Given the events of the last weeks, the last creatures Alvina wanted to find herself among were humans. As it were, however, Cenrda, be it in the heart of their domain, was also a kind of smelting pot. It was also the nearest place she knew of which had any type of healer available.

The she-wolf had notoriously been the type to keep moving. Relaxation, she believed, prompted a pervasive kind of slowness. It was easier to keep moving, rather than let such a thing take over. Unfortunately, when always moving, one’s body was under constant wear. The inclement weather of winter did little to help in that regard. Granted, it was only with her increasing age that such wear seemed to be catching up to her. A trip to the hot spring – that would’ve been feasible to treat most of her ailments. Aching joints, pain from old breaks, that sort of thing. The problem at the present was unique, different from those, however. What no warm, relieving waters could fix, and not even her own supernatural healing could manage, was a sickness of the lung.

She brought a handkerchief over her mouth as she coughed. At her side, the Were-hound leaned against her leg in support. Leave it to the pack elders to ultimately push her out of the mountains and into civilization – and to send her with a body guard. The Alpha was proud, and stubborn. Had it been left to her discretion, she might’ve tried riding it out longer. As her body rocked painfully against itself, however, she was reminded again exactly why that might’ve been a poor idea.

One of her hands finally found the railing as they stepped off of the crowded street and toward the establishment. Adjusting the shawl about her shoulders, her hand found the railing at the base of the small set of stairs. She wheezed a little as she pulled against it, shuffling up the steps. At the door, she paused to cough again before slipping inside. Should she have bothered to knock? Probably. But she was entirely used to a different way of going about things.

It was as she made her way in that the hound dutifully trotted along beside her. Seeking a place to sit, wheezing a little for the effort, she inadvertently bumped Samuel as she settled her weight into the last open chair – the one immediately at his side. “Sorry about that.” She breathed, glancing over to him even as the scarred part of her face seemed to stare at him. At the ground, the hound nosed his boot, sniffing suspiciously.

The man dismissed her apology with an easy nonchalance, something she didn't mind given her condition. It was much preferred, at least, compared to others she'd encountered before. The rude ones, the young and the uppity - those were the worst. They harbored little respect for anyone, let alone strangers or their elders.

Blinking she watched from the corner of her eye as his attention flickered to, then darted away from her face. That reaction was one that was more typical, not necessarily appreciated but certainly to be expected. Her features smoothed as her eyes dropped to the hound at her feet, eyes a little distant as she regarded the dog. Inwardly, he was murmuring something about the man smelling of salt-water and fish.

Rousing her from such commentary before she could smile at it, the man's voice sounded softly at her side. Considering, her gaze flicked between the dog and the man. A small smirk slowly twisted the corner of her mouth. "A pat?" She murmured softly.

At once came the voice of protest, private but audible in her mind as if Alfmann was sitting at her side in his human body. 'Alvina do I have to?'

'It is part of the guise...'

'I'd sooner nip his fingers.' He huffed a sigh, nosing his way up the man’s pant leg.

'In this setting, I hardly doubt he means ill by it.' She responded mildly, as she dipped her chin. “Alfmann is his name. Feel free.” No less than as soon as the words slipped from her did another wracking cough shake her frame.

She hated it. The cost to her pride, to knowing her own mortality and being unable to do a thing for it, pained the she-wolf. Blotting her mouth with the cloth, she squeezed the fiber resentfully as she allowed her hands to fall neatly on her lap. The hound, meanwhile, shifted to rest his chin on her knee - practically retreating following the 'patting incident'. It was with that same intelligent quality that Sammy had noticed that he regarded her, before one of her fingers twitched to press against his nose.

The sound of Sammy's sneeze very nearly boomed for the sensitivity of her hearing, causing both she and the hound to shift abruptly as his fit shifted to coughing. His introduction was nearly missed, as her hand reached to tentatively pat his shoulder in a gesture that could only be described as motherly. That, and she was entirely used to such contact in the solitude of their mountainous home. Realizing the gesture might not have been the most appropriate, she dropped her hand upon the conclusion of his fit. "Alvina." She supplied her introduction lightly, tentatively, as he stared off. A moment more, and she produced a neatly folded cloth from the pocket of her shawl - an offering, held loosely between two fingers. "I haven't used it, but it sounds like you could. I'd venture to say you sound worse off than me." Her tone, with extended speech, came with a raspy, breathy kind of sound.

She might've snorted at his uttered compliment, were she not certain it would cause her a fit of sneezing or coughing. Whatever he was, human or otherwise, the politeness was not unappreciated. But, the extent to her familiarity with such terms, 'lovely' was laughable. That wasn't the first descriptive which came to mind when she considered herself, at least. Her fingers absently dropped to the hound's snout, not scratching or petting, but lingering in a touch. The beast, almost in response, exhaled a sigh.

It was when he uttered his gratitude that her attention was drawn back to him, prompting a fleeting arc of her brow. Over three-hundred years she had lived; she'd heard accents, traveled a little. That cause her the curiosity to wonder if he might've not been as human as he seemed. And yet, his words were short, and she was sick. Alvina didn't doubt herself necessarily, but pondered.

No mind, not in this setting at least. She realized she'd been scrutinizing him when his eyes flicked back to her own another time. Blinking, dropping her brown eyes to the hound again, she responded. "Only as long as it takes to see this healer. I'm not the sort that cares for such... population. And you?"