call the sanguine saints

Az stalked the plains, fur bristling with a barely-contained rage. The brackish water of the incoming tide lapped at his paws, more of an irritant than a soothing presence. At one point the touch of these waters had been home, but that day was long in the past. Nothing about this shore was familiar anymore. He was far from the territory he once ruled - from the pack he once led - snarling against the painful realization that echoed in his skull. He no longer had a home. Everything had changed.

He sniffed the air then, catching not just the scent of the salty sea, but something else - another presence. Az threw himself forward, his powerful limbs carrying him forward with an aggressive grace. Ears pinned, eyes narrowed, lip curled ever so slightly to reveal a hint of his sharp teeth. This wasn't a friendly approach; it was the advance of a wolf on edge, an aggressor seeking an outlet for his pent-up rage. Once upon a time, it might have been the approach of an alpha come to defend his territory.

Before him stood a wolfdog, so focused on her task that she seemed almost a part of the landscape. Az's gaze hardened.

"Lost something?" Az's voice was a low growl, dripping with contempt. He didn't care for an answer, not really. It was just a pretext, a thin veil over his need to lash out. His stance was dominant, tail held high, head lowered. The tension in his body was palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap. He didn't know this woman, didn't know her story, but at this moment she was the embodiment of everything that had gone wrong in his life.