The Heartwood thief

Boone knew very clearly what it was liked to be chased, to be hunted, like the prey he sought. It started as a warning tingle at the base of his spine until it was sending alarming triggers up to the spot between his shoulders, and all the hair along there would be standing on end. The feeling was eerie to him now, a faint memory because he had not felt it in so long -- years, he imagined. But felt it he did, and there was no mistaking it with anything else.

The wolfdog whirled about, his wire-tail ramrod and with his ears back, lips pulled loosely over his teeth. Defensive, if nothing else. "You chasin' me, pal, I'ma tell you jus' once that I ain't here to 'cause no trouble, but I ain't no pussycat neither," he growled, his tone less formal when he was agitated, and he lowered his grayish nose in readiness for a fight.