The smell is first, then the rythmic thud of footfalls. Senna is alert, she snaps back into her old skin wound disregarded, ears falling in silver hair. Flared nostrils spit the hot breath from her throat. His question goes unanswered--instead, Senna watches. Her gaze falling over the unknown.
Plain. Simple. Many back home were not so humble. No horns or flashy colors, fur or wings or scales. It was odd to see someone far more like herself--but then again, she had been the oddity at home.
The silence between them was heavy as she let his question linger. An echo in the breeze, as it dance across their painted landscape.
"I am fine" her voice warns, stepping her cut leg back out of his vision. "Be on your way, stranger."
He smelled different. Not like the salt and cold of home. Could it be she washed ashore in some foreign place? The question goes unanswered, left to weigh heavy on her tongue. Senna would give nothing, for she knows how precious information can be.