There's no avoiding the way that the dream echoes with the sense of loneliness; it's an intense, painful thing, but wonderful in how mournful it is - it's a beautiful thing that echoes around the ruins, almost as if it alone was a mist. It burns in the back of the eyes, emotion that prickles and slams into the side of the mind, but then it fades; it's as if the creature is gaining control of itself, pushing the pain and sadness to one side, urging things to slip away, trying to get the visitor to focus on the ruins themselves over the shifting feeling of hurt and sadness.

There's some obvious surprise when she turns to face him, walking over, and the wolf hesitates for a moment, moving from one set of paws to another. It's obvious that the wolf is more interested in her interest, and they shift and moves backwards, almost as if they're going to shun the kindness - as if it makes them uncomfortable. It's as if it wants to back away, as if it wants to disappear, but they're the one that guided Adalia here -- so they wait.

Leaning down, it rests its head on the ground, tilting to one side. Clearly, it won't attack, but it makes no movement to get closer either, no movement to embrace the kindness that's being offered.

It just waits. It watches. It's judging.