Sleepy Fox Hollow Wasn't enough.

For the first time in a long time, Anselm was utterly alone.

He'd avoided @Etienne since their interaction -- no, altercation -- by the sun-stone. It burned him with shame to see the cut on his face, when he'd only meant to warn; and that, in turn, prompted his own self-examination.

Was he a cruel man?

A prickle of annoyance bladed his spine to find other scents in the weald. His family's footprints were scarcely cold, and already wolves traipsed all over their legacy's kingdom.

After several healthy deposits along the border, Anselm ripped the faded fall grass from his paws and made for the southern perimeter. Since he was alone, there was little urgency in his steps.

Her legs carried her away from the desolate, sand-stricken landscape and back to the green so she could reunite with Prowler. Although she rarely showed it, Fiona was quite fond of her familiar. A tool, yes, but also a companion when the days were long and lonely. While she could not communicate with the raccoon as she might with another of her own kind, she found that their bond was stronger than any that she had had with a wolf.

Up the slope of a mountain she went, glancing back to see a creek behind her. As she neared the ridge, Fiona slowed, the fresh stench of a marking giving her pause. She tested the smell, trying to pull what information she could from it. In the distance, to her right, she saw the receding pale figure who had no doubt been the one to stain this place.

Fiona motioned for Prowler to scoot—she would collect her later—then began following a safe distance behind the stranger.

Just a cameo unless hes needed.

Etienne avoided Anselm, because it seemed that was what the pale boy wanted. However, he didn't stary far. Preferring to keepcto the shadowy eaves of the hollow than the open air. He had once upon a time preferred the openess, but lately he had felt strange and unsure andcfound solace there.

He knew he would need to leave hia devil boy eventually, they could never work and if Anselm found out that Etienne was the way he was. That he loved differently. Well it maybe his death warrant signed.

It was from the shadows he spotted the wolf tailing Anselm. He shifted and followed along in the woods. Staying out of it Anselm could csre for himself, but Eti was there should he need.

Just for a moment, Anselm thought of nothing at all — there was a bliss to mindlessness, and he enjoyed it. 

He was brought back to reality by a scent in the wind not his own. Already, irritation rippled through him. His steps became deliberate as he cast his gaze about the wildwood, searching. 

A figure cast in shadow caught his attention. Anselm turned around to face them, ears cupped assertively forward and posture absolutely unwelcoming; in his eyes, the wolf lacked common sense to follow him after so recent a scent marking — did their nose not work?

A growl unfurled from his chest as he stepped forward, unwelcoming in every degree and unaware that presently, Etienne lurked nearby.

Her "safe distance" was not what it seemed. In an instant, the stranger was upon her. Fiona did not fight back, but she did not flee, either. Instinct took over, and she fell to the earth. The witch rolled, belly-up, to the stranger. She meant no harm, no intrusion, and she would have to trust that he would know this by her display. If he was what she thought he was—a young dispersal wolf seeking his own claim—then he would need others to follow him, would he not?

It was more worth his time to attempt to recruit her than to chase her off, if she was willing. At least, she hoped he would see things the same way she did. Without that, she was at his mercy.

Fiona's swift subservience came wholly unexpected. The flash of her belly, the curve of his bared fangs -- Anselm stepped back, growl ending with a clip in his rumbling throat.

He breathed deep of her pelt. It spoke of no alliance he could detect. The scent of wildwood clung to her.

A step back, though his hackles still remained bladed. Vhat are you doing here?

He did not continue his attack. He simply stood over her a moment longer, then stepped back. He spoke with an accent she did not recognize, but it did not set any alarm bells off. The question he asked was harder to answer than she realized. She tried to figure what he wanted to hear, then tried even harder to figure out the truth. She hadn't been doing anything in particular, just following her nose.

I smelled fresh markings, she said, deciding to go with the truth. They did not seem strong enough to take for a claim, but I suppose I was wrong. Maybe that was what he wanted to hear anyway. Sometimes the truth ended up like that, though Fiona felt those times were few and far between. She didn't ask him anything, though she did slowly roll to her belly, ready to flip back over should he find that disagreeable.

Anselm could understand following one’s nose - to a point. 

He was visibly irritated. Fiona’s show of submission was enough to placate his aggression, but not enough to wipe away the annoyance that prickled his fur; she’d completely ignored his scent markers denoting his fading territory. 

Was she worth forgiving?

He wondered what his papa might do. But then, he wondered what Wylla might do — and it was then his yellow gaze kindled with his mama’s wrath. Get out. He snarled, head low and teeth bared — ready to drive her out that instant, but graceful enough to allow Fiona her chance to flee before her pelt felt his fangs.

He did not kill her, even when she flipped back over to conceal her belly. Instead, he told her to scram. She paused for a moment, making sure that he was serious about his request and not using it as a way to take advantage of her, then she did as he asked, fleeing the scene with her tail between her legs. Even as she ran, she couldn't stop thinking that he had a quality about him. What that quality was, she couldn't say. But it would linger on her mind for a very long time.

Fiona gave Anselm far too much credit. His only quality was being a massive dick.

His hard gaze followed her as she made for Paleo's faded borders. With two haughty kicks of his hind paws on the dirt to impart his scent, Anselm resumed patrolling -- but this time, an irritated aura stuck to him that did not fade for some time to come.