Not spooking him, was, of course, open to interpretation. Nate spun at her words, and though he didn't flee or bite or growl, the sudden sharp stop of his breathing betrayed a tension regardless.

The accent thicker in his words was a mutiny, too, Well, y'see I was actually lookin' for a mysterious woman t'show up an' offer me some unsolicited prophecy. Heard this was the way t'do it... A laugh, and a smile. Still wary.

He hadn't had a single simple, Hello, my name's Barnufraud, how do you do?, since Mithwyth. But cryptic advice was still better than being ambushed, he reckoned. Or peed on.

As she came closer, his brow furrowed. There was something different about her. Older. An instinct in him knew it without the words to say why... And there was a soothing cadence in her approach, like they'd waltzed this all before, and would do so again — he'd only forgotten until now. Maybe he'd dreamed about her, once.

Grandfather's stories about wolves made them protectors. Guardians. His people loved waya dearly enough to name a clan for them. Seeing this one, Nate could believe it.

His head tilted, offering a polite flick of the ear in approximation to a hat-tip. But the spark of nervous humour had already lit a fuse to his tongue, and he teased a mite further, And here you are, right convenient like — Ma'am.

This was definitely a ma'am situation. Hopefully.