He is distracted from an especially useful mushroom when a voice calls out to him and he snaps around, a little surprised anyone talked to him at all. He is hardly a young wolf now and almost no one was left who knew him, not really anyway. The … young poof of a wolf that he saw, big paws and all, did not seem to mind that fact, though. She, he determines by voice, is less than graceful - but no less charming in how plain and blunt she speaks.

It is still startling enough that his eyebrows rise, tugging at the cheekbone black mark across his face horizontally. “And ‘hello’ to you too, child.” The term was spoken with no hint of belittling her and with every intention of trying to return some familiarity in kind with what was perhaps the best pet name he could come up with on the spot. “Hi there, I am Azariah, you look like a traveler, do you travel? Why don't you make a stop by Iromar?”

Quite suddenly his hopeful expression turns crestfallen, head lowering just a little as he goes to nearly turn away, only stopping when there is a compliment paid to his lineage’s markings. “As your mane is marked equally as splendid… but I must decline the invitation, no matter how kind. My lady Aithne does not rule, does not live, and a pretender sits upon her throne. I fled from Iromar; I am sorry to disappoint such a eager youth.” He feels badly about turning his back now, but he had a heavy heart and could not look the female in the eye.