Sleeping Dragon a language that makes boats out of our bones

Sangilak watches him approach and stops short, head high and ears erect. She stood there, stationary, up until nearly the last minute; it was then she closed the distance entirely between them to sniff at the furs of the large male before her, noting the scars that were visible upon him. How they seemed to be a purposeful, neat mark rather than the messy deconstruction of skin earned within battle. That did not mean she doubted his ability, though she wondered about where those marks had come from for a brief moment. Her eyes lingered upon that point of him longer than anything else, though as his posture adjusted Sangilak's gaze was drawn to his face. 

The she-wolf flicked her ears, her posture holding but her plume waving in a manner that suggested she was at ease in his presence. The woman looked to the direction she had been moving in, and back to him, suggesting that he join her, even though he had covered the land already. It would never be said that she was negligent when doing her duties. She was dedicated, excessively so.