She was magnetic—and the stallion, prey to her whims, fell in closer, drawn towards the scintillating shifts of her hips and the smile painted across her lips. As he came she let still her flirtatious movements, instead carrying the momentum of her friendliness into her gaze flickering across Oultik's fletched rump and unnerving eyes and wickedly curving horns. She ogled, she admired, with open regard (all with a faint sense of distaste in her thoughts, though it did not show on her face); and then her eyes, after a slow and luxurious crawl over his body, came to settle on the deep and blank blues of his scrutiny.

Red eyes, blue eyes, green eyes, amber eyes—she'd seen it all before. But never had she seen eyes without any pupils.

He spoke aloud to the cub scampering beneath him, words of fear and dishonor. Nymeria let her brows pinch together in a humbling portrait of pondering. She wondered if the stallion said such things for her benefit—if he sought to impress her with his speech's archaic and somewhat bland nature. It was only when she caught the dullness veiling the former acuity of his eyes and the faint, vexing twitch to his brow that she found herself deciphering his worry for his companion. (Perhaps this show was not meant for her after all. It seemed to be about the cub after all.)

Lilómiel, with a mocking chirp, circled down to perch upon Nymeria's shoulders.

The stallion lowered his head, sunlight flashing on his horns, lips shaping words she could not quite have the heart to intrude upon. Instead she waited, and annotated her previous thoughts.

At last the stallion turned to face her. Those with might should not scavenge, he told her—a polite albeit unexpected statement. It revealed more of him than, perhaps, he realized; or perhaps the statement was calculated, a veiled prod at her own nature. Nymeria's brows arched upwards thoughtfully (in a delicate manoeuvre of her own), a slightly wolfish smile hovering about her ashen lips. Once again she made adjustments to the shape of the man before her, but she did not offer him an explanation. Instead she waited, and for her patience she was rewarded with his name and title.

The wolf cleared her throat, swishing her tail across her flanks.  "I'm Nymeria, of the Hidden Falls," she declared, and she took a step closer to the stranger. Her eyes, ruby red and shrouded with the shadows cast by her long lashes, twinkled with mischievousness. "So, are you a scavenger or a hunter?"