Sleepy Fox Hollow I think I’m doing alright.

A sound akin to strangled fury loosed from Anselm's parted jaws. It stung his pride to the ninth degree to see their borders so plainly ignored. It turned his blood thick and curdled, brimming with imperial scorn for the outlander.

The coyote moved quick and clever. Anselm was a large wolf, but his build afforded him little speed and no grace. Cursorial as his progenitors were, he was built for long distances and not the sprinting chase -- Meridian's form made quick distance between them.

The discarded herbs fell to the ground in buckshot scatter, ignored as Anselm's form hurled over them.

The Paleo-born Hunter would not settle for defeat. As the meters between them grew he slung his muzzle low to the ground and tracked, intent to chase her to the ends of the earth if he needed to.