Porcupine Ridge Second sight has paid off well

Farstep's eye was critical, calculating. His growl rumbled on, continuous but for the breaths he pulled whenever he could, and the volume of it increased with every step that Terich-mir took toward him. The intensity of his display rose with each press of his rival's paw upon the earth. Every deliberate pause was met with the defiance of Farstep's hardened gaze, his unwavering stance, his bristled fur. He held his ground, even when the opposing male pulled himself up and growled in return.

He responded in kind, pulling his chin closer against his neck and pinning his ears as far forward as they would go. The entirety of his face contorted into peaks and troughs, his muzzle wrinkled along its whole bridge, the skin between his eyes pinched fiercely. The hair of his cheeks even seemed to stand on end, and his tail was a bottlebrush held rigid over his hindquarters. His snarl was a feral pitch, and he showed every inch of his gums that he could reveal from beneath his lips. He hunched forth his shoulders and stood tall, adamant in his perceived claim of Terich-mir's present rank.