Frostfire Ridge she speaks a language

It was on his first patrol of Drageda’s borders that Toxochelys caught a familiar scent trailing away from the mountain’s base. Intensely curious, he followed at a lope. It was only as he drew closer that he realized why the familiarity had struck him so, and it was only then that he realized there was another scent along the same trail. The scent was sweet and earthy, just as Thuringwethil had said it would be. His hackles and tail rose threateningly as he made his approach. If Heda hadn’t mentioned anything, he might not have felt the pull to join forces with his packmate.

He boldly assumed that Gavriel would recognize him, but he felt no reason to be concerned. The sea wolf smelled of Drageda at this point, and he was certain that would be enough for the other tawny warrior if he had forgotten him. He arrived just as Gavriel pinned the slender Grotto wolf to the ground after a slur of sputtering words from the other. Entirely confident that the warrior had the situation under control, Toxochelys only pulled up beside the Gona and snapped his teeth within a hair’s distance of the reddish male’s head for good measure.