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It was cold. So cold. It reminded the young northerner of his home, the bleak and freezing lands of always winter, and he loved it. His mane started building up its usual thickness, used to the stark weather in the North. If it hadn't felt like home here, it sure did now.
He enjoyed the long nights too, he liked to come out in the middle of the night to walk, to stalk, he sometimes hunted too, he loved how his pale fur stood out in the shadows, contrasting with the darkness of Blackfeather and its gloom. That was pretty much what he was doing that night, walking around, feeling the many eyes of the stalkers of the shadows looking at him. It gave him the shivers sometimes to think that he was being watched, but he was getting used to it after months of living there, it didn't surprise him anymore.
Twice he had chased out intruders, and both times had been clueless females who didn't know what a marked border was, and he was gettin' real tired of that shit. Imagine his reaction when he scented yet another one of this stupid loners crossing the line. his face frowned instantly, his guard hairs bristled and he took of in the direction of the scent, which aside from belonging to a young female, it carried the characteristic smell of blood, which drove him crazy.
The female was small, almost half his own size, and she was hurt just as he had expected. He slowed down his pace as he approached, maintaining a high composure, dominant with just the right amount of hostility. I'm guessing you lost your sense of smell when you got those too.
the pale warrior said almost growling, and pointing at the wounds with his muzzle. For some reason he didn't attack her instantly, but right now it wasn't clear to him why.