Dawnlark Plains waiting for a rainy day

A bored glimmer very quickly became his ruined face. Old git. He was no stranger to rowdy children; not all were born of black barracks and blind mothers, killing by one and war by two. Very few pups nowadays were taught respect; they lived in their worlds as king and crown and paid no mind to the old stones beneath their feet. A mountain is a wonderful place to build a castle, before it crumbles beneath you. "You don't hold yourself very well for a - what is it - alpha?" There's a smirk somewhere in his voice, but nothing twists the ugly black grimace of his mouth. Very little ever did.

Peppy thing. His flattens one ear, amusement flashing through that golden eye as he turns his gaze to the seemingly-neverending white. He really had no intention of being a problem, and he was close enough now to smell quite a few wolves on Big and Tall's pelt, but new recruits always had been his least favorite. Biting to the black, fetid gums had always sort of been his favorite method of discipline, but he was quite at odds - a general, against an army? He might have been a megalomaniac, but he wasn't stupid. 

Instead, that unsmiling face levels young grunt's, looking down the length of his scarred nose with an eye meant for severity and stern disapproval. "You're not at the top of your food chain, are you." He states it as bluntly as scripture, and the old bastard doubts that he's wrong. If he was, he pitied the troops of a man so impulsive - or neurotic? - to snap teeth before questions.