Shadowwyn Moor o, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you

She wheels around to stare and gods be damned, it is an ugly sight that greets her. Poor man. Life has not been kind to this one, Megara sees. The Melonii steps toward him, carefully masking her pity in favor of something more like a greeting. She is wary, too. Nobody that looks like this is without trouble; it hangs around him, a veritable aura of calamity.

What are you doing with those herbs, boy? she asks, her voice heavily accented (she has spoken naught but Daedric for such a long time). She is merely curious, not demanding. While other wolves had taken the path of plants and spells, she had been more interested in espionage; she knows no more than the basics of botany. She wonders if he can teach her a thing or two.