Porcupine Ridge dorsatum

A cold wind swept the ridge, but if the tawny wolf tracing its northern boundary noticed, he gave no signs of it. His nose was to the ground, working furiously over the tracks of Taggarik and another male. Every so often, when he was unsatisfied with whatever he smelled, he would lift his leg and urinate, effectively refreshing the scent of the pack in the area. By now, the ridge stank of wolves. Their claim here was unmistakable.

Taggarik seemed to think so, too, for soon a baritone howl rose above the ridge and a more feminine tone followed it. Farstep couldn't ignore the instinct even if he tried: he threw back his head and lent his own voice, higher than Taggarik's but lower than Capriccio's, to the mix of voices riding the airwaves. If the strong smell of wolf wasn't enough to let everyone within several miles know that there were wolves upon the ridge, their howls would certainly do the trick.