Manhattan's joy is short lived. Knox watches, ancestor's blue eyes narrowing with concern, as the white wolf ceases in their play and returns to the shore and the side of the mare. Presumably a companion, then. The shifter is not surprised.

Knox senses his own companion's hurt, her faint sting of rejection, and calls her to him with a mental beckoning and a low, steady hum that she has long since learned is her command to heel. She was blind when Knox first taught her this: now, after almost four years together, she feels its vibrations in her chest each time as if it were the first and remembers the pain that caused such a call to be created. She is thankful for her master's dedication and his attention. Tonight--the retriever resolves as she answers him, gliding discreetly back to shore--she will catch him a meal. Perhaps then, she her master will break his fast.

Manhattan's disappointment at being so utterly left along in the water by the white wolf, who so quickly returned to shore, is palpable in Knox's breast. But as she arrives beside him he dips his grandsire's heavy features and nudges her kindly. The roman nose of Anaan, formed by battle, traces the line of her spine with care, parting the wet fur and gently inhaling the familiar warmth of her scent. It is good to have Manhattan. It is good to have her comfort.

Just as the hunter is thinking this, the mare breaks the silence. "Ah, see, Hatta? They just didn't know where you came from, that's all," Knox murmurs lowly to his companion, exhaling and stirring the dry patch of fur between her ears. Manhattan, eyes cast blankly forward and jaw idly dripping with jealous poison, snaps her gaze to the mare and the wolf and swallows just as her magic threatens to soil the water's purity. Her tongue reemerges, lolling pleasantly, perceiving the mention of her to be compliment.

Knox smiles the bright, warm smile of Anaan. There is a tired ache in his bones, the exhaustion of fire and war, but he musters up gentility with ease. "I think it's more fair to say that she is her own," the protector says smoothly, his deep tones blanketing the surface of the water and skipping their way over to the mare, "but yes, we are bonded."

At this, Manhattan moves closer to Anaan's scarred chest in the water, starting to swim as the pool deepens, and nudges her disguised master. The protector lowers his head obediently, and the retriever grabs a hold of one side of his neck with her claws, scrabbling up and pulling herself to rest across his back. The protector winces and casts the mare a smile over the reflections between them, taking pause as Manhattan makes tight circles on his spine before laying down. Her wet coat drips water down the roan's sides, and her tail slaps the thick stallion's flank with content. "And the wolf, he is your companion?" The question is offered with a tone of compliment and no recognition of Manhattan's behavior. It is something Knox has taught his ancestors to expect from the bonded retriever. "He is an impressive creature," Knox supplements through his ancestor's lips, "surely a strong one."

Neither the protector or the hunter make a move to stir through the gentle tide. They watch from their distance, feeling no need to close the gap and no need to widen it. Anaan's silken tail floats and scatters along the surface of the water at his back; his mane's black ends gather in wet bunches that stick to his neck and chest, creating an appearance of thin stripes rising from the black burns that he sports. His blue eyes are careful, delicate, reassuring. Neither he, Knox, nor Manhattan means harm to the pair they have encountered. Knox can only hope they understand that--that his attitude have more influence on his reception than his appearance.

[[@[Essetia]]]