Sleeping Dragon Burn wild

Her saliva clung to the wound, clotting the blood, and Wildfire gingerly put her foot back on the ground. She looked up again and caught sight of a large, tawny wolf moving toward her. She tensed instinctively, taking half a step backward, then stopped herself. This was a pack mate and there was nothing threatening about him, in spite of his size. As a matter of fact, he bowed his head to her in a clear sign of respect. Wildfire felt a little uneasy at this. She appreciated the gesture, of course, and she knew she had earned some measure of esteem with her involvement in the Heda's foiled war. But she had only been here a week or two, at most.

So she dipped her head to him, offering up her respect in equal measure, before her amber eyes rested softly on his face. "Are you Gavriel?" Wildfire guessed. She had seen him at the meeting—he had arrived with Thuringwethil, in fact—though he hadn't joined the group in the morning. Between these and other contextual clues, she was pretty sure she was correct in her assumption. If not, well, he would correct her and Wildfire would get another opportunity to roll her eyes at herself.