Porcupine Ridge Just a ghost running scared

Anwyl obliged him, lucky for Farstep, who sometimes expected others to spurn his playful attempts. That had never happened in his birth pack but since leaving home he'd met quite a few unsavory characters, those who had forgotten what it was to be wolf, those who were much too serious and those who had forgotten how to communicate with actions. Anwyl was not one of those types. True, he used his mouth to vocalize, as indicated upon their first meeting, but he knew the wild as well. An instant favourite in Farstep's books.

He snatched back his muzzle as the youth retaliated with a sound half between a whine and a growl, a sort of chortle if you would. Pushed back, he could not catch Anwyl as the yearling leaped away, though Farstep did click his teeth gently on open air as the youth's tail whizzed by in a hopeful attempt to nip it. He rose and plowed through the snow in leaping bounds intended to close the distance, though it was Anwyl's game to call at this point. The yearling might run and they would engage in a spirited game of tag, or he might stand his ground and they would test one another's strength and cleverness in a spar. He lunged after Anwyl with jaws half opened, blunted against causing real damage, with an excited growl.