Fox's Glade dogma looks but never peers through the smog

the tirn draws back in poorly veiled surprise as the goliath speaks in the tongue, though it is gone just as rapidly as it appears. falquan hadn't expected to be understood but notably it will make this exchange much easier — and shorter, he can't help but wish out of the simple desire to remove himself from the presence of this perceived perturbing individual. falquan does not bother to correct the matted and filthy goliath. he wasn't speaking of a mate — though certainly his devotion to the particular heiress in question could easily, if not unintentionally, blur that line to any third party observer. the less personal details he gives about aurëwen, the better; and if the stranger thought he was looking for a MIA mate then falquan wasn't about to change that.

not a scavenger. a short pause is given. i'm looking for one of the wolves whose scent i smell here, he corrects himself with a terse twitch of his lips; a ghostly echo of what could be considered a smirk but remains tell-tale that he isn't oblivious to the fact that something bad had befallen the wolves here. not particularly a smirking matter. a woman, specifically.