Emberwood the choir whispers

as far as territories that vilkas has explored thus far this one is fairly promising if for the prey aspect alone. the pack that claims the creek to it's southern border is the only true downside to it but he is confident that so long as he sticks north he likely won't be bothered. a lone wolf on the northern perimeter of a bordering neutral territory should not constitute harassment ...or so vilkas is ready to believe anyway. it's unlikely he would leave anyway, so out of sheer necessity and the acknowledgement of how he is he aims to keep a low profile for the coming night. he paces forward a few steps, debris of the woodland rustling under foot as he noses through another pile of debris, unearthing newer and fresher prey scents. he is not particularly hungry at the moment but he deigns to linger close as he begins to search for an adequate shelter for the night. something, preferably, that will not require a whole lot of work from him.

his plans change abruptly as his attention is called by a low wuff. the wispy hairs at the nape of the firebrand's nape bristle and his lip curls back from his teeth as he contemplates his options. the stranger that attempts to lure him obviously already knows he's there ...but vilkas is easily annoyed by the fact that he is meant to seek out the summoning stranger. he wasn't some kind of mutt to be called to heel and especially not by a stranger ...but it the consideration that the stranger may be one of the pack wolves ( for the wind is not in vilkas's favor ) and that if the stranger is from the pack it might be beneficial to assure that he's not going to stay longer than the night. he is never sure how territorial packs are going to be and thus must run with the assumption that they would be as territorial as he ( very territorial ).

vilkas does not smooth the bristle of his hackles as he shrugs through the thick underbrush, gaze sharpening as he sweeps it over the male that had presumably been the one to make the vocalization. he is large, beefy and a mixture of browns, blacks and creams. he is not, vilkas learns as he draws in the behemoth's scent, from the pack bordering the south of the emberwood and that serves to annoy the raptorial firebrand even more.

what do you want? vilkas' sharp posture inquires for him in lieu of him actually giving verbalization to the question, his eyes locking onto the stranger with expectancy.