His own abrupt splashing hides her coming for a few heartbeats but as he regains his stability and his composure he hears the distinct steps of someone else slogging through the bog. It is a little hard to pinpoint the direction in a place like this where sound seems to echo strangely in the air. Yet as he turns he sees her, brilliantly pale in the dim light. And for a moment he wonders if she is a fae spirit. Is she benevolent or mischief come to try and lead him astray? The occasional shaft of sunlight glints from the gilded markings that delicately brush the ivory coat and lend her a sort of other-worldliness. For a moment he is still and wary- he bears no iron anymore, to ward off such creatures. He keeps his right shoulder turned slightly towards her. It serves two purposes, both keeping her firmly away from his blind side and saving the sight of the worst scars. He has not worn them long enough to carry them like badges of honor or decorations of battle. Even now after long days of travel he can feel the fain ache in his chest and hind leg where the muscles are not quite conditioned as well as the rest of him.
It isn't her attempt at a smile that puts him slightly at ease but the words that fall from her mouth. They aren't the pretty words and riddles he would expect from the fae. He thinks, perhaps, she is an earthly creature. He wonders why someone gifted would wings would choose to slog through the swamp though. What he wouldn't give for such a quick way to get free. His voice is low, a little hesitant but not out of fear. Creatures of earth, even those blessed with wings, are threats he knows how to respond to. "I don't know if I'm lost, but I don't know where I am."
His nostrils flare, drawing in breath to try and discern her scent. One does not quite open so well, scar tissue distorting the symmetry of even this part of his face. The scars are well healed, faded to silver even though it has not left him quite the same. The rich scents of the swamp seem to drown out everything else, fogging the air as easily as smoke might fog the eyes.
"I followed the creek back that way-" he turns his muzzle back over his shoulder then hesitates, dark eye uncertain as he studies the swamp he has traversed through. "I think. If you could show me the way out I would be glad to breathe clean air again." He steps down towards her, his expression briefly flicking towards displeasure as his hooves sink into the water and muck, driven by the weight of his body.
@Israfel
