It didn’t take long for someone to approach, a good sign he assumed that they did not leave their borders blatantly open to whomever saw fit to cross him. His emerald eyes narrow as she nears, her perfume heavy on the winter winds and hard to ignore. This time of year it was hard to deny the wiles of his body and the closeness of any female, but it wouldn’t do to make such a first impression and taking such things by force, ironically, was not his way. The black and red painted female is even more noticeable then himself as she travels the swampy landscape with an ease that meant she called this place home. He assumes this is the one who enlisted him until she speaks, naming the place to be the land he assumed but naming herself as someone other than the one who had called him. He huffs, the heavy breath forming a cloud of condensation before evaporating. “You aren’t the one who called me,” he says bluntly, ignoring the plaintive offer she had made to learn more about him and remaining rooted just outside of the packs marked borders. There was nothing more to know after all.

He wasn’t rude, per say, stubborn yes but he didn’t play games and dance around the point all that did was waste his breath. “I’ve come to see Aithne as she…requested,” the words rumble from his chest, the last word a bit clipped in his displeasure at the entire scenario. It is only then that a second scent reaches his nose, giving a twitch that his followed by his gaze. It takes a moment more to pinpoint her as she moves within the brush as if a part of it until she makes for them. His eyes rake over every inch of her from black paws to the red stripes running down her back. Judging. If only by her posture he would know this is who has called him, demanded his presence and is not the least bit apologetic for it. Now this he could appreciate.

His thick tail twitches once, flicking to the side as her voice reaches him, his black lips peeling back slightly at her comments weather in grimace or smirk no one could quite be sure. “I’m sure the land cares very little of my feelings for it,” he rumbles like thunder over the plains, “but perhaps you should know more of those you invite in to your home before you demand their presence. What do you know of me that you would stake such a claim upon me without even a name?” In all honesty the idea intrigues him, that something caught in a far off glance would entice him to her and perhaps it is his pride but he insists on knowing. “To most my name is not a pleasure, but it is Maverick if you must have it.” His words are clipped between his teeth as the fall thick like the mud beneath their feet, more due to his simple being than his displeasure.

Now he has evened the playing field, they each had a name and a face and little more to put with it. He would only allow his annoyance to extend so far, he was interested in this place and this woman who had seen fit to call him here but he didn’t have to clue them in on that just yet.