Sleeping Dragon bone tongue

They gathered one by one, sometimes in pairs, either way they all came together in something of an orderly fashion. It was momentarily overwhelming to see so many faces, though there were a few in which she recognized. Portia being one of them, though Thuringwethil was a natural icon in her gaze as well. The others, well, they were mismatched and unfamiliar, and it left Mojave with a sensation that perhaps she spent far too much time outside of the grounds to be connected to them. The old crone she had spoken to was strangely absent, and her departure from the living world was not known to her.

When Thuringwethil began to speak, she felt her body flush with warmth at the mention of her name, but it passed as she realized she was only being lumped in with some of the other newer recruits to the pack. Her gaze wandered over them briefly, but they too, did not seem familiar to her. She wasn't even sure why she would think she'd recognize them—at best and as of late she had been something of a fringe participant anyway.

Lost still in the customs of a world that seemed still slightly out of her reach, she too missed the round of congratulations for the puppy that had earned... something. Hunter? Mojave still mustered a genuine smile and a hearty wag of her tail, because an achievement was still an achievement, even if she hadn't the faintest idea of just what on earth it was supposed to be.