Honeyed Pasture king forever, ceasing never

At his query, she gave a firm nod. Wind-chasing was what Fen had called her tendancy to wander. There were stories that went along with it, but she wasn't sure she could recite them from memory. Besides, the male was moving closer, and Moorhen wasn't quite bothered by this, but she still couldn't help but stiffen slightly. The motion was tempered by a tentative sweep of her tail where it laid loosely against her hocks.

"Ya-reeel-lo," said Moorhen, testing the name out for herself. Then, warming to it, "Ja-rilo. Jaarilo." Her tail fluttered once more as she pronounced the name to her own satisfaction. It reminded her of Fen's tongue, a bit, and it was that couple with many other things that caused her to warm to the stranger. "I im Moorhen," she replied, emboldened by her proficient use of the common tongue. This was likely bolstered by the fact that he'd introduced himself without prompting, as she always had trouble remembering how to ask for people's names.

Moorhen took a few steps closer, nose twitching as she extended it toward him. "You do not know Hounds of Wind?" she asked, the cadence of her words spelling out the proper nouns for him. "It is story."