"talks like this"
Days and nights were starting to get cooler, but the weather was still nice enough to go for a swim. The white wolf emerged from the slow-flowing river, half drenched in its chilled water. Tall grass tickled at his legs and underbelly, but it made for good drying material. He shook his thick frame, sending a spray out around him and creating little rainbows in the sunlight. It was around midday, a usually good time for a nap, but Otsoa was restless lately and had taken to wandering around for hours on end. He was mostly looking for a female, or a fight, whichever came to him first.

The females that had previously belonged to him were no longer of this world. They had either died protecting their young or by his own blood-thirsty jaw. He couldn't help himself if they were unfaithful to him, and they made great examples for the others to make sure they would stay loyal. They were his and his alone. Now, they were no one's. Doomed to roam the spirit world until the day he met them after dying from old age. That was the only way he could see himself going, anyway. It wasn't like he'd lost a fight in his seven years yet, and he wasn't expecting to end that record anytime soon.

Otsoa looked around at the tall trees that bordered the river's banks and wondered what pathetic wolves called this place home. Perhaps he would just have to find out how many packs there were in this area and which were ripe for the picking. Maybe there were wars going on, leaders becoming too power-hungry for their own good or too weak to even be called alpha. He would show them; he was the answer to all their problems, everything they could ever need in life: food, safety, a continuing bloodline. Of course, any males would have to find their own females, and they had better be from the bottom of the barrel or he'd just have to take them for his own.