Blackfeather Woods Her hands were all twisted, she was pointing at me

The first flicker of another - a pale form with the occasional flash of rust orange wings fanning from beneath long forelegs -  brings her hellfire gaze flickering upwards but it drops before it clashes with the wraith's remaining eye. 

Istoira remains silent for the moment - head bowed and gaze fixated upon the earth - as she silently ponders the displeasure etching across his features. 

It is Moonshadow's bouyant entrance that brings the hint of a smile to her features, vibrant gaze darting to the shadow briefly in spite of herself. 

"My lady," she greets softly, formal as ever but with an undercurrent of warmth. 

"My lord," she directs at the man half-hidden amongst the trees with a deep bow that bends her forelegs. 

"I have come seeking a place in your pack - granted you deem me an acceptable addition to your ranks." There's no sense in dallying, Istoira figures. Best to jump to the chase. 

Assuming that he would want to hear what skills she possessed, the firewood continued: "I can offer another set of fangs in the event of conflict and to pad your food stores. While unrecognized in these lands, I was a healer in others."