on stranger grounds

[size=small]Oracle took in the night wolf's stance. The stranger, who claimed to have rights to the ground he stood on, stood tall and proud with skull heightened and chest out. This alone told him she must have been high up in her own pack; upper class at least. Very strong willed, he could tell already with what little words she had uttered.

The life of a loner he had survived through for what seemed like a moon or two had taken its heavy toll on the young wolf. Physically, Oracle had subsided from his powerful, heavy paced self to a lean-looking outsider; his fur had dulled, probably more from mental stress that outward endurance. The dark symphonies of his old pack's warm howls seemed to seize his thoughts more often than not. This wolf held something his entire essence lusted for: a family. Not a pack of rouges or a one-wolf show; a place were his spirit felt content and a place were he...belonged. He dropped his head respectfully in a nod. For the life of him, he couldn't find witty words to slip from his mouth to challenge her own, but yet was grateful for that alone. One slip and he could be chased from the lands. He was a rouge on pack land.

His left foreleg slipped out in a greeting manner; to him it was a sign of hospitality and invitation. "You say you're apart of a pack..." he began again cautiously, "and are you their Alpha?" Running on assumption alone, it would be highly insulting to call her anything less if she was a leader; contrary, it might flatter the she-wolf if she was of lower hierarchy. He took a step back and lowered his head slightly. I mean no threat, ma'am.
[/size]