they should call me icarus, flying this close to the sun

The Armada Warlord was skinning his latest catch by the near-constantly burning fire pit that sat in the center of the Tall Grass Plains. Finishing the last touches with his wicked feline-like claws when the call came for him at the border. He tilted his head, listening for a moment, before pulling himself to his paws with a grunt. He threw the hide over the tanning rack, and hung the meat to the side. He could finish dealing with them later.

Moving away from the warm fire, he fell into a ground-eating lope that brought him to the border, and the stranger that called to him from it. The Dire wolf looked to the sandy stranger, and inclined his head. “Welcome to the Armada pack lands - what brings you to my borders?” Straightforward and to the point. Subtle, the Warlord was not.

"Speech"