He steps forward, not towards her, but in a direction perpendicular to her. He can't read her expression, know that she doesn't trust him, but he knows he is not Of Her. The Astartes are Apart from the mortals, and he knows they do not look upon his kind with affection. He is a hero or a terror, and he doesn't care which one she chooses. But she must be a citizen of the Imperium, or at least aware of it? There's a possibility she's lying, but Azrael doesn't consider it. It's not important if she is or not.

"I thought I smelled blood." And then he lifts his paw from the snow.

Blood is left in the print.

"...My own." He doesn't know if he registers the pain. But it looks like a deep gash is in one of the pads. Now he senses it, dully, aware of it but not freaking out.

"Ah. Nothing to be concerned about." He puts the paw back down in the snow, where the cold should stem its bleeding. "I thought it was someone who needed help. It's nothing, then." His ears flick back and he stares off into space.

"I must have opened it in my dream."