Bearclaw Valley saying you're to blame

Evien had been wandering around the borders, searching for a place to put his den. Perhaps he should go for somewhere more toward the center of the territory, but it was more stifling there - more bear scent, more wolf scent. Not enough room to breathe. So, he continued his search toward the outer edges, looking for some sort of structure that might house injured wolves and himself. 

What he didn't expect to come across was the scent of blood. And not just any blood - wolf blood. Mingled with very familiar scents.

His steps quickened toward the border, where the two figures stood. If he were human, he would've approached with his arms crossed, but as it were, the annoyed arch of his brow would have to do. Green eyes scanned them over quickly - the wounds weren't bad, and the only smells on them were each other and perhaps a fox. But no fox did this.

Evien tipped his head to the side, glancing between the two of them. "Well?" he asked coolly, his temper pushed down just below the surface. A silent invitation for them to explain themselves, tempered with an I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. There would be time for being mad later.