She could not stop the feelings of sympathy so she chose to simply embrace them; where Natiya saw earned respected - or instilled, rather - Beltane saw only the general respect she held for her own kind. Many were fools, many were lost, but it did not mean they did not belong to themselves. Perhaps it is why she had never submitted fully to Blackthorne - and why she likely never would - because she could never imagine surrendering her autonomy and freedom to any wolf. It must have been what was left of Samhain within her. Their blood was dark and deep with wandering. What about Natiya's?
Beltane had become more patient in their short meeting; she stayed motionless until her body twitched without consent - an ear, a toe, a quiver in her shoulder. But she waited for Natiya, attempted to adjust herself to better suit the woman's needs. It was what Iromar needed. Iromar needed somebody who could bend and sway like the river or reeds. Beltane had come for the dead but sometimes the living needed attention too.
Her smile was sad and small again when Natiya denied singing for others; Beltane nodded though it was purely sympathetic, a move to feign understanding though she could taste the very lie that permeated around the other woman.