Moonspear no, we don't hide when it rains now

The strangely accented man — Njord — rustles a speech for the gathering crowd. Many names he did not know, and yet he felt the wash of somber hues all the same. The triad was in great need—!
And so he hears his name and gives a curt nod, padding to flank the tall shadow-woven fellow Alaric. Nostrils flared, tail slinking into a low flag, wispy figure moving along the brush in a low, quick stalk. His eyes follow the one weary with age; slower, fatter. Alaric seemed to have noticed her just as well.
Eagerly does he wait for their time to ambush.