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Word Count → 308
As if the boy’s rebellious attitude toward other packs’ boundaries wasn’t enough to bring trouble down upon him here, his ignorance would only make it worse. Anathema’s distance from the rest of the packs in the region kept it far removed from any conflicts going on between the groups and mostly unaware of them. It was especially so in Jackson’s case. The idea that any of the packs in the region would be at war was one that had never crossed his mind, and he was blissfully unaware that he was treading on ground that had recently seen fighting. Perhaps he would have been a little wiser in where he chose to go if that was the case.
But instead the hybrid boy foolishly continued on his way into the foreign packland, eyes darting about with interest. It seemed like a relatively quiet place. He was surprised that he’d managed to get this far in without being noticed. He smirked. The other packs he’d been to would have at least spotted him by now. But of course, that triumphant thought was cut short with the sudden pounding of footsteps behind him. Jackson stiffened, whirling to face the source of the noise. Well, well, it looked like he wasn’t alone out here after all.
The brown-furred wolf leapt forward to place himself in front of Jackson, bristling and clearly agitated. The Anatheman hybrid shifted his footing to something more defensive, keeping his gaze on the pack wolf. He may not have been spotted right away, but he was certainly receiving one hell of a greeting. His own teeth flashed in a snarl as the other spoke, cerulean orbs narrowing into a glare. “I’m walking. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” He didn’t care that he was in the wrong here. He would match attitude with attitude.