Redhawk Caldera how it got so cold that words just froze.

Hush lapsed into calmness, his eyes scanning the horizon. It was a natural position for him; unconsciously alert, but consciously content and relaxed. He lingered in this dicotomy of thought until Artaax broke him out of it. He blinked his baby blues at Artaax's sudden stop, initially confused. But soon he smiled broadly, his tail wagging. A spar. It was essential given the war looming in front of them. Hush slid into a tensed stance, watching the younger man, suddenly analyzing every inch of him. Artaax was taller and larger than Hush was, from his father Dio no doubt. But Hush, though small, was mostly muscle. Lean from a lifetime of ranging and chasing. But still small. He paced back and forth, watching Artaax's haunches and neck, waiting for a sign of strike. If Artaax hesitated and waited as Hush did, the coywolfdog would make the first move.