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

Since there really isn't a post-order, lets keep this moving into round three.

Soon, not long after Reek spoke, the cavalry arrived. First, a dark wolf approached from the tree-line. She carried herself with the grace of a leader -- but that grace was misplaced. As it stood now, the glade was no longer hers to lead. Two others accompanied her, one standing on each side. It became apparent to Reek that this was all the force the glade could assemble. Pitiable, really. They were outnumbered two to one, which ensured a clean and easy sweep for Reek's band of wolves. But still, these wolves of the glade did not back down, even in the face of sure defeat. There was something about their drive that Reek found respectable. Stupid, but respectable.

With ears pinned forward and a rippling snarl humming in Reek's throat, he stepped toward the defending trio with his back arched and his tail high in a display of dominance. His wolves, he knew would follow suit. "Your pack," he spoke, voice as cold as the winter chill. "It belongs to me." He stared the defending wolves down with an icy glare that could kill. "Give me the Glade, and no one has to die."