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

Hush understood the wordless invitation, meeting it with a grin and a wagging tail as though it were a game. Which it was, really. But Artaax was an unusually serious young wolf. He did have a sense of humor, but it was buried somewhere beneath all of that stoic intensity where only those closest to him could ever see it. Even in games, he tended to focus on the purpose and exercise behind them, rather than just enjoying himself. The enjoyment was a nice side effect only. Fulfillment of the intention was more important.

Hush paced back and forth, prompting Artaax to do the same. He circled the other male, sizing him up. He was seriously scrawny, but there were lean muscles underneath that russet hide that told the hompleia not to underestimate his foe. Ego, however, encouraged him to do just that. He put on a little speed suddenly, darting forward to nip at his packmate's side, just to test his reaction time. He would spring away again promptly, but that's not to say he would be quick enough in doing so to avoid any return attack.

The pair would spar for a while, and then continue their trek around the perimeter of Drageda's encampment in comfortable silence before turning in for the night.