blindsided

It seemed as though after their aggression had died away, the two wolves were left at a stand-still. Kierkegaard stood awkwardly, his tail twitching behind him while his eyes roamed the mist-laden forest. He was not sure what he was supposed to do about the white wolf. He opted simply to say nothing. Kierkegaard was gifted in the art of silence, after all. Shuffling his paws, the hulking ash-colored male swallowed heavily. He doubted that the white female wanted any more of his attention, and he was not particularly fond of hers. With one last glance towards the small creature, he waited a moment longer for some form of verbal remark before he would set off into the woods.