Dragoncrest Cliffs these wings off the ground

He has spent a great deal of time alone lately. It is not unusual for him, but these days he is purposefully avoiding contact with others. He feels like an outcast; although this may be a dramatization sown from his most recent encounter with Thuringwethil.

Hux shakes out his coat, freeing it of the dried leaves that had latched onto his white fur while he slept. He decides to patrol, an activity occurring at the borders, far from the heart of the pack where he thinks the majority of Drageda locate themselves. Somewhere along his trek towards the territory outline, a soft noise mingles with the distant rush of the sea. He halts, ears twitching. The sound meshes well with the ocean's hiss, but it is softer, kinder, somehow. Finally he spots her, a young she-wolf whom he identifies as Portia's daughter, although this would have been his guess anyway. The freckles, faint as they were, gave that away.

Hei, he greets softly, wondering what she had been whispering about. How are you today?