Redhawk Caldera All my down and outs

However possessive he may seem outwardly, it was unlikely that Nightjar would develop into a selfish wolf. Materialism would never suit him. His aspirations would not lie with possessions; even the prospect of inheriting this land would not appeal to him. Yet things he did own, he would protect as fiercely as he did his own life. He would never covet, but that didn't mean he would permit others to take from him, either. It was the way of the wolf to display ownership in a blunt, sometimes aggressive fashion, and Nightjar would obey this most keenly.

When Jaws began to creep forward, presenting himself as a threat to Nightjar's ownership over his stick, the boy rose to meet the challenge without fear or hesitation. True, Jaws was over twice his size and outmatched him easily, but Nightjar wouldn't be perceived as a pushover (nevermind the fact that he'd just cowered from a feather and showed himself to be weak in a way). Of course, deep down inside he knew that Jaws wasn't a real threat. Jaws was a pack mate, and this was a game.

His tiny hackles instinctively rose along his back, ruffled easily by a passing wind for they were scarcely more than fluff, and he stepped forward with a tooth-baring growl, accepting Jaws' challenge. If it were a question of authority, Jaws was definitely the dominant wolf and Nightjar would submit in an instance, but it wasn't, so he readied himself. And then Nightjar rushed the much larger male, clumsy and slow as puppies always were, in hopes of biting (read: barely more than gumming) the male's snout to deter him from taking his stick.