Herbalists' Cache but it seems like a thousand years

The male responded physically to Warbone's natural presence, sinking slightly to convey an indecision in his desire to either fight or flight, and he remained instead in the interested middle ground that sometimes the lonely took up. For even without meaning to, the sweeping Solothurn commands respect from the creatures around him, even if it is just an inkling of it, and the white wolf, younger and fine-faced, is cautiously reserved in his presence. He can feel his heart beating discordantly, a grand thudding that nags at his attention but is unable to draw it fully from the argent creature before him. Neither seemed to seek a fight here, and Warbone felt starkly baited by the resplendent male; his ears turned forward sharply at the soft noise he made, feeling the sound somewhere in the deep cavity of his chest. 

He came forward, quite slowly in the last few feet, so that he might gauge the male's reception of him. He hovered his muzzle tenderly near the other's face and ruff, being heedful of any movement that might prove ill to his own countenance. Swiping his tongue over the front of his lips and nostrils, his tail swings back and forth contemplatively, and he holds as everything seems to move in slow motion in that everlasting moment.

Warbone would disperse the spot should the male no longer prove benign, but if he remained content to acquiesce, then he would offer himself too to be freely explored.