She regards the hand as it lifts. Moving out in a long step on her powerful legs. Clip, clip, clip. Each little step echoing, a foreleg curled as she takes stock of him, unsure whether to press forward or retreat. Has to get a measure of it, first.

Get a measure of him.

But with his lifted hand, she extends her head. Sniffing the air around his fingertips. Around his hand. Inhaling the warmth of his scent, ears pricked to his heart beat. Tasting him, hearing him so she might know him, at another time, before gently, she presses her nose into his hand. Nuzzling into the glove. Her black eyes watching him, filled with stars even there, glinting nebula.