"You don't really know me yet," a British-accented voice said smoothly, mildly. Deucalion tilted his head to the side and wore a small smile. He hadn't been looking for Grey, specifically. He'd only really been orientating himself in the strange place that smelled of barnyard and worse. He couldn't read the noticeboard but asking around had told him what he'd needed to know but not what he wanted to know. How was such a thing even possible? How could he be here when he was clearly needed there? When he caught the scene emanating from Grey, though, things made a little more sense. Despite the clear message of the dark glasses and the cane he turned to face Grey directly, zeroing in on the clear sound of her heartbeat.
He had to adjust. He had to start again. If this was life now there was no point wailing about it and Deucalion was nothing if not adaptable. He'd easily proven that to all comers and in no gentle terms. He couldn't see but, even as it had destroyed the man he was, it was no handicap. Not in any fight. "Your current mood suggests you're new here too. You must miss your pack." A safe question here, considering what she was. Perhaps it wasn't even entirely insincere.