Golden Glade Territorial Pissings (All of Your Base are Belong to Us)

Though it went mostly ignored, Moonbrook could practically taste the unease in the air. The unanimous chorus that rocketed through the pines screamed like the wail of a warning siren, and only one voice rose in the distance to answer. A plaintive bellow of sorrow and, for a split second, she was shattered by the sound. Were they actually going to throw a different family out into the same cold they were trying to escape from? 

She bounced on her front feet and paced left, then right, tail strung out behind her—lungs heaving with each excited whimper. The she-wolf was steadied, somewhat, by the warm cluster of what amounted to her new family. There was no question about what had to be done, but she hoped the outcome would be beneficial to both sides rather than just her own.

When the first figure emerged from the woodland, her insecruties vanished and she was left with nothing but the hyperfocus of raw need. A second soon joined the first, and posed pointedly towards them. In another time and place, she might have balked at the sight of the dominant male. But this time Moonbrook was not cowed. She'd made a pledge, and she intended to uphold it until death. She could only hope that day was not today.

The she-wolf braced and snarled, hackles standing at attention, and yellow-teeth gleaming with saliva.