Sun Mote Copse yesterday I hiked over a river that was not there

His gaze was cool, if not imperious, as he faced her. She looked neither perturbed nor frightened, which both accounted her for an odd creature at that. He could already tell that she would be difficult - not so much in the battle as much as in mentality - but he kept his outward bitterness at a minimum. The last thing wolves of this potency needed to betray was their recognition of the other's cards. If they chose to act like an ace, he would certainly show them his own.

     His hackles rose slowly, golden pelt bristling at the nape and tail. Lips curled back in a definitive, clean snarl that brandished (if not emboldened) the pearly whites of his fangs. He would have cued some sort of devilish flaunt, such as was his custom for skirmishes as these, but he was too engrossed in the charge to relay his default humor. He lunged straight for the neck, hoping to balance his fangs nice and deep somewhere above the shoulder, but he could feel his stance slipping the moment his feet lifted. Dust trailed from his claws, loping forward, head tugging the body along. Somehow, he just wasn't accurate enough. He felt his teeth only glance off the skin, snout skimming the female's fur as he barrelled flank-to-flank into her. It was hardly an appropriate advance, so he retreated with the momentum, doubling backwards with a more proportioned agility. He would need to slow down his motives, he realized.