Stavanger Bay the wrath of heaven

She goes still for a moment at the sound of another approaching, one ear tilting toward the sound, then finishes her work briskly. She's already lifting her head to inspect the stranger when he speaks, eyes guarded as they flit over his figure. A yearling, alone by his smell. 'Tis a gift for my queen, She answers after a moment, tail curling over lazily in a casual display of dominance. Traveler, eh? If you seek shelter here, you'll need t'bring a gift o' your own, see if Her Grace likes the look o' you. She lets her gaze sweep over him again, more slowly this time, and far less critical. He seems formidable enough; young, yet ripe with potential. A soldier in the making, perhaps. Might be she'll keep you, if it's a home y'want.