Dragoncrest Cliffs -- take me to where the tides are churning

Eske is not too terribly far away when Cecil's howl summons her at the borders ( not Dio, she notes, who is just as capable of accepting wolves as she ) and she hurries with a thrum of adrenaline in her veins and a snarl rising in her throat. Her first thought is a trespasser despite that there hadn’t been any sort of necessary urgency in Cecil's tone and calms the rising itch for a fight as her pace slows as she nears the origin of his howl. His scent is upon the wind mingled with the scent of a splita. She draws herself up high: an elegance she had seen Gyda employ time and time again and her hackles smooth as she shrugs through thick underbrush and come across the midnight pair. She sniffs at the air again, thinking that their scents are too mingled for this to be their initial meeting and that anyway the woman hadn’t called. Black, leathery nostrils flared. That was odd. Why should Cecil call for leadership if this woman seeks to join? Her sea blue-green gaze is sharp as it moves from Cecil to the stranger, assessing unabashedly. She assess as both Fleimkepa and as Tactician. Of course, she appearances are deceiving ( for her own is quite deceptive; beauty barbed with wickedly sharp thorns ) but the Drakru gleams what she can …which isn’t much. Eske doesn’t speak yet, instead encouraging one of them to explain themselves with the non-verbal command in her sharp eyes. What is this about?