Blackfoot Forest one they fear

It was not long before the unfamiliar scent of another wafted through the ashen brute’s nares. His ears swiveled atop his crown and he darted a fiery set of optics in the direction of the female. She stepped through the brush, pushing it aside with a few steps. She closed a short amount of distance between them and the gold-eyed man looked at her with a fiery glint in his gaze. The fur along his shoulders rose upward and he took a step towards the female. It would be difficult for him to overtake a pack that had established relationships with the fallen leader. They would not he kind to his being there. Kierkegaard cared very little for the wolves of the forest and their qualms against his new reign.
 
“I am your new alpha. You will respect that rank,” he growled at the woman with narrowed brows and a snap of his ivory canines. He would demonstrate that there would be no insubordination under his rule. Though the ashen brute was not a truly vicious man, he had known the wild his entire life and it had crafted him into a hardened soul. All was evident by the ragged frame of his large body, and the fury that unfolded in the fire of his eyes. The female before him did not seem to have a rank worth mentioning within the pack, and thought he was momentarily curious why, he did not inquire.
 
She was curious – openly so – and had asked who he was. There was no simple answer this question. Kierkegaard was a ghost; he had come into the Teekon Wilds more than a year ago and had vanished for a short period of time. He had always been a man with a wandering soul. Reclusive in nature and cold to the pains of others. “I am Kierkegaard Demonte-Sairensu,” he growled to her. “I have usurped your leader. You need know nothing more.” Short words, spoken in a gruff tone, but not done with hostility. If she should react to him with disrespect, she would see a very different side of the ashen monster.