Silvertip Mountain Trespass

He felt a rush to see her snow white teeth and her body grow taut. Then relief as she relaxed, accepting his offer of peace. It had been unwise to provoke her, though a calculated risk. A wolf of lesser heart would have left him alone, despite having the home advantage. But this one was formidable; dangerous. She was the size of a small bear with the focus of a hawk. Her eyes were unwavering. In a way, she was attractive, as an embodiment of physical prowess, of strength, of purpose.

As he descended the hill and approached, Goldry lowered his head so that it was in line with his back. His tail wagged slowly and gently, and his eyes were soft. He had no intention of fighting her, though they would have been well-matched. He realized he would not lie or waste her time, either. She did not seem one to suffer fools.

He stopped several feet away, but close enough to talk comfortably. "I followed someone here," he said at last. Although he did not look directly at her, he watched steadily and gauged her reaction. He wouldn't bother asking her to relay a message, give him information, or call Aguta to them. He wouldn't even bother explaining he posed no harm to Aguta, or the pack, if there was one. Empty platitudes meant nothing. Instead, he remarked, "She hunted well with me, and I want to hunt with her again."

Deliberately, Goldry shifted his eyes to the tall, stoic mountain, then back to her. Obviously it was her mountain, her territory, but the lack of distinct boundaries was suspicious. Did she occupy this place alone or did she rule others here—he could only guess. He disliked the mystery. Had he been as reckless as Aguta, and plunged headlong onto the mountain trails, he imagined this meeting could have gone in an entirely different and horrible direction. One in which he would have exchanged violence for violence with teeth and claws, as he was almost certain she would not have given him fair warning for his mistake.