One might be mistaken to think that the approach of a puppy would let the male’s guard down, would relieve and relax him. Mistaken, because as soon as the little creature comes into clear sight-line there is a new rigidity in his legs. haunting ivory eyes fixate on the little puff of fur as the rest of his senses seek out the parents who would undoubtedly be within earshot of it.
It is abnormal that there should be such a young wolf outside the den, or at the very least outside a notable home - even loners left scent marks to determine where their personal space began and ended.
Then the furball seemed to puff and his expression grows startled, miming the growing amount of creamy color on the ground with growing show of ivory iris in his eyes. There is a flinch in the lip that he spots in his mental fluster and he lowers his head and ears to the sides - not sure what to make of it and visibly confused.
The pup would have no status to pursue in a natural pack, and there was no pack bond between them, so the response only adds to the prickle down his spine. Strange. Alien. Foreign. Unnatural.
He edges to the left with a stiff and cautious attempt at evasion. He does not want to leave this comfortable place, but he does not trust even the most obvious cues of his senses that tell him there are no others accompanying this puppy. There is a low, uncomfortable growl that mumbles and grumbles in his throat, eyes flickering between intensity on the pup and double checking the messages received through sound and scent. He creates a wide arching berth as he moves, a bare wheeze of a whine sliding as if from the roof of his nostrils as the constant confirmation finds him trapped between baffled and concerned.
Finds him switching from concern for danger to concern of an adult wolf towards a pup.
Oh he is not unfamiliar with this cubs age, with what nature tells him ought to be to set his nerves to rights. He knows there is worth in children, as all wolves do, and it draws him to lower his head just a little more with a little less flatness to his ears when he stops. He sniffs.
Mountains. Either parents, herself, or her bumbling about belongs amongst craggy caves and high elevation pines. He snorts, distaste for the stone and snow scent expelled with the remaining breath. The question remained only whether he disregard this too-strange meeting or to pursue the twinge of curiously paternal notions. It is hard, weighing options like this, but it was his mother’s blood that allowed for it. His father would simply have moved on and avoided detection from any other stumbling babes in the woods.
A YOUNG BROTHER OF POMPEII AND HAWTHORNE
the wild man
six - no imprint - no pack - no mate
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