Thunder Dome Here our dreams aren't made, they're won

From that height, Farstep could see a large portion of the mountain range. Some peaks to the east reached even higher than this one, their rocky tops completely shrouded in the clouds above, whilst others to the west and south were squatter. The ridge was perhaps the shortest of all, but it was broad. He could see the silver veins of rivers and the pools where they collected from here, shiny against the matter backdrop of the snow. He could see the form of a wolf travelling along the ridge's top, dark of hair, probably Taggarik. Further down he could see the trees stretching out until they spilled out into the valley below.

His admiration of the view and the advantage of sight were cut off when his eyes fell upon another wolf, this one much, much closer to him. She rose from the bottom toward the top as well, but from another direction. Not a ridge wolf; he'd never seen her before and as she drew nearer, realized her scent was foreign, too. Had he not grown up in a world where wolves acted naturally above all else, he might have taken offense to her nearness to the ridge, but as she was not approaching the borders and was showing no signs of contesting them, he was at ease. He would never react in the manner of an overly possessive individual when it came to a pack's borders. He'd non-verbally scolded Dash for such behaviour. It wouldn't do to turn around and display the same behaviour himself.

Like all spoken words, Asterr's question went right over his head, sounding to his ear like a gruff acknowledging bark. His tail swayed gently around his ankles, though he stood squarely on the shelf of rock. Amiable, but rigid enough that she would know he would stand his ground as needed. His ears lay to the sides and his mouth opened in an easy pant, suggesting he was non-threatening unless threatened himself. This was how he observed her, waiting for her to speak with her body so he might understand her intentions.