Lion Head Mesa [m] forever in debt to your priceless advice

Another thing Zaahira has learned: not all who walk Akashingo's halls are wolves. A man has approached her with a cool greeting, and admittedly, she does a double take when she sees him. Tall, very tall; slender, almost as if he were made of silk. Woven neatly from a spider's webbing with eyes that pierce her skin. 
With a tilt of her head and coy inflection, she asks: What are you?, and perhaps it would have been rude if not for the innocence behind it. Circling back towards him, she lowers her gait, pressing close with a nose that brushes up the side of his neck. He smells not of a wolf, though he almost resembles one. Perhaps a far-away species? You... wolf?