True, he had not been fully aware of anyone around him as he struggled to find his bearings, but Noss was not completely unaware that there was someone watching him. For all his years alive, warrior training had pounded into him that sense of knowing the presence of others; even those who strained to hide themselves. And although he could not pinpoint the location of the stalker, he at the very least knew to be on guard. Not even the scents that surrounded him--most of them muted by the snow and strong coniferous pines which fogged most other scents--gave him a lead to his watcher's standing point. But he didn't need to find her, because she revealed herself. At first he was wary--hackles half-raised in warning that he was battle-trained, stance wide and prepared--as he, too, began the practiced viewing of a maybe-opponent-maybe-passerby. She was a dual-colored female with surprisingly striking crimson eyes--the term 'striking' having been used a lot, lately, as he found Nova Scotia to be filled with all things exotic--and he almost relaxed with her submissive posture, almost convinced that she would be of no harm to him with the way she spoke and the way she presented herself.
But then she said Dahlia de Mai.
Immediatly his hackles raised fully and his hands stretched out to extend and show his claws at full length, his back hunching to appear more dominant as his irises narrowed to slits; a customary warning to any who wished the performer harm. The memories from his encounter with the pack were not pleasant; he had effectively pissed off a pup who he had begrudgingly labeled as his equal and been banished by the leader under pain of death. This female in front of him fit the bill in the age description that he had come to associate the pack with, but her demeanor oddly didn't match his idea of them. Nonetheless, what with his obliviousness to his first trespass--that having been by mistake due to hunger and a chase that took him farther than expected--he was not past thinking that he had trespassed again and that he was breaking his word, which he valued exponentially more than most things and was on par with that little detail about his life. The female in front of him could either be harmless--she could be out of her packlands and he would still be safe in all aspects--or she could be the weight that tipped the scale of his safety.
"Where are we?" he asked carefully, precisely, and demanding. No need to attack her should he find himself in their lands. If he was...he could only hope to run in the opposite direction before that pup leader caught wind of him. Attacking her would do no good, since he held no grudge against her, and it would probably only make his sentence more painful than what was promised. And if they weren't in the Dahlia lands at all...he could at the very least keep his head; that was always a bonus. As it was, the mere mention of the pack had his nerves frayed, adding to the slowly unravelling tapestry that had already had the first string tugged by that bear surprise.
Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.
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