Redhawk Caldera Don't tell me I'm fine

Nightjar's jaws were slack as he gave chase, slavering from both the effort of keeping up this pace and the anticipation of sinking his teeth into an enemy of the caldera. Whether or not he actually got to do that was irrelevant. Even if he failed to catch it, the coyote would think twice before approaching the territory of these wolves, and indeed, all other wolves, in the future.

He spotted Wildfire pulling ahead from his periphery. He didn't have the breath to snarl after her, though his heart squeezed at the thought that she would take this from him. That she would parade the glory. That's what Nightjar was most afraid of, maybe the only thing he was afraid of: that all his hard work would go unnoticed. That he was a warrior among warriors, and therefore as far from special or remarkable as he possibly could be. That his sister would surpass him by means of reputation.

But that jealous flare was always brief, and faded when Wildfire swung around to cut off the coyote. Now her intent was clearer. The coyote had the choice of doubling back toward the slower but stronger canine or trying its luck with the speedy small one. It was arrogant; it sidestepped in Nightjar's direction, not anticipating a surge of energy from the bulkier wolf to put him in line with itself.

But Nightjar found his second wind and did just that, and shoulder checked the coyote straight into the ground. It wasn't fatal for the lesser predator, but it would surely wind the smaller dog more than it would  wind him, giving one of the siblings an opportunity to thrash the life out of it.