Dragoncrest Cliffs tired of my turmoil.

Something primal had taken hold in the growing young man, and as the coyote was tossed from his grip and began to writhe on the ground, he paid little attention to the conversation at hand and instead set upon it again, his fangs sinking into the flesh of the helpless creature not with the reckless abandon of an untrained youth but with the pinpoint accuracy of a boy trained from his still-lingering childhood to be a warrior.  

He does not relinquish his hold upon the dying thing until he hears his name, and one of his short ears swivels as he licks his chops and pulls himself straight, taking a step towards the stranger as he scents the air between them.  She's wounded, but most of the superficials seem old and healed.  Never been allowed to take the reins before he looks nervously towards Vercingetorix before clearing his throat.  Much more, he confirms.  We are Drageda.  You did well with the coyote, but it doesn't look like the lone wolf life has treated you kindly.  What are your other skills?