Witch's Marsh ach, ich bin des Treibens müde!

Silence follows. Not uncomfortably so. The stranger feeds the cawing bird so it may leave peacefully with a parting gift, something Evanora took note of. The beasts of the marsh were her family, though she used them in rituals all the time, they were to be treated with respect until their time of use came. 

The firm-set silent type. She muses the fact for now until proven otherwise. At least the other can hear her, judging by the way she acts. With bold strides, she approaches the wolf, unafraid, though perhaps she should be. With the mask on she could not sniff them out, but at least she could get a better look at them.

Cocking her head from one side to the next, she studied the equally dark creature. I hate thy kind, yet thou, thou seem divers wolf. Doth here not sicken thou? doth thou not hate me? Her gaze sharpens as she continues to study every movement the creature did. Every change in facial ticks that might give their true intentions away.