Raven's Watch we're terrified of what's around the corner

Warbone watched the scene of events in slow motion, his own inherent confusion about the fairer sex rooting him tensely to the spot. His expression— not so rigid after all— had morphed into genuine uncertainty, complete with broadened eyes and his stern unibrow arched in question. As she came to a standstill, seemingly back in control of her motor skills, he noticed the way she trembled, and his expression resumed a plated stoicism as his body language loosened.

He made no immediate move for or against her, but through some unbidden magnetism— the muscle memory of a pack mentality, he supposed— his body wished to draw nearer. Unwittingly, he took a single step towards her, ears lifting as she addressed him. Frowning, he considered returning the comment, but realized then that he was not in the mood for petty banter. The name Dragon settles uncomfortably on his shoulders, and he took a breath that heaved deep inside his chest. "I am Dragon no more," he said without great inflection. The scent was not old on him. Faded perhaps, from the terrain and nondescript waterways he had crossed, but not all gone; she was right to assume he still was. "Just Warbone will do," he hesitated on a breath, as if something just occurred to him, and then he said: "or Arkham, if you prefer." Curious.

He looked over her swaying body, but didn't comment on her wounds after his unabashed gaze returned to her sad and subdued face. "You should sit," he advised casually; and then to encourage her, he reclined slowly to his haunches and watched her plaintively.