Horizon Ridge shadow runner

The younger wolf acknowledged his position – and while it was not a posture of submission, Constantine was content with it. The youth was not his pack – he was simply a stranger in the land the shadow runner had yet to truly lay claim to. He held no throne – not yet. And so his own form relaxed lightly, his tail unfurling to sweep through the air in a languid but predatory manner, his eyes remaining intense upon the intricately marked stranger.
 
His eyes followed as the other began to move closer to neutrality, though his ears cupped forward as the question broke the sound of the ravens above them. “One that upholds law,” he rumbled, his own voice deeper in the forest. “That brings about the skill in others – especially that of sparring. A pack that holds vote for council each season, so every member feels they are heard. A pack that is a family.. and will not tolerate the unacceptable antics of others nearby.” He had grown tired of playing the docile card in the packs he had been within since the days of Tartok – Constantine was finished being a pushover. Only then did he pause, and with a brazen tilt of his muzzle, he felt the hint of amusement pull at his lips. “Stay, and work with a family that will hone your skills.”