Gyrfalcon's Keep [m]The More The Merrier, Right?

Another approaches the woman donning the scent, and he bristles. 

Lip curling, he nears the water lapping against the bank and eyes the distance from where he stands to where she does. The river is not wide, so he settles on the easiest way to cross. Hurdling. 

Crouching low, he springs off of his hind legs, fur blow in opposition to the pressure of the wind. Landing seamlessly on the other side, a spritz of dirt flew, leaving a bit of an indentation once he'd stepped to the side. 

Inching toward the two, he focused his cold, one-eyed stare on the other male and issued a low growl of warning to keep his distance. From only him, or the female as well, he wasn't sure of yet. It was safe to suggest both, for now.

Chin still low, he intended to satisfy his curiosity by slowly circling the female, ensuring the aroma was indeed her own. But when that proved to be not enough, he neared her flank, snout outstretched to get a better whiff. 

He'd prepared himself for any potential outlash, ready to jump back if the female took offense at his bold approach. He would do her no harm, of course—but perhaps she wasn't convinced of that yet.