Blackfeather Woods the road ahead feels lonely

The stranger nears. Low in approach, but not low enough.

Shifting his shoulders so he stands tall, the man cranes his neck, circling slow.

A whiff, each second. He gets better acquainted, finding himself intrigued by her sweet scent.

Perhaps he was pushing it—but even so, he gives a semi gentle nudge toward her shoulder. There is no intention other than simply to guage her reaction by his display. 

This is his way. The dominant. The authority. The alpha. 

And all will see him as such.