Moonspear oathkeeper

Atlas bends his fell crown at his mother's request. Hydra expects nothing less of her children.

When she nears, the boy observes with raptorial interest. There is no hitch in her step or scrawled pain on her face, in spite of multiple blemishes. She has been through much. And yet, she is alive. For such a waifish thing, Atlas' first impression of her is positive. He had his reserves before, thinking his family the only fountain of knowledge he needed. But none of his wears her marred hide quite as she does.

Hydra's words echo through his head. "—this wolf does not look to be a skilled fighter herself—though perhaps we will find that her own looks are deceiving." So what of her is weakness and what is duplicity?

Aurëwen speaks an odd language that she deciphers in the same breath. As much as he wants to assess her lilting statements, they were brought here to learn a separate subject. Right. One thing at a time.

To an unlearned eye such as himself, Atlas sees nothing worth reporting at first. Scars are not a weakness. The boy holds Aurëwen's gaze should she permit it.

My name is Atlas. He thinks he sounds strong—stronger than his apprehension of strangers. Meeting the pack has served to quell those fears. And weakness is, um, a fault. A fault that can be exploited. Some weaknesses you can see, some you can't. Gotta be careful. And to answer Hydra's earlier request:

Like, you're kind of small? Bigger wolves could, uh, take advantage of that.