Silvertip Mountain Practise makes perfect

Anyone from Silvertip, I would love some wolves he hasn’t met or seen in a while.

Mason danced slowly close to the tree, and then around the trunk, angling his body just so. Once he was on the other side  he turned, then came at the tree from another angle. Carefully, slowly, making sure none of his fur touched the bark, but that he got as close as possible to sidle past. He was teaching his mind the limitations of his body. He had managed to nearly head-plant into a tree a few times now on hunts. Granted it had been when he was younger, but even recently he had caught a few scrapes where he had thought he would squeeze past or through something. With the pack full, they were managing well with hunts, but mason was an adult now and he needed to make sure he did his part.

The sun was high in the sky – it was midday. Mason was moving slowly so the cold was creeping into his bones and deadening his muscles. Still, he continued to move around the large pine tree, whose first branches were some feet in the air, and whose trunk was perfect for this purpose because it was bare of spindly sticks. Soon he would stop, but for now he needed to hone his techniques. His pack needed him, and he needed his pack.