Onias moved in a peculiar way. Though he did not move as languidly as she, it was his fluid motion that caught her attention - he moved from one phase to another, effortlessly from commanding to sympathetic, from somebody who might've pursued dominance to somebody who pursued interest. Beltane's were not so fluid despite the grace in her stride; she jerked, swayed, erratic by nature despite the serenity in their meeting. Two sides of the same mirror; when she looked into him, she saw parts of herself and parts of another beast entirely.

She seemed to follow his movements; his head moved to the left and hers did too, he clicked his tongue and she inhaled in response, absorbing all that she could from the places he had been. But when he moved forward, she refrained. Instead, she merely stood a little taller, a little more domineering in her stance though her tail still swung low by her hocks and her head remained low and neutral. Yet, she felt no fear. Beltane had never been taught to fear the living, after all.

"Hmmm?" His question had piqued her interest, his own curiosity more than clear in his voice as the black of her lips broke into an amused grin. She lifted her head slowly, swaggered forward a stride. She reached out ever so slightly to inhale him once again; no, no, he was very different. The dead were hushed by his presence and yet there was always a voice about him, a slippery, rasping voice. "Who, who? Always asking who, never what." She laughed, swayed back a step and moved aside like a drunk woman might after a joke. "What are you?"