Stavanger Bay league of extraordinarily grumpy gentlemen

Szymon gets aggressive about food. ;-; I am sorry.

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The audible clench of Rannoch’s empty stomach drew Szymon’s tattered ears forward upon his skull with fierce alacrity, hackles roaring to life along his neck, shoulders, and spine. His eyes widened, pupils dilating until they blotted out fiery gold, and pierced the boy with a territorial stare that intensified with Rannoch’s tentative step forward. Tensing, the black-banded Cairn set a paw upon his prize and lowered his head threateningly, scarred lips pursing as his jaws parted to release a terrible snarl. Rannoch’s second step wrought a heavy warning snap of Szymon’s gaping maw — the beta’s body language answered Rannoch’s innocuous offer with venomous virulence: no! With the aggressive rumble still warbling in his throat, Szymon took a step forward, looming over the boy. He had offered no physical harm to the turquoise-eyed puppy thus far — in truth, he did not wish to — but Szymon’s stiff-legged stance was a lesson, aimed to force the boy to stand down. Szymon was a chancy dinner partner at the best of times, for his position as lowest ranking wolf had engendered within him a possessiveness toward each small triumph he earned. It was a compulsive instinct to keep a certain order in his life — this is mine, and that is yours; do not touch what belongs to me.

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