 Sawyer is certainly something to look upon. The way his swarthy eyes blend in with the blackness of his coat is uncanny; at night she imagined he was a forest wraith. Such a figure would inspire stories of nighttime monsters. The idea made her almost want to grin for he certainly seemed the figure that Andras might approve of - not that she really cared much for approval. It would benefit her in her quest to move up in the ranks of Iromar so as not to be low on the totem pole but Aithne wasn't too worried about it. She would never let someone try and lord over her; she had fully expected Andras to refuse her entrance with her rather nonchalant attitude. But maybe he had been impressed with the way she had bristled at Malikye's murderous intent and gave back what was offered. Some of the wolves she had met, mainly the males, of Iromar had a tendency towards dominance. Their aggressive manner, especially when gazing at the white spots on her body, left her with a rude attitude and an equally aggressive response. Aithne is always wary of those around her yet she does not seek out violence without cause. There is no cause here with this foreign male except convincing him to come to Iromar. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, certainly. It is wise for Sawyer to keep an eye on her even if she is not the one that would just leap for the jugular. Not to mention he didn't seem to have some sort of ego complex and wasn't complimenting himself in the first few sentences he spoke. If only he knew how much of a difference that made. She makes no attempt to hide the way she surveys him, staring at his lean, somewhat starved figure. The wildness about him is arresting combined with the sophistication of his speech. She didn't bother asking for his food; she wasn't hungry and she wasn't about to starve the male any more than he already looked. That is if she expected him to give it to her and Aithne was not one to give up her own meal after living a life of so little previously. A friendly grin adorns her maw in response to his, her dark green eyes flashing with subdued mirth. "Well it looks as if you have not had much to feast upon lately. And you don't strike me as one to starve yourself purposefully, not that I could judge since we just met." Another flashing grin. "Your scent has yet to take on the smells of this land. Nor are you aligned with any pack. I am Aithne, from Iromar. And what can I call you, shadow?" The nickname sticks in her mind for he is as dark as a shadow and as thin as one, a double entrede that leaves a wicked gleam in her eyes. A I T H N E Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing; bow down to the mighty _______________________ |