Bramblepoint You can tremble, you can fear it

His inquiry was one she understood, and it looked as though she might not respond when she turned thoughtful. There had been another reason she had stopped, of course, other than the fact that his eyes had caught her off-guard when she had seen him. It was this one she shared: My friend was attacked some time ago by a pale-furred wolf. When I saw you, I wanted to be sure you weren't them, but his ink-kissed paws had confirmed he was no such wolf before his eyes had. Though she had smelled the scent of Towhee's pack, it wasn't him that she had scented—he had come from the opposite way, and with the wind out of her favor she couldn't be certain at this distance that he did run with them, yet.

She thought on his name. Gannet. She hadn't heard of it before, else she'd make the connection that he was definitively a Redhawk and a relative to Towhee. She didn't know a redhawk from a blacktailed hawk, after all; owls, hawks, crows, ravens... all she had was their common names in her repertoire. Gannet. It fit him. Hydra offered him a pretty grin and a tail-wave. So, I'm not disturbing you, then? A slight, playful headtilt punctuated the question.