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Punishing Driftwood brought Moorhen no pleasure, either. Not only did her gums hurt after the glancing blow, but the surprise in his face and defeated curve of her body had her heart twinging uneasily. As soon as he showed the proper deference, her temper cooled, and she laved a rough, apologetic kiss over what would surely soon be a bruise.

Her eyes flashed up to the strange as he crept forward, and she moved to stand protectively over her packmate just in case this deference was a ruse. As much as Driftwood had offended her, she was still quite protective over the male. And as much as Driftwood was confused by her actions, she was confused by his. Didn't he know it was her job to do the protecting? And yet, she found herself strangely flattered by his worry and possessiveness over her - hadn't she wanted just that from Szymon? Part of her wanted to give in to those desires, and to let herself be fussed over and protected. But her nature would not allow for her subordinates to place themselves over her in this way, and Moorhen supposed it was just another sign pointing to the truth: those days, that kind of security... it was lost to her.

But it was not lost to Driftwood. She flashed her teeth at the stranger, not warning him away, but that she would tolerate no funny business. Her body language, however, was already shifting to reflect the other's friendliness. Her tail, still set in a high arc behind her, began to flutter encouragingly. She altered her stance slightly so that she was standing between them instead of directly over her packmate, and began a rough examination of the other wolf, her strong figure eventually pressing his belly to the ground as she stood straddling him, poking her nose rather rudely at the base of his tail. Satisfied with his compliance, Moorhen retreated a step or two from them both, so that they stood in a roughly equilateral triangle. Nice to each other, she insisted, narrowing her eyes at them both. But then, she gave another wag of her tail and introduced, Moorhen. Driftwood. From Undersea, islann. Each proper noun was pointed out in turn. Naame? she asked the stranger.