Silvertip Mountain Old Stylo

Copper was just getting used to life here. He was strangely satisfied by the way it was now, having to chase away, or kill intruders. It was just the right amount of activity for coppers' short attention span.
Maybe once more wolves filed in, he could go for hunter, or maybe attract a mate. Copper almost laughed, as the snow drifted past his muzzle. He was obviously the Mountains' most experienced protector. He then stopped daydreaming, and got up to patrol the borders, with a grunt. Copper was surprised by how heavy the snow was here. Down below, the snow was quite sparse, in favor of mud, or swampy grass.