Hideaway Strath in your crypt

Last for Locke!

 

Judgement. He was starting to feel far more unsettlingly as one of the woman made no attempt to hide it as she looked down on them. Well, maybe not literally, as the lot of them were surely taller then the majority of their own. But then the first woman, painted in grayscale hues began to shift her attention between each, calculating the situation. He tried to force a bashful smile her way. Maybe Hemlocke was just a paranoid wolf. Alas, he was. 

Now, if Nyra was tense, Hemlocke would feel it, being such the emotional, spiritual dog himself. Quietly, he would touch his leathery muzzle to Nyra's shoulder and nose at her affectionately before pulling away. Maybe a distraction she well needed. Hemlocke was no fighter, not that he didn't know how but preferred to not. She didn't need any help in that regard. But Hemlocke cared for much so those under his guard, where he cared little of himself.  

Donovan then would admit their lifestyle openly- a fighters group. A lot of rather dominant, stubborn, mean mother fuckers who liked to pick fights. Truth to be told, some enjoyed fighting, enjoyed the rush, the thrill, the adrenaline. Hemlocke, as pacifist as he was could understand not everyone was so delicate, polite, only tooth and claw when needed to be. Would Moonspear think them all to be evil savages because of this? 

Burgundy eyes then turn to Dirge. He was in agreement to the possibility. That, of anything, they may ne neutral in terms with the Moonspear wolves. An alliance would all be nice, but with how far north they were they wouldnt be able to provide one another immediate assistance. Then again, the group had moved in the first place to get some space. When Dirge dismissed his group, Hemlocke would pass a small dip of his muzzle to Keres, who had spoken to them first, a silent goodbye before then befalling his attention to his companions. If this were to be home they should get to it quick in making it so.