Silverlight Terrace Then there's me, I'm seventeen

Taggarik's approach was amiable enough, assertive yet accommodating without any hint of aggression or arrogance, and Farstep willingly allowed the bolder wolf to sniff at his fur, though nervousness emanated from him in waves. His proximity brought scents to Farstep's nose, too, the noncommittal touch of transient wolves, but no hint of a true claim. Still, loners though they both were, he knew they were in different leagues. Taggarik was the dominant one, but he did not test his luck by being overbearing, and even offered a non-threatening stance as he drew alongside the drifter, who drew confidence from the black-haired male's seeming acceptance and the subtle signs that the two males were strangers to one another. It wasn't a ganging up situation after all. He straightened, never rising above Taggarik's level in acceptance of his superiority but no longer grovelling in the dirt either.

The other male was a different story. He strode up to them like he owned the place, with every inch of his body demonstrating superiority. None of what the wolves said verbally made sense to Farstep—he heard the growly language of their ancestors only—but the body language was screaming dominance, and not the good kind. There was a limit to what a lone wolf would tolerate when they had done no wrong, and the sharp forward pitch of the wolf's ears, the straight lift of his tail, were more aggressive signs that an alpha might use in their borderlands or when disciplining one of their wolves. These signs were unsuited to land unclaimed when there was no threat and so did not sit well with the drifter.

He smelled the wolves on the wind, knew there was claimed land somewhere in the vicinity of this field, but he had shown no inclination to approach it and he knew from the pungency that he hadn't crossed into it, and so he was confused with this display. Taggarik's had been practical, but Dash's was almost disciplinary, and he had done nothing wrong. Farstep, bolstered by the acceptance of the wolf alongside him and feral to the core, lifted his lip in a disapproving growl. His hackles prickled with discomfort and tension with Dash's behaviour, and though his tail did not rise and his ears remained planed to the sides in proof that he was not challenging the pack wolf's superiority over him, it was evident enough that he was uncomfortable with the intensity of Dash's display.