Lost Creek Hollow Fargo, North Dakota

Normally, other wolves ignored him, just as he ignored them. He'd passed a number of them along his way and had had to speak to very few of them- it seemed as though friendly wolves liked talking to sullen-looking strangers, but it wasn't exactly a mutually beneficial relationship, as Joss did not particularly like to speak to anyone, let alone those who walked around as though the sun came out of their arseholes. He glanced up when he caught sight of a stately pale wolf in the distance but didn't bother tracking his movements, as he assumed that this wolf- like himself- was simply looking for a place to drink. Having passed the borders while wading up through the middle of the creek, trying to rid the bog reek from his nostrils, he'd had no clue that this wolf wasn't just another loner like him...Albeit a much better looking, well-fed loner...This was a pack wolf. 

He took more notice of him the moment he began to walk toward him with a certain authority in his step which made him feel more and more vulnerable with every step that he took. This was different...Normally those over-the-top friendly wolves made a big show of waving their tails and lowering their heads the more they approached, trying not to spook him off- but this male wasn't doing that at all. In fact, his speed began to pick up, and it was only when he transitioned from a trot to a canter that Joss actually took a moment to look up and gauge the wolf rather than continue giving it a cautious, sour side-eye- and he realized that it was actually a female. Not that that made any difference- she was still accelerating toward him with a fixed gaze that spurred him awkwardly, sheepishly, into frenzied motion. 

His tail flipped down between his legs which made it a bit harder to run- and he stubbornly refused to leave the creek as for some reason, he thought he might have a better chance of outrunning her through the cold waters. But with her gunning down toward him on dry land and him awkwardly flopping his way through the waters, slipping on just about every damn stone he stepped on, he made a pathetic sight, and smacked his jaw so hard off a rock that it made him cry out loudly, pitifully. Not only had he bit his lip, but his jaw too bled, just below his right canine tooth. Fortune gave him a bit of a break in that the rocks became smaller and easier to run on, but when a deep hole cam out of nowhere, Joss put on an extra burst of speed, though he floundered still and the female came thundering toward him. Inadvertantly, he let out a high pitched, baying sound as he flung himself toward the deep hole, where the water suddenly became very dark, hoping that he could save himself some impact if all he hit was open water.