Porcupine Ridge The hills of Hollywood on fire

A clamor to his south brought the beta male's head and ears up and he stared out at the valley spread below the ridge, momentarily unable to see anything. Curious, the wolf drew himself to his paws and began a loping descent, cognizant of his injury and careful to avoid jarring his leg too much in the going. As he drew nearer to the place where the pack's scent markers melded into neutral territory, his bright eyes fell upon a pair of coyotes chattering raucously and jigging on the pack's borders.

The wolf drew himself to his full height, standing at attention twenty wolf lengths from the pair, his manner challenging. They noticed him, of course, but they were a pair of the stupidest coyotes this side of the mountain and they had no qualms with giggling and testing the mettle of the larger canid. One of them stepped deftly over the pack's border, its long and fluffy tail waving eratically, prompting Farstep to peel his lips back and feign a charge. It skittered back into neutral ground and the beta halted, now a mere seven wolf lengths from them, with a low rumble building in his throat.