Conventionally, the lighter colored male defended his own pride. Tychon’s hackles bristled like porcupine quills when the wolf he taunted threatened him. At least the guy had some growl to him. Maybe there was a bit of bite too? Tychon’s eyes gleamed with maliciousness, anticipating a hostile remark or aggressive action. Neither came. In fact, the wolf had the audacity to turned away! It seemed the he was entirely unaffected by Tychon's insult or his physical mutilation. 'What the hell?!' Tychon's mind exclaimed. Was he not scary enough or impactful enough in anything to get a reaction from anyone (Masque had entirely ignored his hideousness as well and that damn puppy from years ago had also deemed him fit enough to steal food from)?

As the rude dog-wolf caught the damnable fish, Tychon’s jaw clenched with offended wrath. Maybe he should be happy to be ignored; that was what he originally wanted when he arrived at the crags. But who in their right mind wanted to be brushed aside like a tuff of fur lost in springtime? Tychon advanced on the other male, and he insulted more severely, “Can’t catch much more than fish with that deformed ear of yours, can you, doggy?”

Tychon claimed the dead fish between them when he pressed one tan paw over its sticky scales. The corned of his right lip arched upwards cruelly. What ever would the over-sized, domesticated canine do?