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

Had Dash done the sensible thing and stood down, both lone wolves probably would have left him in peace. The man was right to feel protective of his borders, but wrong to treat the two drifters like threats when they had shown no intent whatsoever to approach the distant pack. Laws were fluid in the wolf world, though, and so Farstep could only partially fault the pack wolf for his defensiveness, even if he felt it was misplaced. It wasn't like his homeland here. The wolves were not fluent in their own language here—they were truly stupid beasts that made up the packs here, if this fellow was any indication, for Dash had read threat where only warning and discontent existed—and made far too much noise with their mouths than what Farstep was accustomed to. The vocalizations were growls and barks to his ear, and the amount of them usually muddied their meaning. He read body like a familiar book, however, and Dart's body was showing far too much aggression in his dominance display for what was appropriate.

The drifter's heart squeezed when the dark pack male threw back his head and howled. His growl transformed from a warning to a dangerous snarl. Dash had just threatened him with that summoning howl, and though he didn't really know its purpose, he could guess at it. Other pack wolves would soon be arriving. He and his swarthy companion would do well to move out of here... but Farstep wasn't quick to turn around yet. He didn't take kindly to unnecessary threats, certainly far less kindly than he took to needless posturing.

Recklessly, he threw himself forward and lunged through the space between himself and Dash. Threatening him was uncalled for here and he was keen on reminding the pack wolf of his own place in the world. He feigned for the male's muzzle with a forceful snap, a hopeful reminder to the pack wolf that he was drunk with superiority that he did not deserve. He didn't seek to connect so his teeth snapped shut on the empty air between them, but the quiver of his whiskers, the direct contact his eyes made, and the wrinkle of his muzzle portrayed easily his disgust and offense with this wolf's behaviour. It was truly an attempt to frighten the pack wolf, whose arrogance assured that Farstep would think nothing but poorly of the pack he belonged to. It was an attempt to remind Dash that even a lone wolf deserved an ounce of respect in neutral lands, and that a pack made no one invincible, least of all a wolf who called trouble upon himself with assumptions.

As a last act of defiance of Dash's position, Farstep flung his tail into the sky, craned his head upward, pricked his ears sharply forward and growled a low warning note. It was a rare show of pride and dominance on Farstep's part, a brief taste of the capability to demand respect as a leader and not a follower. In this case, it was to demand respect as a fellow wolf who did not believe in the automatic superiority of pack wolves. Do not follow. Get lost. Learn some respect. He could have meant any or all of these things with his denial of Dash's supposed authority, though the pack wolf held no sway over him and had lost any opportunity to garner respect by threatening him and Taggarik. With that, Farstep turned at a brisk trot to leave with a personal reminder to never seek out this band that harboured such arrogant wolves.