Moonspear Heal me, I'm heartsick.

It was natural for Talion to submit. From before he could remember, the Nereides had demanded a certain level of exaggerated respect from the brotherhood, but especially from him. He was a product of their High Priestess after all, intended to be their guardian and to serve them in any way they saw fit. A soldier to fight their wars was their initial plan, perhaps even to take his own father's place as Epivitoras when his time came to retire. He could never even be half the wolf Notturno was, though; ruined by the sirens, Talion was far too soft for their world.

Thankful when the larger male did not move to shove his raven-topped snout into the snow in a display of dominance, Talion allowed himself to slacken somewhat. He smiled, tail swishing with greater enthusiasm at his pallid hocks as he lifted his ears a little and blinked up at his tawny companion. "It's Talion," he answered softly, and canted his head slightly; "and yours is...?" In the flurry of excitement surrounding their hunt, it was no surprise that they'd missed out on one another's name.