Snow clung to the ivory coat of the male. His lengthy limbs carried him through it without much effort, but the expression on his face painted the image of a vexed brute. Smokestep was growing impatient. He needed to find the waters that housed the black rock. He had spent enough time meandering the wilds with his sister. Though he was typically quite immovable in the face of her irritation, he was beginning to feel the ire that was flooding his body. He had bid Sandpiper a momentary farewell in search of prey, not caring whether or not she followed him. The pale brute had wandered through the thick wood and out into the open where he came upon open land and a small island that sat between two rivers.
The pirate sauntered down, mismatched eyes watching his surroundings with care. Birds flirted with him overhead, and the pallid Cairn flattened his ears to silence the majority of their senseless chirping. He longed for the water, and his internal compass was fixated on the rivers that ran on either side of the small islet. If he could bring fish back to Sandpiper, she would be sure to soften.
The Cairn boy thirsted for the sea. His spikey pale coat pricked at the scent of brine and saline. The rivers were likely to lead back to the coast. He should have turned back to inform Sandpiper of the discovery, but the flash of blonde caught his eye and the wild brute turned his crown to face the unfamiliar beast. Curling his lip back, Smokestep ran a salmon colored tongue along his muzzle and huffed deeply. This stranger seemed to want to watch. The pirate was not likely to attempt to hunt with the eyes of another on his back. Instead, he began to pick his way toward the other wolf.
The ghost moved with his head low and his eyes trained on the beige predator. His shoulders swayed with each lengthy stride that he took and his mismatched gaze was trained dutifully on the other. Each step brought him closer to the unknown, but his confidence grew with each stretch of his limbs.
The vagabond moved swiftly, covering ground faster than most would expect of a wolf of the water. His cocksure gait was sure to cause the beige brute to feel a twinge of discomfort, but Smokestep did not care. He was a thief and a pirate; the opinion of beasts on the land did not phase him or interest him, even in the slightest. This brute would be no different. The Cairn boy paced forward, not slowing in his steps. His approach was foolish, but Smokestep was as brash as they came.
It was not until the stranger hollered to the ghost to mind his space that the young Cairn found himself amused. Instead, his hocks bent and he picked up his speed, loping now through the blanket of snow. Great plumes rose from his mouth and into the air. “Mind your tongue, lad; or you'll be feeding the fish,” he barked in a guttural tone. The familiar curling smirk had not yet disappeared from his leathery lips.
The space between them shrunk and it was not long before Smokestep was close enough to feel the dragon breath of the beige wolf as he bellowed his warning to the young pirate. He chuckled softly and continued his pace until roughly three yards from colliding with the wolf. The Cairn did not stop, but he decreased his speed enough that he would not send them both rolling through the snow. This may have been a tactical error, for as he felt himself within biting distance of the brute, he felt the twinge of pain across his shoulder where the other's fangs had connected with flesh.
As the brown wolf had swooped in for his warning bite, Smokestep craned his neck and parted his jaws, revealing yellowed fangs. He swooped his head toward the bridge of the other's muzzle in an attempt to latch his teeth there. A snort shot from his nose in the process, spattering snot.
Ah! The marauder raged with adrenaline as he felt his fangs collide with the flesh of the wolf's upper muzzle. His shoulder stung against the warning that had been issued, and while he worked to gnaw as much away as he could, the noisy stranger was keen on removing Smokestep from his face. This was a smart decision, as the young pirate was only eager to cause as much harm as was possible before he returned to the side of his sister and sought the sea.
With all of his force, the ghost's opponent asserted his body weight against the seafaring wolf and knocked him backwards. Smokestep tumbled from his stilts and snapped his canines maliciously at whatever they might grasp as he fell. He knocked snow into the air with little concern and released a bark of excitement that snapped in the air overhead.
He was proficient in the waters, but he always enjoyed the challenge of fighting on dry land.