Ankyra Sound sheepskin

Despite his ill-conceived presumptions of the reasons behind the resident gargoyle's actions, Vigilante was to miserably find that his conclusion was still accurate. This wolf would not allow anything he could not definitively defeat, anywhere near his prize. It only made the stranger all the more eager to take it; for whatever the ghost protected so jealously was certainly worth the fight.

And still, he remained aware that harming a packmember (for whatever reason) was tantamount to treason. It made him hesitate to retaliate after spinning away unscathed from a pair of gruesome, snaggling teeth. He had been faster than anticipated, but Vigilante was no spring chicken. He was near the plateau of his prime, and he'd seen enough of the fight to be good at it. The guard's rush had brought with him a revelation of new scents and weaknesses: he was still recovering from a recent depletion, and of his sapped reserves, he seemed to be moving mostly through the use of sheer determination.

As they stood apart from one another, bristling and agitated, Vigilante was still weighing his options when the brute spat at him. "Still trying to lure me off to another pack? I decline. I like it here," he returned nastily. "You want more than lip?" he snapped, then began to pace as his desire to fight warred with his know-better. He snarled, preparing to be reckless, when the scent of another wolf hit him. He bristled defensively, inwardly furious at the need to be reined. He had no way of knowing that she would not come to her sentinel's aid, and he was not dumb enough to let himself be outnumbered.

"Damn it." He stepped backwards. "If I ever catch you alone, I'll kill you." Vigilante retreated with the ominous intention of returning.