Porcupine Ridge the devil and his sons

But before Romulus had to make a decision, someone made it for him. A figure descended down and slowly approached him. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed, taking in the unfamiliar wolf. Slowly, the silhouette became a solid wolf, draped in a pelt of agouti tans, browns and blacks and graced with eyes of clear blue. The stranger's posture displayed some level of confidence, ears forward, shoulders squared and head lifted, but not too high to show that he was the leader here. Obviously, this agouti wolf was one of the wolf smells that he'd scented here; perhaps a member of a pack ready to be formed.

The other male did not speak but was obviously waiting expectantly for a response. Romulus, himself, stood confidently, but he dropped his ears, lowered more than the agouti, head tilted down a little but still held up high and his tail was held very slightly lower. Too high, and he'd seem disrespectful; too low, and he'd appear weak. His posture was just right. Romulus turned his head a whisker to the side, showing he meant no harm and the tip of his tail wagged slowly, amiably.

"Is a pack being founded here?" he asked softly, lowly in his smooth baritone voice, expecting an answer in return.