The sound of the running river was something that you just had to get used to when you lived in the Grove. It was fortunate that Marsh was really quite fond of it; though he had never been particularly fascinated with water, he found its presence reassuring and calming. Rarely had he seen a more bold and un-ignorable territory border.

He did regret, though, that he had yet been able to toss any trespassers into it. One day, one day.

The Second was sat beside that name-inspiring water feature, watching it flow past. He had done plenty of rounds already, and had believed himself deserving of a rest. No doubt Ice and Triell were busy doing their jobs as well, so he was not concerned. The influx of newcomers aside (and to be fair, none of them had proven a particularly bad choice - though Elsa had gone missing), Swift River had been quite peaceful. It made a nice change after the betrayal of Naira, and not one he lamented. Some stability in the coming months was greatly desired, though no doubt his nerves would be constantly on edge until Corinna's children were older and less vulnerable.

Transfixed by the glassy surface of the water, Marsh almost didn't notice the very subtlest hints of blood on the wind as it blew in from the neutral territories. Something had been hunting near their borders... Believing it could be a lesser predator, Marsh's attention focused, and he debated the merits of investigating. It didn't make sense to turn down a potentially easy addition to the pack's cache, did it? With any luck, it wouldn't belong to a bear this time...

Without further deliberation, the copper beast pressed on through the river, shaking briefly on the opposite bank before trotting onwards. The wafted scent had been a freak chance, and it took a short while before his nose caught it again, but as soon as he had, his movements became a lot more purposeful. He registered wolf alongside it, but, as yet, could not be certain if the two were related. It was not unusual to have loners lurking outside of the territory but never approach.

Carefully he moved on, finally unable to deny the fact that the wolf and carcass were likely to be linked. Confirmation came when he passed a tree and she came into view, her back to him, munching on her meal. Damn. Still several yards from her, Marsh stopped, and without thinking, he audibly snorted, annoyed that it had not been something easier to chase off. Could he justify stealing the meal of a loner? No, not really. Corinna had not told him to take such measures - and the meal probably wasn't worth the effort.

It was not difficult to predict that she would react that way. It was her meal; he had intruded upon her. In any normal situation, her immediate hostility would have been little more than a cue to just take his leave. He wasn't here to be a thief.

But this wasn't quite a normal situation. He had not approached in an aggressive way, nor even ventured very close to her. She, meanwhile, was precariously close to Swift River borders - in that annoying fringe where he wasn't sure if he had the right to get defensive or not. He didn't like loners just floating outside the territory, unknown, potentially dangerous entities. He didn't like it.

It was nothing but instincts which wrinkled his muzzle, his ears flattening and his teeth showing in response to her display. He was damned if he was going to be treated like a scavenger so close to his jurisdiction. The matter was only made worse when she opened that mouth of hers, and old frustrations came flooding back, the words tumbling over his ears and only adding to his agitation. It was a shame that he did not comprehend the peace offering. To Marsh, her actions screamed far louder.

A dangerous rumble in his chest, the copper beast took one step forwards - just one - and his tail twitched a little higher, reflecting the status he held just beyond the river. He wasn't sure what he wanted to achieve, but a little respect wasn't too much to ask for, was it? To think that she thought him a petty thief! She, hunting and eating so close to pack lands!

What a shame that, by getting angry, it wasn't really making the situation any better.

That one step had been more provocative than he had anticipated. The girl rocked back, and then charged at him. If there had been any hopes for ending this situation diplomatically, it had just been shot to pieces.

Not afraid of a weak loner - and quite happy to give her all the opportunities in the world to realise what a moron she was being - Marsh ducked down, ears back, eyes narrow and neck bunched, ready to receive the foolhardy attack. His jaws opened in a salivary warning - not that warnings were of much use any more - and he watched as she charged him, his body warming as his heart pumped faster ready for the clash. It had been a long time since he'd had the opportunity to use his teeth on someone like this.

Then she spoke. What?

The bizarreness of her timing gave him momentary pause, for even as she marched right into his face - and even as she snapped at him - he could tell that she was not going to do any more. It was a strange combination of bravery and cowardice, but unfortunately, it was just the right brand of stupid. Why march right into his face if she did not want to see the charge through? Now it just gave him the advantage.

Her words rolled off his back, almost unnoticed. The momentary flicker of confusion in his expression was swiftly wiped away for nothing short of pure wrath.

For a moment, he drew himself higher, inhaling her pathetic scent, giving her just a moment to reflect on what she had brought upon herself. The growl in his chest had quietened, but now it exploded from him in an angry, vengeful snarl, and he did not give her more warning than that before he finally counter-charged - directly into her, jaws wide open and snapping for her arrogant face. Her decision to get right in her face would rather work against her at this point. His aim was to topple her, force her onto her back through the sheer weight of the impact - but if she tried to flee, well, it would not be too soon.

To her credit - or to her folly? - she resisted. They were fairly evenly-matched in terms of bulk, and, in seemed, in terms of stubbornness. Really, Marsh had been provoked. He was almost entirely blameless in this entire ordeal.

Not that he really regretted it. Swift River was much too peaceful for his liking - and even when they had traitors, they simply fled in the night! How was a wolf supposed to get his teeth into that?

Flecks of saliva flew as they lunged and snapped at each other, all too fast to really think about, all on instinct. Save for the first wound on her face, neither managed to leave any marks, which was fine by him; there was still time for this to be settled without further bloodshed with more dramatic posturing and lunges. She resisted his shove, he pushed harder, and her legs set in deeper. The sounds of guttural snarls disrupted what had been a peaceful day.

Then she caved.

Marsh was on top of her in a flash, forepaws planted either side of her shoulders while one hindleg pressed down on her lower stomach, prepared to resist if she tried to kick him off. He smashed his chest into hers, aiming to wind or otherwise harm, and when her jaws flashed out she got a mouthful of the fur and flesh near his shoulderblade - but, as ever, any pain inflicted had no effect on the rather damaged wolf. Even as he pushed his torso upwards, he snapped at her ear and cheek, aiming to grab something and then shake.

She would give in. He demanded it.

Finally it sank in. His lips and chin pink with her blood - with barely any of his spilt in comparison - he sensed it immediately as she stopped resisting, collapsing fully to the ground with barely a sound. The reaction in Marsh was equally swift; he let go of her flesh and let his legs straighten, so that he towered properly over the surrendering female. His tail curled tightly over his back, and he growled softly - but not kindly - as he lowered his nose to her face, keeping himself up close at all times. If this was a feint, he would allow himself to be taken by surprise; she would submit fully or not at all.

The slight movement of her head implied that she had gotten the picture, but he was not about to let it settle as that. She had some serious redeeming to do. Jerking his head to roughly grab her muzzle in his own, he would hold her tightly (though with nowhere near the aggression of only moments ago, nor the intent to harm), his steady growl flowing freely from his jaws into her face, his steel gaze glaring directly at her, daring her to be disrespectful and meet his eyes, daring her to fight back. She would whimper, and she would accept this treatment, or she would regret having ever come this close to Swift River.