There had been vain hope he’d be left alone by the unknown, granted a moment of peace in this strange realm after the floral witch had not shown her face. And yet the steady beat of a creature’s steps reached his ears. A heavy sway to it as all no doubt adorning a monstrous hide creaked beneath its own weight. Different than the slinking presence he’d slowly grown accustomed to but whoever this was… it wasn’t her. They bore the mark of a stranger and that alone was enough to put the grounded bird on edge. Attentions quick to flash toward the towering equine when they broke the clearing, a creature who seemed to bear a sinister stare all its own.

Breath snorting as the one perched atop the beast’s back bid them to halt. Focus flickering toward the unknown once those lips had parted. Exclamation met with his own, “Gethrisj mojka draushum maulk.” Instinct bidding hissed breath to rise, to go on the defensive when confronted by one so unfamiliar. Those features faded, unable to be grasped behind the haze that had so quickly consumed his mind against the draconic. Even still, she was somewhat recognizable… but still a face without a name, a soul that could not be trusted.

Figure tensing as those boots hit the ground, hand darting away from bandages to seize the hilt of a silver dagger. Though not yet loosed from its sheath for it seemed one would come no closer. Content to offer what - to he - appeared as false warmth, a smile uncertain in how it etched across her lips. Expression far from the twisted grins he’d grown familiar with in the clan but not one he could accept as wholly friendly.

Leslie hardly noticed the way breath had hitched, stalled in his throat as he stared toward the unknown. Breath falling in shaken exhale upon the sole question asked of him. One which held an obvious answer to any who beheld what had transpired and the crow was sure she did not truly need lyrical confirmation to sway her judgment. Though she would not be kept to silence, allow a moment for his mind to process all else she’d said. “Mahhn persvek ir inloil mi si ti?” Barely, but nothing had been lost. Everything still mostly sat in its proper place. To him, that counted even as pain radiated along each point of contact.

In time it would fade. It always had before, though never had it been the sear of flames to mar flesh. Fangs… fangs were familiar. At least they would heal the same as any other that already marked his hide but fire was different. Thought which bid fingers to coil ever tighter as if in silent assurance those charred digits still flexed. Motion which stirred another shallow hiss though with it came refusal to release the silent promise of a blade. Suspicion an unending plague within those rosen hues as gaze fixated upon her. A stare not faltering even as those words lay processed.

Worried she’d claimed. Perhaps it was simply in the nature of those who dwelt here to fret, to worry over those unknown. A far cry from those who’d raised him and yet this pity, their sympathy sparked distrust. A gnawing notion he was unable to escape from. “Kii xihood svern vi bveckoilt? Wux tir ti tangis vucot ve,” and perhaps she wouldn’t care to. Yet as he searched her face, hoping for some sign of her speaking true there came remembrance of how death’s envoy found little understanding behind a native tongue. Those of this land did not speak it, if they did he had not met them yet… a fact he was slowly grasping.

Unease settling throughout his very being. It limited communication, his own ability to grasp the tones which fell from another’s lips. There would always be bits and pieces. Portions learned over the years through infrequent encounters with those outside the clan’s ruins when steps dared to stray alone, when allowance was granted to wander alongside one’s betters. But here was different. This was not some temporary escape. Those once known lay far across the sea, however, the crow remained on edge. Fearful. Distrustful.

Breath huffed free as attentions dare not stray as if attempting to commit a face to memory, searching for phrase she might understand before tongues clicked behind their veil. Disjointed tone slipping free, a heavy accent twisting already broken phrase, “Am fine.” The lie obvious in the ways he shifted in place. Fingers hesitantly releasing their white knuckle grip upon a blade, a coat yanked back over the bindings of an arm to keep it from her view, “Why you care?” Query reflective of the very same he’d asked of death’s envoy, one he did not intend to follow into the dark embrace. “Hurt. Not dead,” and Leslie did not plan on meeting Nelithral again so soon. Even passing contact with the reaper was enough to last a lifetime. “Alive. Like you,” gesture made toward the unknown. Assumptions placed that she suffered little injury based on how she stood, how she allowed concern to bleed so freely toward another.