Her father had always been a kind one, if not a bit indulgent to the daughter he had escaped with. It is perhaps why she is too soft, too weak in this world of war and plots and turmoils. It meant that she generally could not see the evil that others did, or when she did that she was scared to accept that there was not some mistake.

She calls out to a complete stranger because she is not apprised of packs that were full of monsters or wolves who would not treat her with kindness. There had been an accidental glimmer from Nymeria, but that was hardly her fault, right? She hadn’t been invited like her sister, only accepted after the fact. It should have been something to be leery of, that the same protections extended to her sister might not extend to herself, but alas. She is naive and trusting.

Besides, she had always heard that the mountains were too noble for their own good. Or at least for better or worse - she had heard it both ways. This wolf, she scents, was almost all mountain and deserved every bit of expectation of propriety as she had it in herself to presume. Her eyes look him over in the manner of someone wishing to be familiar more than someone wishing to take his measure, giving him ample explanation for the greeting from a stranger. She was not a fighter, not a single bone in her could have been in order to look at him, a hardened warrior, as she did. She is young too, but hardly too young to be beautiful - if just barely a little young to be enticing as yet.

He pauses with a paw lifted and she giggles in the way that some must pretend, that even court women had to learn to pretend for the illusion of innocence. She, however, is clearly not. Not pretending and entirely open of her heart. She giggles again at his miss-start. "Hello!" She returns to him, “I have not seen you around the mountain. I am Arthfael, Mercenary of Spirane.”

He seems utterly formal and there is only a flicker of dismay before the cheer returns and she is once again bright as her coat of many colors. She falls in beside him without a thought. "Are mercenaries hunters? I know my father is one, but he believes mercenaries to have… other jobs than hunting and retrieving food… or," she suddenly looks up as though appalled at herself, "have I been terribly rude, have I interrupted your lunch, sir?" There is true horror at herself for having interjected into a possible important duty or meal of some sort. "I am new to these mountains, I do not know proper custom," her tail droops a little, but there is hope in those clear white eyes as she looks up at him.