to her nethers and around as he paced. Each inch of her gave new information, which he greedily drank in.

She was young. Younger than himself, but not a child - or he did not think of her as such a thing. The scent of the wood was fresh upon her body - meaning, at least to Ailithir, that she was not in fact native to this woodland, but a passerby like himself. It did lean a bit of creedence to his other theory - that she was sidhe - but the wolf had no way of asking.

In assuming she held some mystical power, Ailithir gave her some control over what would happen next. He withdrew. Rather than crowd her and make her uncomfortable (which actually wasn't much of a thought within his mind), Ailithir gave her some space to breathe, to investigate in her own right, should she choose. His tail wagged behind his body contentedly, all the while an odd expression slipped across his gunmetal features - curious, dismissive, but also eager and possessive, as if he'd already made his mind up about something.