Anrista stood at the door just looking at the larger male who had opened the door. He stood about a head and shoulders taller than herself, but it wasn't hard for many people be taller than her, she stood at five feet even, and had a slender, athletic frame that  she doesn't have to work to hard to keep. She looked mid-twenties, and usually that is what she told others, but she had told Darion her actual age when he interrogated her, but now she saw that they were all about her appeared age, so she wasn't going to tell any of them how old she really was.<br/><br/>She shook her head a little, pushing the thoughts of age out of her mind, even as she did so she took a tentative step back, her right hand shaking some, the weight of the bag making it less noticeable. Someone else stepped up to the door, asking who she was, even the one in front of her was asking who she was and how she found this place. Her heart started pounding loudly in her ears, and for a second she stammered not knowing how to respond.<br/><br/>In her mind she was chiding herself for her behavior, but fifty years of rejection does do some poor things to one's psyche, and she was ready to just turn tail and run. This wasn't a bar scene where she could hide in all the noise, and this wasn't an empty house that she could easily sneak into and take what she wanted. These were other werewolves, who could smell ones intentions and react and respond a lot faster then the normal human being could. Just as the thought of running came to mind, a familiar voice spoke up up from the back of the hallway, a voice she trusted for now, since he had given her the freedom to find her own way of introducing herself to the pack.<br/><br/>For a few seconds Anrista stopped and took a deep breath. '<span style="font-style: italic">Newest member to the pack</span>' rand in her mind, calming her. At least for now she would have a place to stay, get to know the others, and maybe call this house home. With the alpha's words ringing in her mind she stepped forward, offering a forced smile that shook at the corners of her mouth. She lifted her left hand up, her fingers didn't move much and she had a deep spherical scar in the middle of her hand. Anyone familiar with bullet wounds would recognize the scar for what it was, the scar of a bullet that had lodged itself in her hand and been removed very unpleasantly.<br/><br/>"I-Im... Anrista Blackmane," she offered to the other werewolves, though her eyes looked everywhere but at their faces.