Silvertip Mountain Profound

Crypticism shrouded the nuances of their gestures, the language of their breed both intimate and complex. Yet, those known to it could translate with ease, deciphering even the most subtle of gestures into an ornate expression or feeling. Tonravik's stance was clear: she claimed this land regardless of what Tuwawi thought to be overzealous. Perhaps it was a pinch of jealousy that soured the red wolf's mood, put off by the confidence by which the other exhumed. However, it would not be wise to challenge one who thought themselves entitled to such a purchase. After all, Tuwawi had no one to fall back onto. No pack. No family. No mate. The thought stung, but acted as reminder of her precarious position in this world. She was a vagrant, nothing more than dust to this steadfast wolf, and could easily be blown away into nothingness.

Her jaw tensed as pearly fangs clenched from betwixt inky lips, listless as she received Tonravik's rumbled warning. It caused her to reflect on what she wanted in this world. The desire, the passion, to lead a group and claim land of her own had not yet been lit within Tuwawi. The call to be apart of something still tugged at her strings, and she hated herself for it. Two... three packs gone or abandoned, a lifetime of comrades lost. You know what? Fuck it. This brown-eyed she wolf could have this damned piece of rock if she wanted it that bad.

The ember huffed as the wrinkles on her dark face became smooth, watching the stranger with cautious, narrowed eyes. Her lips dropped, sheathing the teeth which spoke more than words. Their guards were up, but an unspoken truce had been made: Tuwawi wouldn't be bulldozed as long as she stayed off Tonravik's land. It was fair. It was their code... or so she assumed.

She advanced now, not to encroach upon Tonravik's territory, but to greet her as one wolf greeted another. Her masked face reached out to smell the mountain wolf, careful to retrain strong traction on the stoney ground lest Tonravik decided to snap.