Sun Mote Copse I could lie and say it isn't personal

Wren, she replies, a little wrinkle to her nose. Aquilanera, if last names mean anything to yah. She mirrors the smile with something of her own; less clumsy than her previous attempt, more genuine. A canine tooth pokes out from under her upper lip, pearly and not yet yellowed with age. Your parents must'a had a knack for names. S'pretty. Mine just picked a goddamn bird. 
She visibly relaxes to a degree, though her weight shifts from one side to the other, a nervous expulsion of energy. She takes note of the rigidity Etephyr shows, the nerves that hung in the air around them, and takes a few steps back. A difference in social customs and values was growing ever apparent, and if Wren was to make her home here, she mustn't throw it away so quickly by pushing boundaries. 
So, she drawls, ears pressing to the sides of her skull. if you're not from here, where do you come from, then?