Even with the low light of his sphere, he'd been found. Well, it wasn't unimaginable - as any torch-brand or lantern in the swelling black of the oncoming night, his little ethereal sun-orb was easy to spot, however faint. Luckily, he'd heard the approaching footsteps, though only by virtue of the fact that he'd been listening - had his mind been elsewhere, no doubt, he would have been snuck up on completely. So when the voice, unfamiliar but friendly, spoke out of the shadows, he was not startled or shocked, and instead stopped, watching as the other meandered out of the forest's shade. From the look of him, a medicine-worker, as was made clear by the gaudy tunic he wore. True, herbalists could be fine supplements to the true and talented skills of mages - after all, a mage could knit bone and flesh, reshape and recolor skin, but curing illnesses were far more difficult. Wounds were simple, however devastating, but it took incredible finesse and power to magically cure unseen ailments. Which was were herbalists were useful, alongside proper medics. 

Also noted was the bow across the newcomer's back, and no doubt the hidden arrows in the pack he wore. So, a herb-healer and a bowman. By some people's regards, a bit of a cowardly choice, but then again, many of the same people called mages cowards, too. They usually retracted such unkind comments when it was a mage charged with saving their lives from the inevitable punctures, lacerations and cuts they received charging headfirst into battles. With that in mind, he made no comment on what he'd gleaned already from the man's appearance alone, and instead gave a slight, cordial smile, a sort of tight-lipped expression well-suited for encounters with strangers and those you hated but had to act as if you were indifferent to.

"Evening," he echoed, keeping his tone even and calm. "I am stocked enough, but thank you for your offer." As if to prove his point, he briefly held aside the humble travelling cloak he wore over his mages' robes, showing a full knapsack across his back. Turning to face the herbalist, he leaned slightly against his staff, watching more closely now, and choosing his words more carefully. "I am Telaris Whitestar, of the Southern Wilds Mages' School. No doubt you have heard of it." Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "And I suppose there is no point in holding a pretense of this meeting being by chance. You, as many others, are doubtlessly in hot pursuit of the transmogrified princess. As am I." Now he gave a more earnest smile, rubbing the short thicket of black hairs along his jaw and chin, stark against the pale and unmarred canvas of his face. "However, that is not to say we should not be allies. After all, there are many others on this same hunt as us. Plus I dare say you intended to proffer an alliance, seeing as how had you wanted to attack or rob me, you likely would not bother with such politeness as saying hello."

Truth be told, he was fine with gathering a few hapless fools to order around - a werewolf was a big creature and a handful of followers would help dismay her from attacking, or so he expected. It would also dismay the common bandits, highwaymen and scrounging ilk of that kind who would, no doubt, be preying on the many seekers as they sought fruitlessly for the princess. All in all, it would benefit him in the long run. And of course once the princess was secured, he could easily be rid of them, either through outright trickery or magical force. But for the moment they would be useful, so long as he could trust them to follow his commands, not flee in the face of danger, and not put a knife between his ribs.