11-28-2011, 11:10 PM
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[/html] The poet in him seethed with injustice. The pack member in him raged with anger. How dare they accuse him like this? How dare they approach the borders and call to speak to someone and then treat him like dirt? The male was pleasant and cordial enough, but the pregnant woman (why was she even here? That was so reckless!) was just plain rude. Turnstone felt his hackles raise defensively as he glanced from one to the next. He used as much self control as he could not to bare his fangs and snap at the woman. He did, however, keep his ears pointed forward and his tail held high -- even in his optime form -- as he peered down at the others. They were non-members, which meant in the hierarchy of Crimson Dreams, they were worth less than omega. Turnstone thought it would do them well to remember that they were guests in another's home.[/html]
"There are none of the kind," he replied, trying to remain calm. He addressed the male wolf, pointedly ignoring the black-and-white wolf. "We have received one male wolf, but he doesn't have the same scent as you. I don't think whoever you're looking for is here. Though, I would caution you to choose your companions more wisely. You are guests at Crimson Dreams. It would not to well to aggravate us," he added sharply. As he said this, he unclenched his fist, which he had not even done consciously. He let out a slow breath, trying to calm his racing heart, still refusing to acknowledge the woman or her male companion.[html]