Bitterroot Valley "excuse me if I seem a tad fucked in the head"

She's not alone for long. 

She lifts her head from the water, eyes the color of sunshine but not nearly as warm, scanning him over once - almost indifferently. She dips her head low, ears flattening as her eyes drop again in submission. The movement seems oiled, practiced - as if there's no real fear to her movements, only a dance she's learned in the wild. 

He's larger, a brute of tall and muscular proportion. His coat thick and grey, two toned with ash and shadows. The girl remains quietly deferential - a survival tactic that's worked in the past with other men.

He chuffs and the silent girl straightens, far too small to be considered dangerous. Nym gives  him no hint that she is, posturing with a delicate curl of her shoulders that speaks of vulnerable femininity. 

The girl will keep the game up as long as she can, chirping a soft note to him.