Moonspear they treat me like a machine

Praimfaya paused to acknowledge him, then veered his way. He followed her movements with a curious stare, scrutinised her lithe frame for any sign that real harm might've come to her during her time away. Dacio, sure to always see her as his ward - despite now being Wanheda by right - knew that he would not hesitate to tear the limbs from any who intended to hurt her. Luckily she seemed well enough, so he welcomed her to rest as his side with an affectionate croon and lazy sway of his dark tail. He had not opposed Praimfaya's decision to leave those weeks before purely because he did not doubt her capability in succeeding.

"That is good news," the ashen warrior spoke of Crogeda's support, and pricked a rugged ear at his companion's report of her aunt. A curious thing to hear, but not something that surprised him. Forgiveness wasn't something that Drageda wolves had in common, but Praimfaya had shown him the way - taught him how. There were times that he worried that new ability would come back to bite him, and his thoughts turned briefly to his last encounter with Raleska.

Almost as soon as that memory flooded to the forefront of Dacio's mind, he cast it away. Shelved it to mull over in more private times, and instead listened with full attention on Wanheda. "It is healing slowly," he outstretched his injured forelimb, cast his eyes downward to examine the marred flesh of his elbow. It had knitted together well enough, mostly, before he'd ventured beyond Moonspear in search of the fairer sex. Now he could see where it'd been reopened, felt heat beneath the skin.

She made an unnecessary apology, one that he was intent to put a stop to immediately. Dacio reached out to "boop" his snout roughly against his young charge's silver ruff. "I'll have none of that," he told her, "you were right where you needed to be, as I was." Without him there to aid Hydra's brave son, he would surely have perished at the fangs of their enemy.