Blood on my Hands

The approach was swift and unrelenting. A large mass of black erupted from the shadows with a coiled power and grace. Her stout head was tall on muscled shoulders, a torn scar the only mar visible on sooty fur. The spider clung steadfast to calm, ears smoothing tighter against nape and fiery eyes adverting with a turn of muzzle. Brawn was not a forte, just yet, though there was capability beneath sinuous form. Never, even with rigid feeding regimes, would the Eta be as thick and stalwart as the native mountain wolves. 

The gruff female spoke, his name, and gaze slowly returned back to the carved face of the alpha. More scars blemished a wide muzzle, a bear-wolf just as her silver beta. She had dangerous ears, bits and flecks still missing from scraps it seemed, that remained preened and intent on the response of her company. The ripple of hostility had subsided. "I came to introduce myself," he said somewhat plainly. It wasn't much of a conversation opener befit of such a queen. 

"Do you mind company in your patrols?" There was a vague understanding of the solitude needed for maintaining the borders. From what could be gathered, thus far in life, many did not appreciate conversation while tending to their watch. Tall, sharply cut ears splayed atop head at the query.