A thin, grave voice turned the blood in her veins into an icy slush -- her graceful head snapping in the direction of the shadow. Her gaze cut through the night like the sharpest of glass towards the sound, a shadow that knew her name. Her ears fell back against her cascading pool of dark hair, her steps pausing her momentarily as she took stock of the situation. When she found what she sought, she gave a soft snort of annoyance -- mostly at herself for allowing her fears to manifest so publicly. That annoyance did not seem to quell the frantic pace that her heart had found, an unconscious fear announcing it's presence. Since her escape from the mistress, Freya had been on her guard just in case anyone from that portion of her life came looking. She was...in every sense of the word a runaway, and her life still did not belong to her especially outside the safety of Reichenbach's Denocte. Perhaps that was why she never left the stone walls, the only thing keeping her from being dragged back to a life of servitude and pleasure for others.
She recognized Lothaire, if only for his distinct appearance, because she had never spoken a word to him otherwise. He was the emissary to the Night Court, and if she remembered correctly had not been heard from in several months. One dark ear flicked forward, the femme tossing her head to adjust her looks and to take on the haughty persona that she wore like a mask in the court. "Lothaire." She called his name, feeling the power in her own voice begin to return. Naming him also quelled her fears, and she took another step towards him. She cast her eyes to Caligo's moonlight for a brief moment, unwilling to lose sight of him again. He was quite a stark figure in the night air, and she wondered briefly how she could have missed seeing him before now. "Have you finally decided to return? Those emissary duties of yours have kept you away for quite some time." She presumed, but did not know for sure. The Crows had kept quiet about this one too, and Freya was not interested enough in him to press for details. She did that often enough, preferring to keep her knowledge about the rag-tag group as limited as possible. She hardly fit in with them in the first place, and as she aged it was becoming more and more apparent that she had some sort of odd dependency on them despite the fact that she kept them at an arm's length.
The mare of ocean-kissed skin paused in her motion as she glanced over the strange creature deemed to be the emissary. "It's not polite to lurk in shadows." She chided, lifting her chin proudly. She wouldn't admit that he had frightened her, but she wasn't about to let him get away with being such a creep.
