Wild Berry Meadow i sit a bit but i'm not gonna stay

There was no avoiding the obvious: his injury was a beacon to others. If it wasn't the scent of festering flesh that drew them it would be the dried blood (if any remained), or the way the man now moved. He did not appreciate being a target and would have to be more aware of his surroundings to avoid possible encounters.

For now, he only stared. The stranger spoke and moved closer, motioning to the sloping angle of the wolf's hindquarters; this earns a flash of his front teeth as a warning, but also the flick of his tongue over his snaggled upper canines, a nervous habit. He would not allow the stranger to come closer—he knew better than that.

Neither could he turn to flee, as that would further expose the injury to the other wolf. It appeared as though Drusk was stalemated in to lingering.