Cerulean Cape if someone is talking about you behind your back, just fart

Leaving home for the first time in what felt like years (okay, like, three weeks) was mildly frightening, but mostly liberating. Wylla had grown so accustomed to being constantly surrounded by comrades, safe by definition, that she sauntered up the coast with nary a care in the world. The wolves that had been turned away from their borders, often with verbal jabs to hasten them along, could very well be planning an assassination, but Wylla would never see it coming, so great had her confidence grown.

Confidence. Yeah. That's what it was.

It was also confidence that led her to rapidly approach a seeming stranger. The other wolf's dark rump was in the air, and if she cared to examine it for any length of time, Wylla would have recognized it. Instead her eyes were on the tantalizing tip of rib dug out of the ground, no doubt from this wolf's effort. Well, his effort was his loss. Poor fools didn't expend energy on pursuits that might end in failure, and if the dainty little Alpha had her way, this loner would fail. It wasn't so long ago she was challenging pack wolves to look at loners with a little more dignity and respect, but "confidence" had a funny way of changing a person.

She crept up alongside him, and while Raptor dug, she fitted her jaws over the rib bone and applied a little tugging pressure, preparing to haul it away from him the second it came loose.