Deepwood Weald Against you, a weak defense

Right when Farstep thought the tension would snap like a rubber band, Mees began to lower himself to the ground. The other male remained rigid, though, his ears pointed perfectly, his neck arched imperially. His body language continued to scream tension and Farstep's own followed suit. He took a stiff step forward, slow and deliberate with his eyes never leaving the rival wolf. Another step. He sought to draw near enough to pull Mees' scent and story, but he was poised on the balls of his feet to flee if the other showed any sign of aggression. This was a dangerous dance between loners, a social situation on razor's edge. This was the norm for loners, though, and therefore the norm for Farstep.

He made it within a few feet of the male before he began to reflexively flinch away at even the tiniest hint of movement. A leaf falling beyond Mees' head was enough to make Farstep jerk his head back, fearful of snapping jaws. There were none, though. Mees' teeth remain behind his raven lips, and Farstep stretches his neck out, head held low, to tentatively sniff the air between himself and his potential adversary. There was no telling when Mees would have enough; he might tolerate Farstep's distant inspection for two seconds or two minutes. So Farstep's head weaved in and out of range, pushing forward to sniff and hauling back in the next second, in anticipation for an inevitable warning to get away.