The white wolf knew little of geography, and if he had been asked he would not even know the name of the pack he lived in. It was simply this, the scent he wore and the land he stood on. What else did he need to know? A life could be lived without the spoken word, as he had managed for the early years of his existence. And so where he was from, as was asked by the coyote smelling male was unknown. Minos was not unintelligent, and knew that this male found such a thing of importance and so he was silent only a moment before answering, "Not here." of course he knew where he was from, for the smell was forever engraved in his brain. He could find it, if he must, as well as the wolves he was born from. Still it had no name.
What happened next was unexpected. The words that were spoken and the actions that were given made Minos sit still in pure apprehension. The shifted coyote creature moved downwards, and for that Minos could have been grateful. It showed respect and a sense of submission. But as he came closer, Minos felt the fur along his neck and back rise. A growl resonated through his chest and he protested the close proximity. No, he spoke in the raised lip and deepening growl. He licked the white muzzle, a sign to the wolf that he was beneath him and yet the energy projected was far from submission. It was wrong, and though he spoke Minos heard and understood none of it. Paw rose from the sand, and the omega turned his head away in hopes of showing his distaste.