when the lights go out and we open our eyes

Along the lower reaches of Hrafnsvaktin, the ravens that had come with them were silent. It was snowing, again, the bitter chill of the spring air not ready to relent and bless them with sunlight. But such was life in the tundra and Solpallur was not a stranger to it, and the forest beneath the mountainous claim they were undertaking reminded him strongly of a home he had long since departed.

There were few things that he recalled of that place.

One of them, however, was the beauty of the land. His birthplace could not hold a flame to what he saw here, what potential he felt seeping up like a wellspring under his feet. He felt a resolute peace here, not marred by history of turmoil or other unpleasant things and felt fortunate for it. Slowly and surely, he had begun to unfurl from his own internal shell to explore it openly.

In the distance, a small herd of caribou moved, aware of him.

He showed no interest in the pursuit of them and as such, both passing parties ignored one another with the distance. He was sure they would want for nothing so long as they paid it the respect that it deserved, even against his inclination to chase them. To unleash an exact aggression upon them would have been desirable even to him, but he strove to be better this time—lest they be plucked from this world too.
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Struggling through a nearby treeline Kuhn, a massive cat was dragging a recently slain caribou with him.  The fallen prey was frequently getting caught in patches of snow and brush.  "Fucking... Bullshit", Griped the tiger as he noisily tore through the brush clamped on to the neck of the caribou.   

Normally, it was policy for him to try and keep the noise level down, but the start to the day had been rough already, he just wanted to move his kill somewhere that he could enjoy it in peace without the incessant beating of the wind and snow. 

It was obvious that anyone nearby could hear him between the breaking branches and the cursing.
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There came a crashing through the brush ahead of him on the trail; the Suneater stopped himself, rising to his full height with hackles prickling as his ears cupped forward to take in the sound. It was not the proud tines of a bull elk forging his way through the patchy undergrowth that greeted him, but something he had never witnessed before.

Distinctly feline, but so very, strikingly different.

Solpallur immediately decided it was a threat, a fool’s errand if ever he had seen one as his jaws parted in a snarl to try and ward it away. He wasn’t interested in the kill that the feline drug with it—it could have the elk for all he cared—but knowing that it existed among them would only give him moments to decide how best to assess the situation.
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Kuhn couldn't detect the presence of the canine over the loud noise of snapping branches, his own panting, and cussing.  So he continued dragging, completely unaware. The big cat wouldn't notice the wolf, its scent or growls until he was painfully close.  

And all at once, he saw him.  "Aaack!!" The cat immediately dropped his kill springing backwards; startled.
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Much to his surprise, the cat was startled by his presence.

It was an opportunity that the suneater couldn’t pass up and he sprang forward with snapping jaws, driving home the point of warding the beast off from his territory. If the cat left the kill, then that would only be a bonus; if he charged from there, Solpallur knew he would most certainly be outmatched in an instant.

It was a gamble, but one that the prideful canine would risk.
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The big cat, springing back landed in the snow, skidding backwards a bit, still startled.  The world seemed to slow down a bit, as the feline took in his surroundings;  the open expanse of the planes patrolled by the ravens who could glide on the winds.  No doubt they would be watching them now...

Kuhn focused in on the threat.  His ears and eyes first locked onto the ebony wolf, taking in the situation. The wolf... he is confident.  This unnerved the feline, an ambush predator by trade; who did not excel mentally against a head on force, or an unexpected situation. 

None the less, Kuhn although afraid for the moment, gathered himself, leaping back onto his kill.  Aching his back, the big cat coiled on top of his kill, dug his claws into it possessively, before letting out a mild roar, swiping a massive paw at the air between himself and the threat, poised to strike again.
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The swipe that cut through the air only told Solpallur that the feline's paws were massive. The hook of his claws alone seemed as though they could take his head off clean, but the wolf was not interested in putting that theory to the test. He held his ground instead, hackles prickling as much as they could; his lips pulled back even further in silent snarling to make his point—go away.

Poised at the ready, his stance was not one of unbridled offensive. No, the wolf was ready to bolt if things turned a touch more dicey, and he did not cover this fact. Alone, the cat outmatched him he thought, and Solpallur knew better than to pull his breathren in foolishly against a predator he knew naught about. This was a means to defend his newfound homeland as much as it was to observe, and he would do all he could to ensure his own survival.
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After a moment the cat was allowed to come more to his senses.  The initial adrenaline from the unexpected encounter was starting to dissipate, his heart rate slowed, his claws retracting from his kill.  The feeling of fear started to dwindle, turning to something approximating annoyance and anxiety.  The wolf didn't seem to be charging...  

"Piss off Jackass! If your hungry, kill your own or wait 'till i'm done!", Kuhn growled, a faint tremor still left in his voice.
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The opportunity to drive the feline away had slipped through his grasp. He realized this the moment that the creature seemed to regain its sense of confidence and in turn, he felt his own wane. It was not fear that gripped him now but rather the intelligence to know that he could not win, let alone drive such a beast away on his own.

And truth be told, they could not afford to incur injury either. Nothing more than a fledgling pack trying to hold itself together, they hadn’t the time to establish themselves proper in much sense. Holding down part of a territory was one thing, but if they were injured? They had no way of mending themselves, of fighting off infection that would surely take hold and do more harm than good.

So he fled. He turned tail from an insurmountable fight that was bound to occur with his own proclivity, and thought it best that he would live to see another day. But he would warn the others all the same in the way that he knew how, though he wasn’t sure how best to describe such a beast with strange markings—yet the wolves would spy it all the same, whether it be from forest or on high among the cliffs.

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concluding this just because it's ancient and i know the dynamic between this group and kuhn have changed a lot

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