Porcupine Ridge The silver of a lake at night

The impatience that wore at him soon reached a head and he twisted and snaked his snout, clapping his jaws futilely in an effort to—what? Catch his own flesh and turn his head further? Even Farstep knew it was no use and let his head drop on his thin neck, an agitated huff curling from his nostrils. He padded along in discomfort, only halfway focused on his surroundings, at least until he spotted the approach of another.

The wind brought information to his quivering nose quicker than sight, and Farstep knew that he was looking at competition. While Novak's place in the ranks wasn't one of merit just yet, he was another mature male wolf with more than just a year under his paws. Like Terich-mir, Novak was bound to be on the receiving end of Farstep's posturing much more readily than the females and Anwyl were. Unlike Terich-mir, Farstep couldn't be certain yet that this wolf was of less use than himself. The beta's features tensed and his body rose in dominance. His tail swept the air over his hips, raised yet loose, and his ears pressed forth into a sharp curve over his scalp.

As the man drew nearer, his salt-and-pepper coat and hefty physique became clearer and his blue eyes stuck out like exotic gems. Farstep met them readily with the deeper blue of his own, but it all seemed pointless. Novak didn't attempt to challenge him, but folded into submission, and the beta male responded by relaxing. Not completely, for he scarce knew this wolf and couldn't afford to take chances on completely lowering his guard, but enough that he no longer appeared high strung. He craned his neck, ears pushed even more insistently forward, and wriggled his nose in an effort to capture further information of the nearby male.