Deepwood Weald Against you, a weak defense

The wild was Farstep's playground, and so did he sense changes in the environment. It was a sense only felt by animals, much too subtle for humans, but wolves could feel their emotions like waves at times, if they were intense enough. Now was such a time. He became away of Horcrux's intent at almost the same moment that the younger male snapped to his feet, and so Farstep was prepared when the wolf's lunge came, thanks largely to his flinching caution in his sniffing. He backed away instantly with a tight twist and a few bounds, pressed his tail flat against his hindquarters and pulled back his ears. He bared his teeth in silent admonishment—don't follow me, his actions seemed to say—but insisted on his presence no more. Even a loner knew his limits. Pushing the envelope was part of Farstep's nature, like many mischievous drifters before him, but never to the point of injury. It was often harmless, but he never went far enough to incite true rage and further action, only irritation and a second warning.

He swept away into the trees, locking away what he'd learned of Horcrux in his mind, without further complaint.