Altar of Twilight Forty thousand feet

 unlike her second-time companion recognition does not immediately flare within witchbaby, not until that friendly-brisk voice registers and her grin broadens. oh, ho, what a pleasant turn of events! cheered greatly, she focuses like a laserpoint on the girl, able to give her a proper look over without the blackness of shadow offering their shared secrecy. small, though still wolfy-bigger than she, and with the pretty green eyes. 

"i wander 'round," wb answers, a little cheeky, and takes a seat with tail curled around her toes. "the pack i was gonna be joinin' ended up fallin' apart, an' then i went back an' forth a coupla times, nothin' fancy." she still speaks in honeyed dramatised tones, but her days of sulking over kinkajuú have passed (even if the girl herself still features prominently in her thoughts -- alas), so she does not offer another bid of attention. instead she cocks her head, curious as can be, and asks, "how 'bout yourself?"