Neverwinter Forest strangle thorn

The golden creature was growing into getting over the nerves of throwing himself into the ranks of a new pack. While the man in charge was something of a straight-faced figure, it was not hard to respect him and his authority over the lands. Sawyer did feel a bit sheepish at having spent a majority of his time on the outskirts of the pack as opposed to in the forest itself. Once inside, the Crowfeather felt right at home. The dark twisting trees were a safe haven to him in times of change, and though it was lacking the boisterous group that had been his family, there was a certain peace to the quiet of the wood.
 
His ivory-tipped paws carried him quietly through the undergrowth and foliage, leading him in a twisting trail through the thickest part of the forest. Sawyer was completely immersed in his surroundings and had found himself getting lose in the beauty of it. He was a soft creature who had not faced many things in his young life, but he was trying to prove that he was also capable. Mama didn’t raise no whelp.

Welcome to Neverwinter! :)

Goldhawk's morning training routine had become notably less exhausting, due entirely to the fact that real nutrition had returned to the forest. The pack was beginning to eat well again, or at least getting there, and never had Goldhawk been more grateful for the greenness of the grass beneath his paws.

After finishing his lap of the borders, the panting Beta took a drink down by the stream. He looked up, licking his chops, when he sensed someone trit-trotting towards him. The light caught the stranger's coat: gold like his own! He was reminded sadly of Kyron, but shook off the association in a trice.

New blood! he exclaimed with a cheery wink.

Surprisingly, there hadn’t been much time that had passed before the company of another came into view for the golden lad. His eyes darted upward to catch sight of a sprightly gentleman, also cloaked in a similar color, with a cheery smile on his wolfish features. Sawyer returned the grin, allowing the dark ink of his lips to draw upward at the exclamation that had fallen from the unknown man’s mouth. New blood indeed, he thought in a warped sarcasm. Having been new but still having found no ground within the pack, the Crowfeather man was at bit at a loss. This was the only other face he had met since being accepted into the pack by Scimitar, but it was a joyful face at any rate.
 
“Ah! Yes, ‘m ‘fraid I’m as new as they come,” he drawled in his familiar southern twang. Eyes flitted away out of respect for the male who was of obvious higher rank. “Name’s Sawyer,” the gold-cloaked creature then introduced with a swift bob of his head in the direction of the ground. He had not been raised to be an impolite man, and so he would show this one wolf all the southern hospitality that was engrained in his youthful bones.

Goldhawk had encountered myriad accents since leaving the Ole Rip, where everyone spoke like him, but this was one of the warmest he'd heard thus far. It suited Sawyer's sunlit coat and cheer-ready demeanour — even his name.

Goldhawk, he gave his own name in bright response, having subconsciously shaken off his habit of giving his full and substantial title when meeting new folk. His kin here at Neverwinter called him Goldhawk — and so he was simply that.

What say you to this, Sawyer me old bucko m'lad: one of my favourite ways to get to know someone is with a good-old fashioned spar. His eyes glinted with good-natured challenge, and one forepaw hovered to imply impending movement. Think you're up to it?

The name that was offered was quickly committed to memory, and the southern man found it to be quite fitting of the beast standing before him. Though he did not know of the origins of the wolf, he could easily assume that there were several creatures of like-mind, who spoke with the same buoyancy to their words. It was almost addictive to listen to; there had never been a beast like him to cross into the Wild Wood of home, but Sawyer did imagine that the likes of Goldhawk would have been welcome among his own brood, and he silently wished that the other members of the Crowfeather tribe were around to see the kindness of strangers. He’d been warned numerous times by those of his family that outsiders were not of warm hearts.
 
As their conversation moved forward, the golden lad was surprised at the next quip that left his companion’s mouth. A spar! Fretfully, the Kappa frowned and his ears fell flat to his skull; there was a soft wag of his golden-topped tail at the suggestion, but it was evident that he had no fighting skills to boast of. “Well, gee, partner… I’ll say you might be disappointed in my sparrin’ skills, and I’m bound to get licked in this, but I’ll give you m’best,” he returned with a hesitant smirk.

Judging by the immediate stance of the pale figure, Goldhawk suspected that either he really wasn't good at sparring or he just felt uneasy about doing so with the pack's Beta. He was tempted to suspect the latter, for Sawyer here looked like quite a strapping thing, and built like Goldhawk. They would be evenly matched unless Sawyer was lacking in practice.

Ah well, it was never too late to start practicing!

Alright chappy, let's see where you stand, he said with a challenging smile, his russet eyes dark, and pressed himself down into a pouncing position before moving in for a feint.

Fighting and sparring had not been a real need inside the Wild Wood of Sawyer’s home. The southern lad was something of a pacifist at heart, and he preferred to talk things over with the other party before diving into it with fangs exposed and the intent to maim. This Goldhawk male was something of a jolly fellow and he did bring a spark of interest out in the Crowfeather man. His family would have found the Beta male to be something of a joy to chat with. Deciding that, because of this, he would give him the benefit of the doubt and make an honest man’s effort in the spar.
 
The other man dropped himself into a pouncing position and Sawyer eyed him cautiously, making himself guarded. His pale golden gaze danced along the other’s frame, trying to catch some telltale sign on the move that would be made, but when Goldhawk did finally move, it threw the southern gent through a loop and he felt his heart seize out of fear. Clenching his teeth, Sawyer moved to dart toward the right of the male and swing around with his head. He knew less about attacking than he did about defending himself, but the effort was there.  

He could sense the other male's trepidation, but part of this was to keep up their quick rapport and let it free in the context of sparring. The other reason was to get him a bit more used to the concept of fighting. Goldhawk made it his business to ensure the wolves of Neverwinter were trained, while at the same time valuing anyone who prioritised peace. He didn't believe that defence and peace were mutually exclusive.

He dodged off to the side as Sawyer moved his lissom bulk, then when the other wolf moved in with his skull Goldhawk went for an epic headbutt.