Whitebark Stream Her namesake

Fisher's back was turned on her pile, and she had been convinced Pesi was the only scavenger around, but that was due to the wind not being in her favor. Pesi, however, noticed the unfamiliar wolf as soon as he made a dash for the fish pile. Displeased with the stranger's thieving intentions, he let out a series of alarm cries, alerting the wolfess of an unwelcome presence. Her slender ears swiveled backwards—having been broken from her trance—and she immediately whirled around to face who caused the commotion. It was a young male a bit below her age, and he already looked incredibly guilty with his low posture and flattned ears despite not yet having taken a thing. It was clear what he was trying to do, nonetheless, and Fisher was having none of it.

A low growl bubbled up from her throat in warning, dark lips parting just enough to reveal a hint of the teeth beneath. He didn't even look famished. Why would he resort to stealing? Upon nearing the male, feet still submerged at the water's edge, his scent hit her. Other scents lingered on him, and it was clear now what he was. Pack wolf, Fisher stated, accent heavily laced in her simple words as realization overcame her. Explain yourself, She demanded, wanting an answer. He had the privilege of still having others to rely on for food and protection, yet he dared try and steal from her? His ungratefulness and audacity was quickly bringing her blood to a boil. Still, she did not like to put herself in danger and would not attack him—unless he made a foolish move.