She regards this bit of charity with a blink. Uncomfortable around a wolf— or a wolf-hound, whatever that is? Hardly. Why would anyone ever think that, in the first place? It isn't as if such a person would be a Wild, given to predation, and even if he were, she's hardly helpless. Quintet busies herself with adjusting the fit of the scarf, to hide her confusion.

Not for the first time today, not even for the first time in this conversation, Quintet is struck by how alien this place is. Society might persist here, in some form, but it'd be stupid just to assume things ought to be the way they usually were at home.

"I see," It's still a highly civilized attitude, anyways. No need for laws if we are all right-thinking, and therefore no need for a rationale to enforce pro-social limitations. It isn't what the history lessons she was taught say, but that doesn't make it wrong, just because there weren't any Tigers in this story, "Right, so—"

She tenses herself, a clear indication and makes the leap to Lark's shoulder as lightly as a bird. Her claws do not dig in on the landing; instead she finds her balance with careful placement of paw and weight. She isn't a large cat, after all, but any weight is heavy when you aren't expecting it.

"...So," she continues, once she's settled a little, "You're living in this Temba place? What kind of community is it?"