Dragon. Comadre's sensitive ears pick up on the trill of another immediately, and suddenly life snaps back into the spines of the pair. The wolves walking beside their companions notice the change in energy almost just as quickly, setting their hackles on high alert. Little sister walks forward, standing possessively in front of the much larger body, her yellow eyes waiting for someone to step from the path. Meanwhile, the little obsidian dragon's mind is racing, searching for the consciousness of another. There is a brush near by, pulling his attention toward it. Someone was here.

They all stop in unison, bodies holding still with rigid musculature. The shady body pulls out from the trees like a nightmare, and the female wolf growls visciously at what they all believe much to their horror is a shadow creature. For that moment before she speaks, the wolves and Osiris have an angry fear rising in their bellies. To leave Isilme only to find such a plague elsewhere would be too much to bear - especially since the large hybrid can no longer run in his state of health.

Her voice and grulla coloring, more obvious as the golden eyes focus on her, sets Osiris at ease. The wolves too lower their hackles and relax some, though they are obviously standing protectively around the great stallion. "We are fine," Osiris says, his golden eyes looking rather blank and distrusting at this mare. She has a dragon, Osiris, Comadre goads, trying to get him to trust her more. She cannot be too terrible. Osiris knows this is false. Someone with all the defects in character possible could still gather themselves a companion - just look at him.

The crunch of another approach is heard by the youngest of the wolves first, her head snapping toward the filly before she can even utter out the hybrid's name. Of course, the attention then shifts toward Ophelia, all of those except Osiris, who refuses to take his eyes off of the grulla mare, until, of course, that small voice pulls him by his name to look at her. Golden eyes, sorrowful and tired, look toward Ophelia slowly, without recognition. Her pale body is not the one he was seeking, not even the right species. Still, this girl knows him; he should know her.

Comadre is the one whose eyes target that of the filly, noting with excitement the mismatched pair of crimson and blue. The eyes which Osiris had so fondly thought of are remembered immediately by the dragon, who claws at the thoughts of his bonded to get him to recollect. "Oofree," Comadre's voice chirps, even as he zooms toward her with excitement, stopping to perch on her horn before flopping down, hanging like a bat from the long appendage. Violet eyes stare at Ophelia with warmth.

"Ophelia," the wolf finally says, his baritone voice surprised. "I am glad to see you well." With his heart finally feeling the push of hope, like a small breeze, he starts to ask the question that immediately came to his mind. "Are there others?"