Sun Mote Copse Don't be shy, mortal man.

There was a tilt to his chin, lifting it slightly and she replied with a gesture of her own, tilting her face forward so that he would see the crease of wrinkles across the bridge of her muzzle. He introduced himself, and her eyes flickered for a moment as she blinked. His name didn't trigger a memory, at least, not until he spoke the name of his mother. Rosalyn. Suddenly, her lips pursed and the snarl wrinkles along her muzzle disappeared as she eyed the young man, seeking with her prying gaze and finding everything she looked for. In the hint of crimson of his pelt, he bore the deep maroon of his mother but along his nape, the flecks of saffron which caused something to stir deep within her chest. 

He was rude- and he offended her when he spoke so harshly about his father, though Niamh was inclined to allow him a pass as she suspected perhaps he didn't know that Ambrose was dead. Of course, she knew very little about the way Reyes and his siblings had been raised, though she could easily see the resemblance to his mother, in terms of pride and ferocity. She was quiet for a moment, considering whether she should simply pummel him into the ground in order to make an impression, or let him have a moment of peace. Part of her was inclined to shove him back into the small pond he'd been floundering in earlier, to establish herself as his superior- but she felt choked, for some reason. She felt something heavy in her throat, something that made her relax her shoulders slightly, though her gaze remained stern, unphased by the words he spoke about Ambrose. 

She was also perturbed, at least somewhat, that Rusalka had managed to worm its way back into her life somehow. In the wake of their uneasy truce, it seemed that the shore-dwelling pack had managed to make itself suspiciously familiar with her- both in saving her daughter, and revealing to her that she had more family than she'd expected. She heaved a dark sigh through clenched teeth. "Apparently," She said, when he asked what this all meant to her, "I'm your aunt. Niamh," She articulated, allowing him a moment to digest the fact that she was his sister's namesake. While she'd hoped to meet her brother's children, she'd pictured the situation much differently. She'd hoped that some part of her brother might leap from the grave, and tackle her to the ground, playfully. She'd pictured his blue eyes and kind face, but instead found herself staring at the male double of a woman who'd once tried to kill her. She wanted to feel softness, and she wanted to feel fondness- but all she could feel, at the moment, was denial and grief, spun into a pool of bitter disappointment.