Their stride is somewhat sharp, but March waddles alongside them, ferocious as always. Storm-Eye peeps and flutters above her, swinging down in his flight path to land in the space between Lefty's ears, which pulls a sideways smile from the blue-toned wolf. Their position was one that looked more demeaning than it was. Lefty had relative freedom, and all they needed to do was report back to the Armada, to Sirius.
What they hadn't expected was the immediate way their loyalties -- well, not only shifted, but stayed.
This was a place of reasonable demands, after all. Lefty had a quiet order in their mind, and focused on it while they walked, listening to the thunking drag of March's feet. It was the wolverine that made Lefty pause, eyes flicking down to their companion who bristled and sniffed the air and then charged forward, barreling out of the shadows towards Thorax, whose smell she certainly recognized. March slowed, lips curling up, and sniffed demandingly at the other woman.
Lefty drifted from the trees next. "March," she said, voice sharpening, "Settle down." Storm-Eye peeped again from his place between her ears. Lefty looked at Thorax, and there were many things they could have said, but they didn't know what to say, not really, and so they simply said -- "... a surprise." A quiet inhale. Deep. Contemplative. Old pressures rushed back to them, and their ears flicked back slightly. "Welcome to Boreas." What else could they say?
"Speech"
