From Chapter Two of The Road of Fathers

Tyrian approached the lone survivor cautiously, a tight grip on his axe. Wolf hunched a few paces back—growling, head low, muscles tight.

As Tyrian drew closer he noticed the weariness on the knight’s face—his eyes half-moons of fatigue, his square jaw hanging low as he tried to fill his lungs. Tyrian loosened his hold on his axe as Wolf crouched lower to the ground. The stranger wiped his hand clean and held it out for the wolf-dog to smell, but the beast planted its feet firmly and growled more deeply.

“It is the blood,” the knight finally spoke.

“Excuse me,” Tyrian asked?

“The smell of blood agitates him.”

“He is not used to seeing this much... death.” Tyrian paused for a moment before adding, “Nor am I.”

“Maybe you could tell him I am not capable of a good fight at the moment.”

“Wolf, move back,” Tyrian said, grabbing his friend by the nape of the neck as he sheathed his axe on his back.

“My name is Gabriel Theobald.”

“I am Tyrian Fellhawk."