Broken Boulder wolves in the throne room

Much like his surveyor, if given a set of borders Atomsk would have defended them fiercely and without remorse. He had no ideology that wolves were to be coddled, and to put it simply from his perspective: a wolf didn't deserve its life if it could not be useful. This may not apply to someone he loved, but hypocrisy often comes into play when its you and not them. He'd be so lucky to come across a pack like this if he was in dire need.

As things were, however, he was quite fit -- and furthermore made pompous because of it. It made him foolish enough to believe he could ramp through this place and find his way past strict boundaries without being forced to do otherwise. He had chosen the right (read: only) pack to do this to; any other wolves, he might not've been so lucky.

He froze the moment he noticed his shadow; one paw lifted in a pose mid-step as he turned his head to meet the eye of his would-be oppressor. His hackles rippled, prepared for a fight, but several excruciating seconds marched by before he realized that the male wasn't going to accost him. Not physically, anyway. Atomsk was confused, and though he felt subtly encouraged to continue what he was doing, the experienced wolf was unwilling to turn his back on the guard.

He remained still, just as wordless and watching as his younger compatriot while he wondered silently what kept the flame-backed wolf from asserting his superiority as a packwolf. He made no play for dominance -- despite feeling that he should -- and instead turned his neutral posture to one that was more inviting now that his worry for reprimand had gone clear from his head. His thick tail wagged slowly, waving away at the unspoken tension between them, and he waited politely to be approached since it was clear now that he wasn't going to leave of his own volition.