Dragoncrest Cliffs No to your letters love

Rosalyn turned and Wylla felt, for the briefest of moments, a confusing flash of comradery. It withered under the weight of her indignation, but she didn't miss that the older woman had one clouded and ruined eye. If not for the many scars Rosalyn wore and the evident age of the wolf before her, Wylla might've been jealous that at least Rosalyn still had her eye, but she was too busy weighing her odds. The other wolf, an abnormal amalgamation of bold black and white markings that made Wylla instantly doubt her pure blood, seemed like a coward. Good. One less thing to worry about. Rosalyn alone was pretty old, and though she looked a capable warrior, Wylla was in her prime and felt certain she could win if she had to.

Rosalyn's terse response was almost exactly how Wylla would've responded if their roles were reversed. In another life, maybe she'd have actually liked this woman. But she eyed the bristled fur and fluffed hers out in response, hackles lifting fully along the entire length of her back. The one whose home you're setting up practically right on top of, she snapped. Nova Mountain loomed nearby, eclipsing the mess of a territory between it and the cliffs. In her eyes, this was way too close.

There was more to it, of course. She remembered the attitude of the wolves that once lived on this cliff, acting as though they owned everything around them. She remembered the loner that ripped her eye out, practically acting like she owned the place despite being just one wolf alone when Mahler first found her. Wylla believed the cliffs made wolves bold and entitled. If she had to play that same game of laying claim to everything in reach to ensure her family's safety in the face of these new ruffians, then she would do so.