Duck Lake girl i don't play

Zephyr is supposed to be the one good at words and shit, since he did manage to charm he-who-must-not-be-named, and well, technically recruited Kratos, too, once upon a time to run with his ragtag group of two. Now that they are officially on the hunt, the red-and-black male expects his mate will likely do the heavy-lifting when it comes to conversations and swaying—Zephyr seems to know what he wants more than he does, at least.
So he follows along, easing back when they approach the stranger and giving an encouraging nod-gesture with his chin as the silver looks back at him. The stranger in question couldn’t be much older than them, around the same-ish age, the color of raven feathers and russet. An eyebrow arches upon the hound’s face.

hello here to just be useless & loom