Silvertip Mountain meet the fockers

Wow, he must be really hungry, Day thought, his tail waving rather bemusedly in the moment before Ezekiel's body slammed into his. His body went automatically limp as he hit the ground, at which point the urge to fight or escape began to grip him. Irritation won out over instinct, though, as he heard the gray male's accusing snarls. His shoulder would definitely be sore in the morning.

This was all rather irritating, really. He didn't like to be tackled, he didn't like to subdue his dominant nature. He didn't like being mistrusted most of all. It reminded him that they had reason to, and that maybe Grayday himself should be doubting as well. After all, he'd failed to help at least three wolves since arriving in the wilds.

But those were out of his control. How could he control the fates? He was a good wolf; surely they could see that? Surely they could look into his eyes and know that he was earnest and kind - not a pup killer.

He has valid concerns, he sternly reminded himself, giving a half-hearted wave of his tail. "I brought food, that's all," he said gently, giving the other male's cheek a placating lick. That reminded him -

"Could you clean up the bite on my cheek? I can't reach it."