Hideaway Strath salt, sweat, sugar on the asphalt

Thralled he was by her for moments longer, to drink in the curvature of her figure and the full height of her being. Of course he had seen other black wolves before and one might wonder why he did not look at himself in such a light when instead he disliked himself so. But it was she, of all wolf and nothing else, of pure black as his own self, matched by the shadows but also with eyes pale, bright, shining through the darkness as did the moon in the heavens. 

A small smile, sheepish at her words, but he is left uncertain as to what to say. He thought he might scurry away, unsure what he could say that might be worth the woman's time. I'm sorry, I... Nyra saves the day as it were, to break him transfixed on the newcomer and all the beauty she wore. Like a ghost come to bring the hellhound back to his post, Nyra comes to stand not far from Hemlocke's side. 

Fall does his ears come to his skull and he stretches his neck out to her, to touch his leathery nose her temple and huffs in silent greeting into her fur. Pulling away from the Harbinger, he turns a bloodied gaze back to the shadow. With Nyra's silent stare down, he scrambles to make things less tense for the newcomer. His deep voice clears as he finds the words to say... I'm Hemlocke. And so he falls short with introduction only.