Dragoncrest Cliffs don't carry nothing but the righteous and the holy

Blixen states their packs name, which doesn’t ring a bell, but Grayday does. She stares at him for a moment, knowing that she’d recognize someone with one eye. It doesn’t look all that fresh. Maybe one of the few packs the scouting party came across? “Thuringwethil. Commander of Drageda,” she introduces, “you may call me Heda.” Then she gives Blixen a chance to introduce herself too.

Most visits from other packs, in the way this pair has done it, are often hostile that it surprises her they’re open to visits and sharing with their young. She glances to Blixen briefly but returns back to Grayday. “Perhaps. When it is warmer,” is all she gives them. Growing up in a world where those around you wanted you dead doesn’t make it easy to trust, and their new problematic neighbors don’t make things any worse. But, maybe—once she figures out why she knows his name, at least.