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

Pretending this happens before the puppy party leaves

Artaax sat quietly at the far edge of Drageda's camp, staring across the Caldera's slopes thoughtfully. He was wondering why exactly it was that the Redhawks were so passionate about holding such a dreary, ugly territory. It was so bland and empty, almost barren-looking with the thick blanket of snow draped across it. How could they live with so few trees to shelter beneath and just one, big ass pond in the center? Artaax couldn't imagine life without Drageda's forests, rivers, and cliffs, and most of all, the sound of the ocean waves rolling upon the shore. Longing for the smell of saltwater tugged at his heart and, not for the first time, he hoped quite fervently that this would all be over with soon and they could return home.

With a sigh, the boy stood and gave his coat a good shake. With nothing else to do, he decided to patrol the edges of their encampment. Not because he truly felt any need for it, but because he was bored and restless waiting for this show to get on the road.

Within a few days Hush had recognized the established borders of Drageda's Camp, and made a habit of patrolling it. He did not do it with the same constantness that he had in their territory, since they were on borrowed land, but he made sure that Drageda knew where they were supposed to be, and Redhawk knew where they were supposed to be. Even if they were allies, this was one pack on another pack's land. 

He normally had to do this alone, but he saw one of Heda's children off in the distance. Hush attempted a loud noise — a kind of coughing chuff — to announce his presence before he trotted off towards the boy.

Artaax hadn't realized that any of his other packmates were stirring, so when he heard the sound of someone approaching, his hackles rose and he froze in alarm. He heard the call as he was turning, but still didn't settle until a few seconds after he had taken the sight of the other wolf in. He was familiar enough with Hush to know his name, but they'd never really spent much time together. Hush couldn't speak, and Artaax often simply didn't, so bonding wasn't exactly an easy thing to do as it was.

On this afternoon however, Artaax paused to give his packmate time to catch up before continuing along. He gave a nod to greet the other male, but otherwise said nothing as he began to stride forward, his gaze roaming out across the expanse of the territory.

He startled the young man, which made him freeze for a moment. But he quickly recovered, trotting over to Artaax's side, his tail held high over his back. Hush smiled back at Artaax, countering the boy's solemn face. Hush was a rather content wolf, his emotions largely within the range of happiness and excitement. Interacting with others, even those who remained just as silent as he was, was enough to bring joy to the wolf. If he could speak, perhaps he'd chatter on excitably about something, even if the other didn't listen. Instead, he bumped shoulders with Artaax before following his stride.

They slipped into silence rather comfortably, and Artaax allowed his mind to wander away from the other male's presence almost entirely. His thoughts went to Blackfeather as his gaze shifted to the East, but he was brought back to the present soon enough as he felt a bump on his shoulder. He turned his head to glance sidelong at his companion who was looking awfully calm and even sort of happy. Artaax quirked a brow at him thoughtfully. He was one of the warriors heading off to Blackfeather sometime soon, and he was awfully scrawny. What made him so content with a battle like this looming over his head? 

With little preamble, Artaax stopped quite suddenly and bowed low before his companion, snapping his teeth towards the other as his tail wagged to make his invitation clear. He wanted to see what this fellow could do, and it would likely ease some of his own tension. Come at me bro.

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.

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.