Grouse Thicket yn ei drwchus

No problem--and thank you!

The relief Llewellyn feels is palpable, and surely it must be visible to the young woman. His shoulders sink an almost imperceptible amount; his gaze tells a greater story, mellowing from a cutting crystal, a wary shade, to something much more friendly and amenable to this stranger. No spark of recognition on her part at the name of his homeland means that he does not have to keep his guard up. Of course, there is always the possibility that the russet girl is lying. . .but he will take such twists as they come--his claws are ever-sharp for a reason.

She is quiet and firm without additional attitude, unlike the princess from the lake. He immediately respects this, canting his muzzle downwards in a gentle nod to her suggestion. The scent of the border is cloaked over her pelt; unlike the princess, this land is her claim, and he will not fight her for it. Instead, Llewellyn shakes his head in the negative, eyes cast back in the direction he'd came.

"I don't know, madame," he responds absently, a sigh escaping his lips. "This is not home--these places are unfamiliar to me. Do you have any suggestions?" he adds, one ear tilted toward her in curiosity. "I could use them now, if you do." There was a note of good humor in his voice that wasn't there before. Clearly he was just a wayfaring traveler, not a berserker intent on ravaging her lands and killing her friends.