Whitewater Gorge Searching for anything

It is an unfamiliar scent on the wind that first pulls the woman's attention from her task, though her pause is not one of surprise. Strangers in strange lands are to be expected, after all — and it has been some time since she's seen anything familiar to her. She glances up a bit reluctantly, leaving the tangled mess of burrs hanging from her shoulder by a few twisted hairs in favor of turning toward the dark figure hurrying in her direction. A frown tugs faintly at her features, ears twitching in indecision for a moment before she speaks. Hey, She calls softly, taking a few steps forward and hoping she doesn't startle the stranger. The last thing she needs is to be the reason some random idiot falls to their death. You shouldn't walk so close to the edge.
She halts when the distance between them is reasonable, taking note of the male's features before glancing down toward the rushing water below. It's a struggle to refrain from adding anything about the (very real!) possibility of traumatizing unsuspecting strangers with his death, but she manages it. She knows that if she starts, she won't be able to resist going into all of the other reasons falling off a cliff and dying is a terrible idea, and she's certain no one needs that. She doesn't really want to lecture the man; she just doesn't want to watch him go splat, either. Instead, she takes the opportunity to grasp the matted mess of burrs and fur still clinging to her shoulder and rip it free, wincing a little as she drops it. Sorry, She adds a little sheepishly, drawing her tongue over the stinging spot on her shoulder a few times.