Dragoncrest Cliffs Siren song

Drusk lived by keeping away from settlements. The change which the fire-woman had brought about within him served as a sudden shift in his desires and it was a difficult thing to carry out, given his propensity of avoidance.
When a stranger did arrive to where he lurked, the man was reluctant to stick around. He felt the familiar pull of instinct to flee, to be away where it was safe, and he considered doing so — for maybe five seconds.
The stranger carried deep red tones to their fur, a dark mask that could've marked them as a sibling had Drusk not known better; they had questions textured with warnings. Drusk heard the low sounds in the man's throat and wanted to rebuke them, that nagging instinct to brandish his teeth almost too hard to ignore.
He had no words, only posture — because this stranger did not speak in the way of the mountain men, or the desert people, Drusk relied now upon what came naturally. He made himself small, which was irritating but necessary: his head lowering between shoulders, his tail low, going so far as to tuck it neatly against his haunches.
He remained standing, but kept his gaze properly averted.
All things saying, not a threat and do no harm and even, stay?