Permafrost Hollows salut i força al canut

He leaned away from the faux strike and snapped in return with a sinister snarl on his lips, like his kitty counterpart, it was not an attack but an equal display that he didn’t appreciate her attitude. But he didn’t take any more advancing steps - the message had been received. Redmoon was testing the limits of this cougar, he’d never met one and knew it was a dangerous thing to be so near one. But he was very curious, and cautious too. The scents he’d obtained from the closer proximity and particularly how the swipe had wafted air his way, he could tell that this feline held this place as her palace grounds and she was the duchess of it all. Her lips spilled voice to him that was broken and limited, he understood little but enough to know her efforts. 

Clearly she didn’t want him hunting here. That much was painstakingly clear and frankly he didn’t want to challenge that aspect of her domain. Where with another wolf he’d simply challenge it to obtain dominance but with this cat, he knew not how to behave. Not that he wanted to contest these lands, there was easier prey elsewhere, lower on the mountain’s ledge. 

So, he took a stride to the left, a few steps and then he made about and walked right. A gentle pace though he never struck his eyes off her. She was fast, very fast, well toned muscle too. He continued to eye her up and down as the tension gradually increased. This time he offered no small talk to break the ice, clearly she didn’t want it. Then as if time stood still, awaiting them to fall into a dance of death, she spoke again and his muscles eased, her question was fair and so he desired to respond, no need in being impolite. 

“Passing through.” He spoke slowly and intently to reveal that his intent was not to find a place to settle, for Redmoon’s scent would be mixed with many lands and settings, he was a wanderer. 

He could tell she was growing impatient, but so was he.