Redhawk Caldera Who's got a poopy-doopy-doopy

Jumping in place was easy, but the moment Elwood began to move forward, Nightjar's momentum failed him. He was unable to properly judge both forward and upward directions, so more often than not he would fall short in one or the other, making the Beta's tail truly impossible to catch. Luckily, before he had a chance to get fussy about it, Elwood dropped to the ground and switched his tail across the grass, changing the game to be more in his godson's favour.

Predatory instinct took over where playfulness subsided. Nightjar's spastic movements were suddenly more refined and gradual as he crept through the grass with eyes locked on Elwood's tail tip. This sort of thing didn't take any teaching. Wolves naturally had it. Of course, the patience that came with hunting had to be learned, but Nightjar had no time for patience, and so as soon as he was close he gave himself away with a cry. He leaped, aiming as best he could for Elwood's tail and missing by several inches. He tumbled in the grass at the Beta male's haunch, recovered quickly, and closed the last little distance between himself and his fluffy target, which he began to mouth happily.