Redtail Rise Vodka, baby

Warbone moved in the night, a creature not born for it, but flourishing nonetheless. He was a wolf who didn't seem to notice the passage of time; day was just as night was to him, and neither held a convenience or advantage in his opinion. The nocturnal were just as edible as the diurnal, and though he knew better than to try and hunt on the black and barren Redtail Rise, his body ranged in a mode that could mark him from afar as a dangerous predator.

The scents he crossed, however, were not that of prey, but of his own kind— and one scent in particular, that he thought he recognized, drew him in the direction of the howling he had previously been ignoring. He came upon an unfamiliar earthy she-wolf, and the other female— grey and long-legged— that had just come upon her as well, he recognized as only as the dying wolf that had caused a difference of opinion between himself and the Dragons. So she was not dead after all, and the fact that she was all the way out here was even more surprising. She did not smell very sick, so he approached them in mild caution.

"Evening," he rumbled to them both, deep and warm.