Bitterroot Valley ✢ With the holes in his sneakers

A stranger made a beeline for him-- probably a scout, out ahead of the rest of the pack. Veteran shifted, positioning the deer between himself and the scout, but still he continued to gorge. When the scout was close enough to pose a threat, he lifted his head from the kill reluctantly. He shifted into a defensive stance, just in case this scout was the bite-first ask-questions-later type. 

His ears flattened at the scout's show of dominance, and he swung his tail low. His demeanor was respectfully wary, and there was a curious glimmer in his eyes matching that of the scout's. Had there been more than one pack wolf present, he may have submitted, cut his losses and slunk away. However, seeing as the man was alone, Veteran wasn't ready to back down. 

"Your valley is beautiful," Veteran complimented him, dipping his blood-soaked muzzle. He would concede the valley, but not the meal. "But the kill is mine." He paused for a moment, his gaze searching. "I will share it with a brother," he offered, "and I'll defend it from an enemy. Your choice."