King Elk Forest when the day becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light

Phox could sense the stranger's unease, but he did not comment on it or make any move to take advantage of it. Truth be told, the Redhawk (if not in name, then it was at least the pack that kept him) would have had much the same reaction if the other had called out to him at first. He had constantly been on the edge since he had come back to his family's domain, frightened to make the wrong choice or step on the wrong path. He had made certain to weigh each fork that was laid in front of him, and a startle from a stranger—or even somebody he knew—left little time for that decision making to happen. He had become skittish.

The reply he received was one of doubt and questioning, and Phox shook his head. Technically, no. We Redhawks do tend to be protective of our neighboring lands, lest pesky settlers think it is a good place to make their home or frequent them as hunting grounds. In this way, he was asking if the wolf he stood talking to was one of those pesky settlers. If so, Phox would be happy to warn him of his mistake in such a fashion as not to outright attack him. Threats were always his first line of offense.

He pondered briefly if this male had been tracking the same herd that Phox had. If so, it would mean that the Redhawks would most certainly have competition as prey became more scarce throughout the winter. This was only Phox's second winter that he recalled clearly, but he had remembered last year's. Food had been less and less frequent, and finding larger prey had been imperative to keep the pack strong and healthy.

Phox felt a wooshing and then claws on his back, which could only mean one thing: X. The bird was pecking at his head soon after, and Phox snapped at him. Alright, alright! he said, and the hawk loosened its grip. I gotta get going, he said, excusing himself from the other wolf. Phox didn't know what X wanted, but he was sure he'd find out sooner or later.