Heron Lake Plateau a treason bestowed to the crowd

Feel free to skip him for now!

On the edges, the cream colored figure would prowl; downwind of either wolf, Stjornuati was indeed playing their game, though the presence of another shifted his demeanor from play to observe. Down low he laid, form shielded by stone as livered eyes took in the scene of the quiet showdown. Were they gunslingers, their hands have hovered over their holsters, waiting those infinitely-long seconds to see what the other would do.

There was no pack here, no prey to squabble over, so while Stjornuati did not see any reason for either to draw, muscles coiled anyhow. A spring wound tightly, he was ready to ambush the storm cloud should they prove a threat.