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Coming into clear view emerged a black male from out of the growth. The mutt glanced over the male noting his features. He was wearing jeans, and carried a few weapons on his person. The mix turned the blade that rested on his shoulder so the sun’s rays reflected off it and onto the canine. Mido is my name. You carry the musty earthen smell of home Itzal. Are you a member of Anathema? He spoke to the man. Anyone could lie though. How could he truly be sure if he was legitimate or not? An idea came to him, only members and a few select others at this time would know about events inside the pack. Better yet, tell me, who the Angela is. He questioned with a half smirk on his face.
An individual living in Anathema would know who was in charge. If Itzal was indeed a fellow member, there would be no need for him to make an advance. The huskadore stood with his right side forward, minimizing the targets for the man to for if an attack was made. His right was considerably more powerful than his left; it would be dangerous for anyone to come at him in that particular stance. Mido’s left hand remained free and able to go for the knives if need be. The half and half’s posture reflected his rank, certain and confidant about his skills. The sun lingered high overhead, very few clouds in the sky; it was a good day thus far.
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