If there was one thing the Stray could discern from these hunters, it was that they weren't from here, or in the least familiar with the legends, for nobody would have greeted them expecting spoken reciprocation if any word passed about the wolf with no bark.
The crisis on this side on this side of Skyrim must be more entertaining than the rumor that never ages, they thought with some amusement, though there was no indication of their mind in their expression when they tilted it towards the woodkin's rhetorical greeting. They passed their acknowledgement in a nod meaningless but polite in manner, and would have left it at that if it weren't for the tall stature of smoky fur that came into view soon after. For a moment, they had a wistful look, remembering the greylands of their origin. Their brow was swift to harden after listening to his blunt tongue, however, giving his tapping claw a bitter glance before reining their stare back to their own hands, leaving the elf to answer him. You have a voice, yet it would hurt you so much as to say 'please' to those who serve you?, they judged quietly while self-consciously burying the points of their own nails into the coinbag.
They were being unfair, they realized as their quiet scowl eased. They were only seeing the cover of a book, afterall, but there was something in their chest gnawing at them, demanding they size up the fellow hunter. Bowing their head, they fought internally to put muzzle on it, anything to keep it at bay — they were rather thankful when a third voice addressed them. The slight muffle on it beckoned their stare to the odd mask and the cloth beneath it concealing any facial features. They observed her for a good moment between the fangs of their wolf, slowly tilting their head as if it would satisfy their wonder any further.
They offered an owlish blink, resolving to gracelessly shrug in response—
"Ah, that one doesn't talk."
The interruption from the barkeep was their saving grace, and though they looked rather petulant at the comment, they couldn't help the twitch of a smile that recognized a friend. "Which, didn't we agree you would knock the counter for service? I'm not too busy you know — don't give me that look! You're no less important than those Cloaks" — she gestured with a grain of annoyance at the blues in the crowd behind them — "wasting the little space we have. Your usual, right?" They huffed with a playful indignation, but bowed their head in confirmation, smile stretching just enough to reveal the snaggle in it. The bartender hummed, and without missing a beat, turned a curious eye to the raven's beak. She took a weary breath, as if reality just came crashing back into her. "...Look, as far as anyone's concerned, that's why Dengeir has summoned you hunters here. Nobody knows the threat, we just know that there is one, and we need capable folk like you and Prey here to figure that out and put a stop to it. I'm sorry that there isn't much information beyond that", she lamented, wiping at the rim of glass in her hand for the sixth time since she started the explanation. With sympathy in her sigh, she offered, "Is there anything I can do for your stomach while you're here?"