Porcupine Ridge All my life, I was never there

Farstep travelled perpendicular to the slope a while, tracing the snowshoe's scent with sweeps of his nose over the chilled earth. His ears stood aloft and alert, but the hare must've sensed his insistence, for he didn't find it resting a short distance away as he had expected. It had run much further, perhaps seeking safety in the form of a warren. The drifter wasn't discouraged, though; he continued tracking it, at least until he was interrupted by the sight and sound of another wolf approaching.

Instantly his feet ceased their motion and he stood rigid, with his eyes upon her as hers were on him. They narrowed suspiciously. Yes, the life of a loner suited Farstep much more than pack life did, and suspicion came more easily than trust did, especially after his encounter with Dash. His trust would never be given blindly. The hair on his neck threatened to lift, but Capriccio showed no signs of aggression, so at best this was nervousness taking hold. Farstep seemed to know few emotions, but being nervous was the foremost one. Self-preservation was his ultimate goal and along with that came a natural tendency to be mistrustful of everything and everyone until proven otherwise.

Yet her stance was demonstrably casual and so he didn't rise in warning. He merely watched her, daring her to come nearer if she was bold enough with a sweep of his tail through the air.