The Sentinels a winged victory for the sullen

There was an air of expectation about the brutal warhound. When the stranger seemed to take notice and react without sound, Ford narrowed his brows and searched the features of the golden figure for a way to understand. It was not until the other lifted his gaze upward and latched his argent sights with the titan's that he realized his companion was a mute of sorts. While that might have been difficult to some, the Mayfair-Cairn felt a breath of relief slip through his muzzle. A ghostly smile curled the edges of his lips upward as he returned his mismatched gaze to the other wolf and held them intently. It would have been a great deal more challenging if he had not bolstered his skill in reading others. Instead, it felt as though it was a way for him to test himself.

“I'm Ford, and I'm assuming you can't offer your own name to me,” the savage creature offered him with a careful dipping of his muzzle. Though stern in his features, there was a kindness to his posture; his tail wavered to allow the other a sense of peace. “Would you be at all offended if I were to give you one?” Surely, it would not have been anything like the name that had been given to the golden boy at birth, but the warhound felt as though he needed to address his silent companion somehow.