Honeyed Pasture Take every chance you dare

Mason did not hear the chuff with the wind rushing through his ears, as the stranger had astutetely wondered. He did however spot the other wolf in his peripheral vision as he ran. Deciding that company on his run might be nice (and also realising he was pretty knackered by now) Mason slowed his pace to a gentle jog and angled his path towards the dark-rust-coloured wolf. When he got closer he noticed silver war paint emblazoned upon the cheeks and face of the other boy. Or was he a boy? He was about Mason’s height, although not as long as the Silvertip, and he looked skinny as hell. If he was an adult, he must be about Mason’s age, because he looked like he needed a good meal. Mason only really knew June who was his age (he’d not yet met Desna) and therefore he decided to treat this boy-man like he would her. She was a skinny runt too.

Mason didn’t get too close. Instead he pulled up to a halt and turned until he was perpendicular to Hush, but a good few feet of distance still lay between them . Then, with a girlish toss of his head and a prance, Mason shouted loudly to him, tilting his head in clear invitation. “C’mon, race me to the sea!”
 

Mason let out a short, sharp syllable of a howl, then he tossed his head again, leaned back on semi-rested haunches, and pushed himself forwards into a rocking lope. Slower than his previous pace, Mason was both conserving energy, ensuring the male was following, and making sure he could keep up. Always one to favour the underdog, Mason would stop if Hush didn’t take chase.