Herbalists' Cache every hour has its sound

He had surprised her.

Soltero observed as her head turned back to face him, watching as the shock fizzed in her expression before fading, pale features settling and eyes of a warm honey-brown flicking in his direction. She was rather pretty, he'd admit - coat washed in champagne and cream, with tall, elegant ears and a youthful visage; unlike his own angular profile. He averted the direction of his gaze (not out of cowardice, but to assure her he was no harm) and silver ears cupped forward to absorb the words she cast toward him. 

"Hello," He returned, though his voice was gruff and low, deep baritones rumbling from his throat. To her enquiry he hesitated, feeling an icy wind sweep through the stormy hues of the fur on his nape, before parting his blackened lips to give an answer he hoped would be satisfactory - "...I know a little. Not much."

"Is there something specific you need?"