Bearclaw Valley Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin' yet?

A rumbling snarl caught his attention (the scent of Ursus had, obviously, not) and he turned to see a large dark she-wolf headed his way. Not a friend by her attitude, and yet. . .wasn't she here? But he was here, too, invited personally by the lord of this valley. Whatever her reason for consternation, she was out of bounds.

Fraser had already begun to bristle, lips lifting to reveal still-pristine teeth, when another packmate appeared. Intervention. Relief suffused his senses as he realized the man was on his side, and made him more bold, lifting his head to stare aghast at the woman.

Aye, what are ye doing? he questioned her, bushy brows drawing together in a frown. Savage as they may be, the wolves of Ursus did not turn against each other—at least not that he had seen. What gave her the right?