Ouroboros Spine Fun Time's Over, Kiddies

He knew she was a creature of black and white. This or that. No in between. He was very much a creature of the gray. He thought of things. Measured and calculated. He considered options and weighed them equally. He considered circumstances and scenarios. For him. There was more than life or death. For those who intruded? A good rumor of fear would do well to protect their borders. Upon his arrival to theses wilds he'd been warned away from Blackfeather Woods. If they could create the same sort of fear about the spine... it might serve well to send others far from their borders.

To communicate this, he'd need words. What were words, after all, but agreed upon grunts and woofs and combinations of sounds sorted together to represent other wolves, places or things? It was instinctual. Knowledge and knowing and communicating was a natural thing. Words were not so out of line from her instinct, and yet she retained her silence. He'd grown comfortable with it, her silence, but there was only so much he could share with nips and nudges.

They arrived at the puddle and she seemed confused even as he pointed towards it. Moving closer to her, he nudged his nose against her haunches as if to push her closer to the mud. And then he stopped. This would be far less fun than he had hoped if she didn't understand what he was getting at, so he abandoned his efforts and let out a huff.

What would she understand? Death. Protecting. Fighting. Hunting. Survival. All things that left a wolf rigid and tense. He sighed and lowered himself to the ground. Laying upon his stomach, he looked up to her.