Little Goat Mountain never stop looking up

the greeting is not what she expects, her hackles flare, briefly, before she forces out the tension from her shoulders. "my name is hela." she offers, stiffly, gimlet stare boring into the woman's green. she remains where she is, but sits, perched lightly so that she may spring forward again should the situation demand it. the question goes unanswered as she examines the woman, counting all the ways in that she is not cassiopeia. there are many. 

"are you looking at the stars?" comes her rebuttal, gaze returning to the stranger's. she may be poorly suited to interacting with strangers, but once she has found an interest, there is little to deter her from pursuing it—in this case, she is willing to put up with strangers for a time, should they be in possession of knowledge she might learn from.