Moonspear confident

She draws closer than he would have dared to dream, the sweet musk of her scent tickling his nostrils as she falls in step beside him. Hydra is her name, like something from stories; not the lore of his family, but there were bards from far-off lands who spun tales with names like hers. Short and cutting, to the point. Yet it is delicately crafted, and her tongue glides along each syllable. It suits her perfectly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Hydra," he croons in his rough, burred baritone, a small smile gracing his muzzle. "My name is Llewellyn. As you might have guessed, I am new to your pack." He knows that she knows, but it seems short-sighted and incomplete not to offer an explanation as to his presence here. He will not divulge further details unless she asks for them; he is much more interested in learning about her then giving her a list of his tragedies.