Redhawk Caldera I'd rather make it mine.

A friendly beast, this one. Or maybe he just wishes to act as such. Mou isn't the suspicious kind but he's learning to be — mostly he's nervous because of the stranger's size and his obvious good health, which doesn't match someone living on their own. He turns around so that he's facing the stranger and no longer keeping his back to him, his steps deliberate but spidery at the same time; quick, sharp. Mou could try sniffing for clues but doesn't want to get any closer than he must. There is something familiar about this stranger, which is probably the root of his apprehension. Nothing is familiar to Mou. The world chewed him up and spit him out and he doesn't know he's standing upon his birthright, let alone keeping company with someone loyal to a family that once meant everything to him.

Somewhere down below, the stranger says. No, not a stranger now. Cadwalader? An odd name.

He doesn't know why, but is compelled to lie. He shakes his head no, but opens his mouth and uses his ruined voice to sigh the first thing to come to his mind, Peregrine, he introduces. Behind the wolf he thinks he sees a shadow flutter. The October air chills him to the core but it brings a sense of relief with it, as if he's being commended by an unseen force for his quick thinking. The name feels too heavy in his mouth — but he senses it was placed there by Sithis, to keep him safe.