Enzai was stalking, silently, on the perimeter of his pack's territory. The friction between Sol and himself was becoming almost suffocating sucking the oxygen out of the air around them, ready to flare up. His ears were perked forward, and he saw back on his haunches, opening his maw to drink in the scents. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Some sick animals, he would have to remind the hunting parties to be careful what they put their teeth into. A mother deer had two fauns earlier that day. Rain was coming. 
Shaking himself, he dismissed any chance of threat for the day. The horizon was quiet, for now at least. Often he questioned himself as to whether or not this feud was worth it in the end. But it had always been this way. If he gave any sign of weakness or pity, the other pack would pounce on it, and tear his throat. No, there would be no easy fix. It was ingrained into their nature how to hate the others, and they did it well. 
The large black wolf supposed he should return to camp. Lifting himself up with a grunt, he yawned deeply, and began to tread back. The yawn, though, drank in a new wave of scents, one that he did not pick up previously. It was warm, alive. A wolf. His neck-hair rose, and he bore his fangs with a soft snarl. 
"Who goes there?!" he barked, and launched himself through bushes and around trees, until coming paw-to-nose with the terrible threat.
A pup.
Enzai sighed, but looked hard at the little creature.
"And what do you suppose you are doing?" He inquired, bright amber eyes burning intensely at the small wolf.