Stavanger Bay champions of the just

BIG EYES

The woman's approach draws her attention quickly, and she looks up in time to see the spike of hackles rising, the cold glitter of mismatched eyes set in a scarred, aging face. The eyes capture her focus for a moment, and her own go wide. In a rare moment of shock, she forgets to respond to the clear aggression; all she registers is the eyes, not the scars or the auburn fur, the differences in build and posture. She knows those eyes. You — But then she sees the rest, and her expression falls, betraying her own bitter disappointment for a half-beat despite the impossibility of what she'd half-hoped for a second. She wipes the emotion from her face quickly, feeling foolish, and throws herself into her duty. Welcome all, harm none; Valyri's motto, which she must make her own if she is to be the queen's champion. At least until the first flash of teeth.
My apologies, I — mistook you. Welcome t'Stavanger Bay, m'lady. Lookin' for somethin'? She's a little surprised at first by how steady her voice is, but she slips back into her confidence quickly, posture straightening a little as she takes in the rest of the stranger's appearance. Her wariness is clear, but for now she remains open, and as friendly as she can manage given the current circumstances. Her pride screams that she isn't meant for this, that she ought to skip the pleasantries and show the old lady the door, but she knows she must try for Valyri.