Wheeling Gull Isle he hapalua ia o ka honua,

The dreadnought limped after Aiolos as he led the way further inland, seemingly satisfied with what they had managed to establish between them so far, finding that the movement tugged at his wound but otherwise was not so hindering. It was only the size of the gash that made it so cumbersome now, and Holo thanked whatever gods had watched over him that he had not drowned -- that his wounds had not been more life-threatening. He was still a bit slow and groggy, from whatever had caused him to wind up in the sea's grasp, from blood loss, from shock, the cold, or a combination of various elements, the drifter could not be sure. 

He followed behind his newfound leader, easily falling into the place of a subordinate -- truly, he didn't seem to fit the mold required of leadership and was content to allow his rusted savior to take charge. He dipped his pale head to the various others he was introduced to, offering them the same cheerfulness and submission he had so readily given to their overseer. And though he could not hear the new name that was gifted to him by the Yuelong wolves, he glanced to Aiolos as he was dubbed "Drifter" -- giving a small smile of gratitude and a few joyful wags of his short tail in return.