Alister shrugged. “No hard feelings here. Besides I probably shouldn’t drink anyway…Bad things happen when I drink.” He left it at that, and took a moment to observe the man. He was rather short-spoken, and Alister began to feel a bit silly. His “lucky toes” stirred the dirt beneath him, he’d no idea how comical he looked. The ash from the firepit was still encrusted in his whiskers making him look like a much older man, out of place atop his body of well developed musculature. He had to be with his choice in weapons. Sword and shield were not for everyone, your body had to be a fortress, your mind well-guarded. Although he wasn’t the largest man out there, decidedly not so in the presence of his current company, he was large enough to be quite deadly. His dog heritage restricted him in that way. But he wasn’t all brute strength, he was rather dexterous as well, and spent only a fraction of his effort bulling into his opponents, the other half was spent avoiding them. He did the dance well, and remained light on his feet, even when pressed.
Hadley seemed confused at his mention of Isa. She must not have told him about their meeting, it seemed, and he stammered awkwardly. “Oh, I’m sorry…I just…assumed…I mean, I met Isa…last night.” He shut his eyes tight, no that didn’t sound quite the way he meant it. “I mean…Nothing happened, just I smelled her on you and assumed you were the father.” He turned his gaze elsewhere and cursed himself. “That was stupid of me.” He mumbled, more to himself than Hadley.
Preoccupied with the idiocy of his words from earlier he muttered a hasty, “pleasedtomeetyou,” when Hadley introduced himself. “Honestly, I have no idea where my last name came from, I mean, I’m a bastard. Mother died at birth, and my father…not long after. He sort of disappeared a long time ago.” He said conversationally. “Bastard being in the…fatherless way, my mother wasn’t his mate.” At this point the dirty blonde hybrid had no idea why he was babbling, maybe it was anxiety on his part? This Hadley character was so short of speech he could do nothing but fumble for words to maintain any sort of conversation, one-sided as it seemed to be.
The larger man was tentative to take the wolf dog’s hand, but when he did the shake was brief. “Hmm…” He mused. “Flower-picking, huh? I’m more of a weapon’s kinda guy, but sure, if it’s for a good cause. Can’t let a lady suffer, just point out what you need, and I’m your man.” He was determined, no adamant that the man like him, and would do his best to gain his trust. He was trying so very hard, partly because he’d never had a friend his entire life. The wolves of the clan usually either ignored, or resented him just for what he was. A useless prejudice, but, that was just how things were. He could only hope Nova Scotia would prove contrary.
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