Blackfoot Forest new blood

As he considered the best course of action in regards to the forest, Njal meandered between the trees. His head was raised and he inhaled every few feet, trying to discern where the aroma was coming from. The more he wandered - even just a few feet in one direction or another - the stronger the scent appeared to become. He halted when a voice drifted down to him from the trees, but only to bristle and become agitated. He surveyed the trees - keeping his eyes in line with the tangled boughs above - and after a few moments he caught sight of it: a cougar.

The last time the Swiftcurrent wolves had encountered a cougar, it had been in the open plains - and the beast had been disposed of with the force of the entire pack. It had not happened without injury, though. Njal was aware of the scar on his head and the vague memory of the ensuing sickness from the last beast's poorly placed bite. It throbbed in Harry Potter-esque style, but only briefly. A low sound permeated the air as Njal paced around the tree's trunk, like a hound which had tree'd their target.

He had not known cougars to be talkative beasts. Perhaps the way this one slurred its sounds was indicative of a language barrier; but Njal didn't care much for linguistics. The warden was zeroed in on this threat and would not let his attention waver. "Cougar." He stated, as she had spotted him and identified his own species with a similar bluntness. But he went further, and verbally prodded: "I'd help you out of that tree if you were in any way welcome here." There was a violent sheen in his eyes that warned against such action though - the only warning he would give.