Bonesplinter Ravine poetry is a way of taking life by the throat

To the stranger's kind greeting, Niamh nods, an abrupt but friendly gesture as she nears him. "Heya there," She greeted in return, her tone fairly informal, a bit unusual for her but given the fact they're on neutral territory, she didn't feel terribly pressed to be too business-like. This guy didn't look as though he was going to give her trouble, so she saw no reason to be anything but neutral, with a hint of friendliness. She'd definitely turned a page over the last few months, as she would likely have been more defensive and suspicious of him had she met him mere months ago. 

"I'm Niamh, Gamma of the Redhawks," She said, figuring an introduction was in order. With the introduction of her pack she gestured in the direction of her homeland, both to inform him and perhaps to warn him as well, though she kept any trace of malignant tone out of her voice. "You belong anywhere?" She asked, though she was fairly certain he didn't exactly have a pack.