Aisling (was that her name?) offered him a fine smile when she heard his query; it bubbled to a laugh on her lips when she considered it. Howl's ears tipped backwards in a motion which suggested uncertainty, his golden eyes trained intently on the fairy-woman. She answered in the negative, seemingly amused by the situation—but it was a valid question, no? The worried creases of his face relaxed into an expression of curiosity, although the suspicious ears still remained. Without being prompted, Aisling told him of her motives and machinations. As she spoke, the tension seemed to roll off Howl's body like droplets on duck's' wing—he knew for a fact that he was safe today, for he was sure the Faceless Witch was not able to concoct such an innocent story, nor magic such a lovely face. She introduced herself and her verdant friend once more, causing Howl's manner to soften. "Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners." The silver stag tilted his head downwards in an extravagant bow, careful not to cuff the duo with his multitude of horns. "Well met, Lady Aisling and little Sorcha," he said, watching the birdling with evident curiosity; he had never seen such a creature in his four years of living, and greatly relished the novelty.

   With a sheepish expression, Aisling confessed that she had been following him. A look of confusion—and then realization—glittered through his eyes. Howl remembered the little visions of white in the corners of his eyes, trailing him like some sort of benevolent phantom. He felt no ill will towards her however, as she seemed quite bashful in admitting her doings; it rather amused him that anyone would find any interest in his daily doings.  "Both," the stag admitted, the tuft of his tail flicking lightly as if underlining his statement. A shadow seemed to pass over his face for a moment, his eyes somber as if considering past ills—at that moment, the tail cuff felt ever so heavy. "I needed a little time to think," Howl said finally, glancing furtively at Aisling as if he had confessed to a crime. But like a spectre, the impression of sadness was gone, leaving no traces but an inquisitive expression; the faint light of a smile peeked between the dark clouds of his face. He remained thoughtful for a moment, watching the little mare with interest.  "If I may ask, what interest would a master of stealth have in a ghost like me?"