"To run from a wolf, is to become it's prey." She answers softly, in a voice that is both dark and sweet. From the line of the trees she steps, into moonlight, moonlight that silvers the skin and glints in the hair.
There's a faint motion as she steps out, a flash of blue eyes in warning, followed by the flash of silvered throat. Not submission, but a subtle sign that she is not threatening, currently, nor is she offering a challenge. Wolves are not so different than her balehound companions had been, afterall.