Always eager to do what was asked of him, always willing to get his hands dirty, it was never unusual for Fenrir to be nearby when there was the possibility of receiving orders. Unlike Amycus and Alecto, he had been there for nearly two hours, sitting in another room, perched on a chair and picking something unsavory from in between his teeth with the tip of a black handled dagger.
Pulling the blade away from his mouth, he lifted his gaze and took in a whiff of circling air, damp and chilled and reeking of the indoors. Not bothering to do much of anything else, he took to his feet, nestled the weapon back inside of his jacket and stalked off in the direction of the door.
He eyed the twins as he entered, keeping his eyes averted and away from the Dark Lord until he was near enough to respectively bow his head and keep it that way. Unlike most of the others, Fenrir never lowered himself to the ground. The alpha wolf in him would not allow it, not when it was just as bad as rolling over and showing his belly to a set of snarling teeth. His reluctance to do something that was so… human, had always been noted but never called out on. Fenrir was not as they were, and he liked to think that his differences could be understood and left alone.
“My Lord.” He repeated what the two before him had said, his voice gruff and barking, his sight stuck to the floor below him and his senses sharp and alert.