She smiles, though it is much harder to make her laugh. Harder, at least, than to tease his own parent’s lack of intuition about their son. It was apparently a gift among her kind to name only as the child would become -- it was nigh unheard of to misread the babe or portents of his or her birth. Especially a son? A living son? Shouldn’t the naming of such a precious commodity be treated with utmost concern for their futures?

Truly, a strange place is where she has wandered into. His pleasure in her pleasure was enough to make the last of her low-holding of head and tail vanish into neutrality, a friendly wag of her telling anyone caring to look that it was in fact increasing into friendliness.

She nods, shyly, at his comment on her state of being so far from home, but does not linger long enough to make him curious of what she had met on her journey. Instead, she asks him about the nature of the wolves here, the land, why there were so many without homes.

So, Moladion. Mole Add Eon. She mouths the word, looking down and leaving herself vulnerable to her companion for the first time. Then, with a snap, she is back to staring into his face, reading his every tick and hearing every vibration. Packs, yes. No War, yes. Wild folk, yes. No real cause for wandering sorts without a home or fealty. He shrugs and as he was seated and had invited her to join him, she designs to do so - though with first shaking what little water clung to her.

His description of his friend, of his search for legends and stories, of how he had stopped here on his way and found it fascinating enough to stay. She finds herself far less wordy, but her face says almost more than her lips need to. She stares at him with fascination, keen when he mentions dragons. "Ah! Yes! We too have dragons," she begins, eyes brightening, "I am named for them too, in some lore. A koi fish is supposed to be a baby of the great beasts yet to emerge into it’s final glory."