Dawnlark Plains Hinterlands

At some point Warbone became aware that he was being followed. The wiles of a solitary wolf still breathes within him, so on instinct he forgets the task of building his home that he carries with him, and his spine ripples defensively. The wolf turned sharply, his face severe despite the absence of teeth. His face settled as he noted the other's posture and distinctly separatist scent. A wolf unbound to another pack; dark and narrow and capable-looking. Warbone lifted his tail, not in dominance, but in a level wag of interest. He moved forward in reserved confidence, and expertly  hung back several feet once he had come near enough to gauge a physical reception from the stranger. He acted differently around males than he did females. She-wolves, the bearers of their very race, were (on initial contact) to be given some semblance of respect. But the fathers, they were to be tested and kept fit at all times. To him, males were there to either take from him or uplift him; form either familial bonds, and excel in that manner, or bonds of dissonance and blood that often led to destruction. Warbone knew no in between with his own sex.

So he met this male in a forward fashion— there was time to tiptoe— and he was cautious, but quietly eager in the extension of his nose, wanting to sniff as close as he was allowed. There was no ruffle to his fur or immediate threat of violence, only understandable readiness. He would test the younger male's mettle, and seek to earn his respect as he thought men should.