His curiosity had been peaked as the thoughts and whispers of war settled in his ears. At first acknowledgment the male had found it frightening, and thus sought ways to protect his loved ones (Ruri, the horses). Heath had not wanted anything to do with it, ready to separate himself from the packs in the midst of the conflict. But now Heath was tempted to steer towards the borders of Dahlia, investigate himself and learn what he could about their numbers or the sort of members guarding the lands. The group had not directly threatened his home, or that he knew of, but understood their leader to be hostile.
Eyes started out into the dim light, alert to anything that might pass before them as his ears searched for any sign of another lingering in the shadows. Though his mind was wandering, drifting off and his concentration lacked the sharpness that might have told him of the scents and the sounds he overlooked. It came forth like a giant crashing through the forest, bowling over trees as he went. The dark face led the large powerful body and cloaked rider out from the dense wood and right into the path of the Lord. Heath cursed, his voice showing his surprise he moved backwards.
Stark reared, pulling the the hand that held his lead upwards and almost yanking Heath off the ground. The coy-wolf moved him back, his front always facing their attacker. The feminine scent of an lone wolf wrapped around the familiar musk of the stallion. An anger rose in from his chest, the curse on his tongue rising in volume. Heath pulled the small knife from his denim jeans that he wore. The pale stallion rebounded from the fright and a hardened glare held in his gaze, sharper then anything the tame and placid horse had ever given. He took a forwarding step, and Heath pulled the led downwards to discourage him. Silently now, Heath waited small weapon in hand.
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