He walked the borders today, his whole being on edge. Something was amiss, the crows cawing loudly at something. And then he found a spot where the border scent had been disrupted by a different scent. His hackles raised, his hands fisting at his sides. He stalked the scent, spying a little female sitting as though she hadn't a care in the world.
His voice was gruff as he spat, "What the fuck were you doing on pack lands, outsider? We don't take lightly to strangers in our territory." In fact, the last he knew, the last outsider who had ventured in without respect had been banished. He was tempted to wipe the pleased smug expression off the female's face by beating the tar out of her. In fact, the butterflies were demanding blood, and that was enough to catch himself taking a step forward, ready to kill.
Instead, he forced himself to halt, staring at her with hard golden eyes, his tail raised his ears pushed forward. He was the pack member, she was the outsider. He would try posturing and snarling to make her leave before resorting to physical 'persuasion'.
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