Silvertip Mountain Profound

Tonravik watched, waited. She prepared her defenses, and her muscles flexed within her as she eagerly awaited the moment to be on the offensive; for her best defense was her offense, to push and push, to disable the other from assailing her by being the tsunami of a wolf she was capable of being, plowing into them over and over as she tore her enemy asunder, a wave that relentlessly crashed even when one surfaced for air. She would never let them breath, keep them in her embrace, covetous, all-consuming.

She was still, then. Calm. There was no better predictor that a storm might come than the quietude and peace the world seemed to bring...

But there was no need. The other seemed to stand down, lacking the desire to test her will and aggression alike. It was then the other moved forward. Her pace told Tonravik all she needed to know, as did her body. The body could not deceive, not for wolves. They were incapable of using their physical being as a tool to create trust when trust ought not to be granted. Physical behavior was so honest. So true. Tonravik shifted to face Tuwawi now herself, to take a step toward her. She would greet the other in turn as instinct would demand her to, and so too internal desire.

Another step forward. Together they would close the distance. Discover one another by scent and by touch. Tonravik licks her chops as she leans inward to sniff hungrily, curiously, wetting her nose so as to better capture the scents she wore.