Sleeping Dragon set the controls for the heart of the sun

*sneaks in*

Warbone lifted his head as Thuringwethil's call caressed the mount. His muzzle dripped water, tongue swiping reflexively to catch what drops were left clinging. Though the call had not been addressed to him, the hunter felt nosy and entitled regardless, so he began following the sound in a surefooted plod. He trudged across the stream that had just sated his thirst, and his bellyfur became sodden as he splashed through. By the time he arrived, he was neither dry or first on the scene.

The damp male padded nearer to the trio of she-wolves, but hangs back because... what if they were talking about their periods? The copper wolf eyes them carefully, respect in the loose way he holds his posture, ready to be invited or dismissed. His aged-olive eyes scan across the tall frame of Thuringwethil first, then travels over her silver equal, the small and cunning Gyda. His tail flicks faintly, before his eyes fall on the one he has not yet met. She is black, swathes of white cradling her features, and haunt-green eyes in the middle of a dark and pointed face. He is interested, if only because she is the only female of this group old enough to conceive, which made her favorable, if nothing else.

But his gaze, after a blatant and dispassionate stare, returns to his only superiors, regarding each of them just as evenly.