Deepwood Weald ships on vigor

Pale gems of malachite flickered as he turned to spear her with a single orb of cobalt -- its twin clouded and foggy. Watching and waiting, she remained poised on the tips of her toes as if she'd become the dove she resembled and was ready to take wing should the snowfall behemoth move in a threatening manner. 

At last, the silence and tension alike break -- both seeming to size the other up and come to a silent agreement. 

"I greet you," Lótë lilted with a slow incline of her head and an owlish blink. She pattered a bit closer, unable to not feel slightly intimidated up close. The man was huge next to her bird-boned frame. 

"What do they call you?" the doe murmured inquisitively. Then, as if recalling to give her own introductions, "I am Lótë of clan Nuiruk."