A shadow stands behinde him. Not metaphorically speaking.

She had her ways of lingering around the edge of ones sight, turning into a feeling as if someone is constantly watching over your shoulder. And when you turn your head, still, the slight black shadow stays just out of your vision, your able to see just the smallest bit of shadow, but no more then that.

Ilea hadn't followed him here. She'd been here. He had not. He was a new commer, ventureing into the wooded area where she'd been. The roaring sound (if it roars mind you) of the retched bike with a motor on it had alerted her of his approach long before he'd come into veiw and she'd retreated to her shadowy form to watch.

Staying just outside of his vision wasn't something she was doing on purpose, she couldn't help it. She was so close to him she could smell him. And he smelled of human, that wicked smell of polution that come from the city, gas the his bike burned, and something else. Something inhuman.

Still, the shadow lingers at the corner of ones vision. Yet, as he speaks, the darkness seems to creep a little further into the line of vision, but then it retreats. It's like a sifting mist or something.

"Come. Let us speak as equals."

Equals huh? Well, this all too trusting, all too carefree soul can't possibly resist. The shadow slowly comes into the line of vision, entirly. There isn't much hesitation before it's entirly in front of him. It is, literally, a shadow. It hoovers a foot over the earth, and is, as most shadows are, black. It seems, unlike shadows, three dimensional, a cloud almost. And towards the center is a light shimmer, just hardly noticable, like a subtle gray-white sparkle.

No words. It just hoovers.

His keen eyes picked up the movement almost immediately, and the man waits as patiently and calmly as possible for the strange being to reveal itself. It, however, seems only inclined or able to manifest as a strange shadow. Very well. Whether this is its true form or not--he himself hides part of his, after all--Faolin thinks it would be polite to offer an act of faith. Nothing great, but enough. For this small gesture, he simply removes his concealing glasses and tucks them into his jacket pocket. His new friend will, at least, be able to see where he is looking. The Wolf studies the odd center of the shadow, his features softened by an expression of thoughtfulness, but his muscles remain tensed, ready to act. All this caution, this wariness, is far from the life he knows. Oh, Connell can look after himself just fine, but he isn't used to the constant guard it seems he must keep here. Perhaps the city will be more challenging than he thought. Or maybe his friend is one of a kind.

"What manner of being are you?" he asks levelly, not willing to show himself as either soft or confident. Merely open, and curious. He remembers, though, his lessons of respect for strangers. "If I may ask. Do you speak?" So he's not the most polished wolf around.

At his words, the shadow hovers lower, closer to the earth, it ripples, almost...sort of. Like a light breeze had just blow through a peice of silk. At his words, do you speak, the shadow's core, the light dazzel in the center of it's airy structure shimmers just slightly brighter, simmering with a slight consitancy, a pattern, like words. It shifts.

It shifts back away from him, as if he's a danger, or it's taking precautions, and then slowly shifts again. This time it's shifting it's shape, sliding from one round patch to a tall narrow one. A figure, like a shadow pupet, forms and then slowly, it seems to gain solidity. The tip at the ground first, toes, tanned skin, feet, legs. It's all tanned. A white skirt, thick, flowing and it falls mid-calf. A well shapped female body, a white, loose shirt that hangs lightly from a slim shoulder, swan neck. The face is pretty, human, dazzleing green eyes, like emralds. The hair is a thick mass that dominates the form. It's wild, not curly but wavy, and it falls past her waist. It's as white as her clothing, pure and uncolored.

She hasn't got shoes on, the clothing are more whispy then anything, like a nightgown opposed to clothing, thin and silk. One little silver chain is worn around her ankle. She watches him for a moment, Studying him.

"I do speak," she sounds foriegn, though the accent would be hard to place, "and I am a Blhar, a form of shadow." A soft smile. "What manner of being are you?" She already knows. Or she thinks she does.

A soft smile plays on the pale lips of the Blhar. She tips her head forward and to the side slightly, just barely, looking him over from these eyes, not from the core of a shadow. The smile had found it's way to her lips on his words, on his answer. She'd assumed before, but she knows now. And she can sense the tension.

"I understand," Her voice is soft, whisky almost, like wind. The accent still apparent, obviously belongs to a flowing language, not stuttery like english. That's her way of telling him she now knows what he is. That vaguness hadn't worked it's charm on her.

Another tip to her head and her smile fades, replaced by a small pucker of the lower lip, resulting in a slight pout, like a child blamed for doing something they did not do.

"I did not follow you. I was already here. Then you came and I hid." No secrets for her.

Odd... Faolin looks the shadow-woman over suspiciously. "Why would you hide from me? Have you no other powers than becoming a shadow?" He knows he is walking on more dangerous ground, but he feels he must establish himself now. Especially now that she might guess at his true nature. If he appears weak....well, the shadow will not be so hesitant about selling him out. His wolf side has as little faith in shadow-women as it does in men. Anything for 'money,' it says. "Do you have a name?" No use not being introduced.

And the tension she feels from his just about blows her over. How could anyone be so tense? So untrusting? Maybe someone whose been betrayed...or hasn't ever seen a Blhar, which was more then half the world since they were rare.

How could she fix this? If she was correct, then he was a were. What makes male animals happy, dominance. Already being shouter then he, she slouches back against the tree behind her, causeing her height to loose half a foot, her hands are folded behinde her back, palms against the tree trunck. She wasn't sure if this would work, but it was worth the try.

"I hid because I've never heard that sound you made." She'd only ventured into the city twice after all. Her emerald eyes were on the motorcycle now, annalysing it, what it was, what it looked like, what it smelt like. "Have I other powers? A few. Yes. I can feed off of anothers power," she added quickly so not to frighten him away. "But only in my other form and only when I need to."

Do you have a name?

Well of course she has a name. Didn't he, she thought. "Ilea. Sinister. You?"

"Faolin," she repeated slowly, getting a feel for the forign word on her tongue. She rolled the thought around in her mind as well, sevral times, trying to understand it's meaning. And she couldn't. He put his glasses on and she watched, wishing to touch them, to see what they were, what the purpose was. She'd seen other human's in the city wear them but had yet to touch them or see them up close...or discover the purpose.

Then he announced he was leaving. He'd coaxed her out of hiding and now he was leaving. Her lower lip puckered into a pout on her lip she took in a deep breath, then heavily let it out, nodding understandingly.

"Very well." She dug a bare foot under the tightly packed dirt, seemingly shifting through it like a shadow, a way that not mortal or shovel could do.

(Will do that)