When Lefty hears who she is, the wolf's eyes get wide. They quicken their work; they bind the spear into place faster, giving the straps a tug and holding the weight carefully in their claws. They're using the remaining moments to determine what to do: they have to apologize, and they know that much.
Once the spear is finished, Lefty sets it aside and stands up, their movement suddenly more aware, more... regal. No, not regal. Regal isn't right. It's more respectful, and Lefty approaches Kyanite, their head down, their posture crunching down into a low bow.
"My apologies, Princess Kyanite." Their tone is not ass-kissing; their respect for the title is not ingenuine. It is real, pulled from the core of them, a deeply ingrained respect for the chain of command. "I was unaware, forgive me." When they stand properly, they look at her, their ears pinned back and their tail low. Not overt belly-cringing submission, but an aware holding of the body that gets their station across. "I am Lefty Brennenburg. Your-- grandfather, I'm going to hazard a guess-- absorbed me as a slave of Armada, to serve until I prove myself."
"Speech"
