Whitefish River and come undone

Truth be told, Mordecai wasn't really one for a direct fight either. But this altercation stemmed from far below, at a depth where pride rose sharply from him in his irritation. He wouldn't be run off simply; it wasn't his way. Just as the ill-tempered wolf from the forest had tried to uproot him from a resting spot, Mordecai wasn't about to give up his position where he stood in the waters. Even if he wanted to, the only way he saw getting through any of it was to simply come through the wolf who stood in front him it. He wasn't about to be chased a handful of miles out of the way to appease someone.

He had no verbal reply for the warning he was issued from the swarthy dam in his path, only a growl that echoed his previous sentiment. While he was outmatched when it came to size, he felt he still had the advantage. Shallower water, the sharp press of adrenaline coursing its way through him, and hopefully enough luck to evade anything that might have been coming his way. He kept himself less rigid than his competitor and delved into preparing defense for assault; Mordecai drew his head down a little, protecting his scruff and throat. The deer were long gone out of sight now, and with a careful study of his surroundings, he saw no other running to join the fray. They were alone for now, and the Silvertip Ostrega had no intentions of yielding.