Emberflame Ridge skill, not emotion, sends my arrow flying

Embry's heart sank at the first sign of a potential visitor. Of course he had been hoping for some alone time with his provisions, and a part of him had actually believed this wish to be viable. The scent was unmistakable, though: wary, ravenous, and hopeful. A pang of sympathy ebbed in the back of his mind. Typical Embry to feel guilty; typical to find links to his past self and apply them so skillfully.

     The male did not tip off that he was aware of the female's presence. His fur lay fat along his spine and nape; eyes remaining nonchalant and somewhat abstracted. Only when he felt comfortable with what he could gather at this point of his present guest did he allow his gaze to calmly sift across the clearing in her direction. His brain tempered out mental notes as the scene unravelled.

     Timid approach. Must be smaller - wants something. 

    He shifted slightly; muscles rippling along his shoulder and flank. He made sure it was clear in his stiff, towering stature that this was non-negotiable. Any other day, he might have considered more pacific terms: for instance, maybe even sharing this handiwork of his. However he was only just recovering from the malnourishment characteristic of the taiga, and the barbarous laws of the wild did not budge.