It was a fair assumption on Aedre's part, don't get him wrong - it just happened to be incorrect, as well. That was a street that went both ways, however, because while Garrett had heard that there were shapeshifters in the Korcari Wilds, he was clearly not familiar with the legend of Flemeth in its entirety. Having a knife at the back of his neck didn't exactly make for the best of company, but confusion was tempering that nasty hotheaded tendency of his, sheer bemusement enforcing his initial decision not to attack.
"My people take the form of wolves all the time," he noted, the slight knit of his brows almost audible in his voice. Certainly, the previous generation of his pack had almost to a man lost their connections to the Lady - but many of the children who had been of age, children like Garrett, had rediscovered it. "It was the shape I was born to."
Did her breath shudder and change, when the pressure on the back of his neck relented? She shifted and moved restlessly, and Garrett could smell the fear on her now even without the aid of his other form. Her questions, however, were met with more puzzlement and a slight tilt of his head, a very canine gesture. There was the overwhelming impression of pointed ears at half mast, ears he did not at the moment possess. "Is Flemeth some sort of true-man dwelling? Because I try to stay as far away from villages and towns as possible."