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He pads through the snow lightly, his fur only a few shades darker than the snow it's self, save for the remarkable patterning down his shoulders and flanks. The massive moth shape seeming to flutter it's wings with every step and breath, antena quivering with the movement of his shoulders, as though the moth would lift free of his thick winter coat and flap away into the winter sky. He pauses to lift his head, sniffing at the air, trees, and rocks. There's a wolfpack around, and he's trying to skirt the territory, not wanting a confrontation, just lunch. Fortunately he thinks he's managing to stay this side of their markers, so no one should come past and get all upidy about him being two inches the wrong side of their marker. There do seem to be a few other wolves, or maybe one...he can smell it's scent...possibly female...on the wind, but she hasn't come howling and snarling...so it's probably safe.
"Heh. Just passing through..." He chuckles inwardly, and starts forward again.

Auberon jumps backward with a start as the shape of the she wolf suddenly appears, sailing overhead, and then flops onto his haunches, trying to look a bit more dignified than his possible oponent. Not quite so hard when your foe is shaking off the effects of going nose to trunk with a tree.
"Who do I look like?" He chalenges, bristling his fur to look bigger. "This is still free territory." He growls, furthering the argument, his eyes, an similar dark marroon to the 'antenae's around his neck, flashing boldly. "So I can go where I want. Or are you just now going to deside you desprately need the three feet of ground I'm standing in?"

"Well...I don't know your father so..." Auberon scratches at his chin lazily, the gesture calculated to show how unimpressed he is with her threat. "Am I supposed to be shaking in my winter coat now? Sorry. Maybe if you told me your name I'd know if I was supposed to have heard of this legendary sire of yours and why I should go miles around his marks." She was feisty. Not unatractive, but definitely feisty. He might not get out of this with just words, but one can always hope for the best.

Auberon flicks his ear slightly, sizing up this fierce little female, damned if she isn't refusing to back down.
"I didn't ask your mothers name, Realin-thing." He turns her own little title back around at her, standing up. "Why do keep calling me "Thing" Don't you know another wolf when you see one?" He ruffles his fur proudly. "My name is Auberon. My father's name is Aelfrik, and my mother was Luna." It's from his mothers side he gets his markings, her own fur white, her shoulders brushed with the creamy colors of a Luna moth, it's dark crecent moon marks stirring on her slender shoulders. From his father came his pride, and the torq mark around his neck. A great tan wolf with an golden 'collar' in his fur. "And I am definitely strong. I'm also smart enough to know I'm not INSIDE your fathers territory, therefore I have a right to be here, and go catch myself a rabbit, so why don't you lay off the tough act until I deside to do something that actually infringes on your mighty fathers lands?" He's about had it with the posturing...maybe the konk into the tree addled her pretty head?

stressed "Oh THAT will be the day. How are you supposed to fend off anything when you can't even keep from running into a TREE?" Auberon's hackles rise. "You're in unclaimed territory, and there's not another wolf around to come bail you out. You're an pack weanling, I can practicly smell the milk on your breath. I've been hunting on my own probably since before you shed your last MILK tooth you arrogent little whelpling! I take back that thought. There's nothing atractive about you! Get out of my way before I STEP on you!" He snarls, now fully frustrated. Damn these arogant pack wolves. He goes through all kinds of effort to stay out of their territory and gets this @*^@# from a hormonal female. "I take hours out of my travel time to stay THIS side of your STUPID territory and I get my Ears chewed off my a weanling! This is so pathetic!" He moves to bristle past her, frustrated and bristling. "I am NEVER joining a stupid pack! EVER! It makes your BRAINS melt out your EARS!"

"WELL YOU AREN"T RELYING ON YOUR BRAIN NOW EITHER ARE YOU?" Auberon thunders, frustration crackling from every hair. "Is this your plan for when the next thing you YIP at has the foaming maddness?" He moves to give her his shoulder, the broad flat bone under the skin will give her something to try and bite into (and hopefuly slide off of) but also allow him to put his weight behind it and shove her away. Most male wolves outweigh their female counterparts, and he trusts to his own size as he grows toward adulthood. "Maybe you've already got it you maniac. I've never met a wolf so mad on to fight who WASN'T Sick in the head. now GET before I -DO- sink teeth in that snippy little face of yours weanling." He snarls, flashing a thin line of curved white teeth. "Key words Realin-Daugher of War. NEAR. Not IN."

"I left on my OWN weanling. Just because you're not strong enough to do anything without claiming your big Bad INBRED PACK put you up to it..." He bristles, teeth snapping at the air. He refrains from biting, but throws his weight forward to body slam her with the hard edge of his shoulder, hoping to pin her to a tree, where the most she'd be able to bite is the thick protective scruff of his neck. Humiliate first, draw blood later. SHow this mad little weanling that war and bloodshed isn't the same as the thrill of the hunt. "You really want war? You really wanna know what it ACTUALLY feels like to have someones teeth closing around your throat? Do you think it's GLORIOUS? Do you think that? Do you?"

"You know what strength is weanling?" Auberon's voice drops to a silky rumble, as he turns his head close to her ear. "Strength is where I leave you alive because you're not enough of a threat to me to warrent wasting the energy to rip peices out of you. Strength is more than just the body. If I'd gone after you with my teeth were would we be? Rolling around on the ground and tearing fur out of each other." He chuckles softly. "But look where we are. And there's not a scratch on you. This is strength." He flicks his tounge out and licks the corner of her ear in a strange demonstration, the touch no more than the brush of moth feet on a night blooming flower. "Refraint is strength. Strength is refraint. If you still need them, then you can't leave. You're tied to them." He eases away slowly from the tree, waiting to see what she'll do before fully unpinning her. "This is the difference between Inside and Near." He chuckles again, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks.