[set during Beltane]

There's a festival afoot. All are invited, it seems. The borders open. A perfect chance to slip in and gain some intelligence. She can't do fucking much about conquering this.... not-pack (the borders aren't quite secure, what weakness this is!), not without an army, but she can get her bearings. And she can do so without seeming like she's a lost kitten. She won't settle for being a newcomer, after all.

She slips among the conversation, finding her target: a slender boy, his silver fur looking quite dashing. She could possibly fold this one in half, she's certain. He's tall. Probably not good breeding stock, but good for her; she does like her pretty boys. Her lips part in a soft grin. "Well well well. All alone without a dance partner?"