He knows that his eyes are odd, but he did not expect the stares from the girl. It was not a bad thing, not really, but he always was slightly self-conscience. The faeries ensured that she did not linger in his eyes too long, and that their attentions were brought elsewhere. He found it interesting that she did not mind him referring to them as faeries, and was even more surprised that they lead her to the grotto often.

"The grotto? What are they doing bring a girl like you over there? You know, they only like to start trouble," he said teasingly, with a growing smirk upon his fascinatingly handsome features. He was a perfectly blended lupine of his bloodlines. He held the striking facial features of his father, argued to be improved upon, with the thick limbs and dark coat of his mother. Yet, he did not spend endless amounts of time on his appearance or coat. In fact, it was rather messy, and not very 'Angel like' as his father would want him to think. But it was a thing that did not matter to him. His eyes and head lifted as she said his name was fitting. Fitting, and yet his name was a constant reminder of fate.

"It may seem...fitting, but it is the name of a friend of my mother's who died when the star hit Moladion before either of us were born," he said, lifting a brow implying her youth. She was not one of the old wolves who are slowly dying out, during a time of turmoil that will soon become but a distance memory in the form of stories and tales.

He is surprised at her interest though, that she was interested in the heritage of his marked by stars instead of the red of blood- the Angels. He was known as a dark angel, one that was not pelted in white, but few inquired about the line derived from his mother. His mother's line was the one that took over his life the most. He was a Dream Walker, and his fate was destined. Few knew or understood the constant experience of living- or so it seemed- for his dreams were always vivid and lucid. They had a life of their own, and no others here knew about it. Apparently, it was not odd in the homeland of his mother.

"She does not come from here, not any place in Moladion, but far beyond...well, not too far. She will not tell me the name of the place," he said without expanding further. It was always a touchy subject with his mother. He knew her past and how she came to Moladion. He knew there was always a faint whisper of a threat that her father sent wolves after her- but after so many years, he felt it silly that the concern was even there for her at all anymore.

Yet he was never overly comfortable talking about himself for an extended period of time, and was glad to know a little more about her instead. Her voice breaks into a giggle and his ears perch forward, not hearing such a sound in his solitude often. She explains herself and her reasoning, and it all made too much sense to him. Others did not speak or perceive as she did, not often. He gives a nod in return, no judgement reflected in his eyes, but perhaps a bit of blooming wisdom as age slowly crawls up on him.

"It is only odd if you want it to be, or if you allow another's opinion of you define you," he mused. "Tell me, do you ever dream of becoming them? Imagine what their life is like? Without eyes, without lungs, with senses that perhaps, we do not have?" he asks with a tilt of his head. He did not know if she would appreciate his question, or even decide to participate. Perhaps he was too odd even for her, but perhaps not. Not many wanted to explore the life essence of a flower, but maybe, just maybe, Namira would.