Silvertip Mountain Trespass

Tonravik bristled as his tail lifted, lips lifting to reveal a row of fangs that would make good on any threat. But swiftly, the other changed his demeanor, and so she visibly relaxed herself. Her own tail remained high, perked ears twitching slightly in case he would speak. Many found words necessary. She rarely catered to them by truly listening, but this wolf appeared to have intent in being here. Perhaps it was to join them. Perhaps not. His nonverbal way, in that time, pleased her immensely. His lack of barking questions allowed her to believe he was smarter than she had initially anticipated. As his plume swayed left and right, she understood well enough what he desired. She was still for another moment longer before she nods. Come.

She shifts her own body so that she is facing him, head on; initially, her side had been exposed so he could note the length of her, but now he could see her bearish girth. How very much like her mother she was! Her brothers were smaller than her, only just, bearing her fathers height. That she was as tall as Siku meant that she was not so very stocky, but she was still boxy and broad. Everything measured out in the end so that she appeared to be proportionate. He is large, too, a handsome wolf by appearance. But Tonravik was only attracted to wolves who had won wars, and who she had seen fight and kill and ravage the enemy. She thought of the agouti stranger in that element, and imagined he may do well there—but so many wolves here were soft. Could not go through with the execution of another as means to an end. Peaceful, docile. Not even kind—it was cruel to allow fools to live, they would only die at the fangs of another!—or wise in their allowing others to continue living past their crimes committed.