Redhawk Caldera style of eye

I promise, I tried not to join >.>

"God damnit!" he erupted, skidding to a stop just over the burrow his supposed catch had just vanished into. This had been a complete waste. He'd rocketed over completely fresh scent markers in favor of food—thus was the desperation of a loner—and now he was digging frantically, futilely into a pre-established hole, no meal to speak of.

When all he could taste and scent was dirt, the shabby young male pulled himself out of the shallow ground and began to pace momentarily, whining over his loss. His belly rumbled anxiously, and the lanky DeMonte took longer than he should have to remember he was trespassing. This was unfortunately a common occurrence for the foolish teen, but he'd always proved innocent enough to escape conflict, if not fast enough.

Remembering his shout, which surely could've attracted trouble, the dusty wolf began loping quickly towards the direction from whence he had come, when movement caught the corner of his brown eye.

Immediately he was on edge. He didn't belong here, but the other youth's scent wasn't exactly too different from his own vagabond musk, so it gave him due pause as they noticed one another. "You're a trespasser!" he said in loud excitement, trying to relate but somehow sounding vaguely accusing.