Frankly, for a couple of strange souls who had lived in different communities since they were young, Rhiannon–and thus, Hywel–never quite fit in. MoonClan seemed to be no different. She had easily slipped in, adapted for their religion wasn't all too different from the legends her mother spoke of, of druids and children of the fae, of moon gods and changelings. They all had different names, she supposed, but whether it was a moon god or the green man, it embodied something similar, no? To be completely honest, she believed in no god other than time himself anyway, but that was a different story, and a story she'd be keeping to herself in a strange land. She knew how to act–sit still, look pretty, don't ask too many questions, don't tell them too much about yourself. Her silver eyes darted left and right, the only indication that she felt uncomfortable was in the flicker of her gaze. 

She had gone so many moons with only Hywel as any sort of permanent company that being in a group felt uncomfortable, like an insect crawling on her fur. She wasn't quite sure how to act amongst strangers who all seemed familiar with one another; observing their ways was easy, but testing her own wit against theirs–and fitting in–seemed like it might just be a little more complicated. Rhiannon wasn't planning to stay here forever–she knew nothing was permanent–but for now, she had no plans forward. Her search for immortality had led to the clans, and she had time to bide.