A friendly coo sings in the air as violet eyes fall upon a pale white figure - Ophelia. Comadre instantly takes to the skies, darting forward on leathery wings toward the mare, a toothy grin stretching nearly ear to ear. "Oooooofffeee," the dragon sings, flying toward the familiar unicorn before stopping short as his eyes fall upon the silver figure on her crown. The black, barely stretching the length of a foot at most, is nearly as small as the infant silver, but the dragon knows instantly that this silver is much younger. Still, the hierarchy of dragons is unknown to this outcast bonded with another. The hover is caused mainly by confusion. He could not recall Ophelia having a dragon before.

Curiously, Comadre turns back to the wolf. When did she get a dragon? he asks, as though Osiris would surely know the answer. The hybrid has only just looked up at the sound of the mare's voice, golden eyes falling sharply on the figure of snow amongst the winter landscape. "Yes," he says in response to her question, seeming to ignore his dragon entirely. The question posed by Comadre would not be answered by Osiris, for the wolf had not seen this mare since their meeting in the forest. "It has healed."

The words are followed by a complaintive sounding chirp from the throat of the dragon, and the wolf's eyes roll heavenward for a moment. "Comadre wants to know how long you've had a dragon." It is stated easily, familiarly, as though Osiris had just seen this mare yesterday. Of course, that is not the case.

In the distance, the hoofbeats of another approaching with haste would have been ignored by any other. The wolf, though, boasting his heightened sense of sight and hearing, notices the din almost immediately as it enters his range of hearing. Comadre, noticing the shift in his bonded's attention, also begins to scan. From beyond Ophelia's shoulder, the dragon's sight zooms forward, catching the outline of a dunskin with a look of murder on his face. Confusion bubbles to Osiris's face. Had Smoke not said that he would be welcomed here? The dangerous glint of the stallion who approaches like a speeding bullet would make him suspect otherwise. It is his path, aiming almost directly for the side of the mare, that has Osiris more concerned.

"Move, Ophelia!" the wolf calls even as the gap between this stranger and the group begins to close, muscles tightening even as the breath in his lungs had begun to return to a normal rate. Curse his need for haste - if he had known that an ambush awaited him here in the Foothills he would have better conserved his energy. Still, this stallion is vastly outnumbered - Ophelia, her dragon, Comadre, and the trio of wolves at his flank - they would all push this ratio out of proportion. There is still doubt that bubbles in the chest of the hybrid, but he has no time to question this now. The hackles upon his back begin to rise, stirring from his withers and down his spine, leaving with an annoyed flick of his tail.

Legs begin to bend, the hybrid crouching closer to the ground even as the thudding of hooves gets closer. The sharp bark of a wolf causes the hybrid's head to swing back, even as the growl of an unfamiliar canine rings forth. The herding dog, however, will not catch hold of the hybrid's limbs today, for little sister has already pounced, throwing her body toward the dog, feral face contorting in a violent flash as her teeth reach for the dog's ears. Osiris leaps forward, pushing his limbs out of the way of the strike of teeth from the canine, massive bulk aimed directly at Ricochet even as he spits out his introduction. Front paws aim toward the shoulder that would have been posed at Ophelia. Hopefully the girl had had enough sense to move.

"Try to kill me if you can, pony boy, but leave the lady alone," comes out in a feral sounding growl, ending with a half-bark.

Osiris opens his jaw to reveal rows of serated teeth, like that of his own companions currently crowding the black and white dog who had thought the hybrid an easy target. A bite is aimed for the Ricochet's neck - perhaps a tear of skin or a mouth full of mane. The hybrid's main objective was to keep Ophelia safe. The wolf knew she was still a young mare; when they had met in the caves, she had been so very small.

All the while, Comadre watches as another, more shady looking mare approaches. The wolf and his dragon had the worst luck.