Porcupine Ridge Just a ghost running scared

Anwyl revealed something about himself with his decision. Every decision that another wolf made revealed something about them. The wolf turning to run told Farstep he was probably non-confrontational by nature. Most of the time, Farstep was the same. Nevertheless he chased after the yearling, similarly hindered by the deeper banks of snow but undeterred by the way it dragged his chest down and slowed his legs. Chasing prey was quite similar, minus the stance. His was far more playful and less vigilant than if Anwyl was a deer.

The yearling was making a beeline for the trees. Farstep could use that to his advantage if he wanted to, but there was also the possibility of losing his playmate if he suddenly disappeared. No, he opted for a much more direct approach, and did the completely predictable thing: he went right for Anwyl, in plain sight, while the younger wolf rested.

The tawny male's target was the silvery wolf's scruff. The fur there was thick enough that accidentally getting too rough wouldn't result in any real damage, and it was the most unfeeling part of a wolf's body besides. He huffed breath as he closed the gap, and at last threw himself at Anwyl with no way of predicting the yearling's next move. Perhaps he would run again, or perhaps now he would stand his ground.

Farstep wouldn't find out, for in fact he had thrown his weight forward too early and fell short. Instead of closing the distance between them, he stumbled over his paws and rolled, hitting the tree trunk with a startled yelp.