Greatwater Lake the touch is cold

A strange word in a foreign tongue. Saarthal, lover of languages (and now, eternally too lazy to learn any more) had an urge to ask the stranger...but the urge faded as quickly as it came, sinking back into waterlogged depths of her mind. With a quick breath, she shifted her weight between her paws, a wry smile shadowing her lips at the stranger's searching gaze. Cynicism had long swallowed Saarthal's former youthful bashfulness. "Pretty," she offered instead, her smile lopsided, impish, almost coquettish but holding a certain world-weary quality in its lines. The stranger's eyes were indeed pretty though Saar, always a lover and never one to hold back compliments (even in current circumstances) had meant more than that. 
At the stranger's question - strangely probing in tone - Saar blinked, taken almost by surprise. Then, with an amused huff, gentle, perhaps teasing - "Who do you want me to be?" and then quietly, a pause, "I'm Saarthal. Pleasure to meet you, Opalia."