There came a long, lengthy pause which drew itself out for a few moments as the savage continued briefly - the fierce eyes shifting from their focus beyond to before him as a bold, lone woman approached. She issued a stern, albeit "polite" challenge to the man wreathed in the skin of the lioness in the way of her words. To a listener, nay even an observer, one could easily glean his reaction was certainly not insult, but absolute disregard for social protocol; it was the same sort of demeanor one would witness when a sense of customs clashed, with one party casting aside another's. He had, without doubt, quite literally walked himself into her home and carried with himself the authority as if he could care not at all about that fact.

"The Red" did not flinch as his growled voice issued an idle response, taking a step to the side; "You may ask."

His step wasn't spry - as if to avoid her, or dodge her - but it was authoritative in body language of a definite "no". It was... strange, in a way, that he communicated through expression and gesture rather than words alone. Even obscured under the fierce maw of a great huntress, his facial expression, attention and slightest of movements betrayed what social skills he clearly lacked; he was speaking another language altogether, and it spoke volumes to his true intentions before he even uttered them to Ashara.

"But I decline." 

It took no longer than another breath following for his eyes to recognize the violet stare analyzing him.

His demeanor changed as the two, man and gnome, exchanged looks - to which his brow narrowed and his attention grew intensely. Gazing at him in the eye evoked the same response of challenge as one could attempt with a tiger, and only mortal intellect and animal cunning held back the aggression in this scenario, but it definitely did not make any attempt to conceal it. It was then "The Red" looked upon Tirarian, with a tilt of his head lightly forward; weight shifting on his toes - a note a well seasoned fighter would pick up upon of an opponent who's suspecting a surprise attack - and his stance, as broad and defensive as it was, almost seemed to bristle with non-existent fur. This was not a... conventional style of martial art, as it read like instinctive reaction.

But the wilder man neither did spring, nor did he relax, instead lifting a steady finger toward the small woman in the oversized longcoat. His exposed muscles beneath the shoulder flexed lightly, revealing a few faint elder scars in the process.

"Her." He began before looking partially back to Ashara, yet not for a moment leaving the gnomish woman out of the corner of his glare, "I will speak to her."

With elongated mane-like hair hanging free in parts beneath the lion skin cloak, the same coloration as the aged, worn beast he wore, he made himself no more opportune to attacks the entire time. All of this appeared quite methodical, for a savage. Wildmen were not well known for their cunning - they were known for their violence and practicality, which his scarred hide and flesh alongside the worn scimitar certainly spoke to. But this man? He was certainly no mere barbarian, as he himself had dashes of animal qualities to him that were unnatural, be them his hair, jaws or even fingers which themselves were slightly pawed; thick, strong digits that menaced as though clawed.

There was no doubt he did not belong here, but there was even less doubt that he cared not for if he did or didn't.

[@The Fated Fallen][@IcePezz][@Dragoknighte]