Dragoncrest Cliffs —i can't help but pull the earth around me,

Putrid blood taints the air. Her star spun coat stands on direful end with a coarse demand. Natjuk converges hurriedly. The sight boggles. An argent wolf daubed in blood, reeking of infection. His right leg is missing from the elbow down with bone peeking out of gnarled sinew. It is Rakk. Unmistakably that fool.

Wrath builds at the base of his skull, exploding down his vertebrae and coming to rest at the very tip of his tail which now arches over his back. He is the burning fury to Aure's frozen terror. The beginning of a growl starts in his chest and climbs the column of his throat, slipping free of his fanged jaws. It is a feat that he restrains himself. Trespassers must be abolished and enemies slain. Drageda abides by these laws and he is ever willing to enforce them.

Rakk. Rakk is a grating stimulus that rouses him to infuriated silence. A glimpse of the female's wintry coat prevents him from doing anything rash. Her too-wide stare illustrates her relationship with their maimed intruder.

A tense silence falls between the trio.