Porcupine Ridge And the land of a billion lights

He jaw-sparred with his packmate with a hum of low growls and soft, short barks. His teeth would graze Farstep's muzzle as each shifted and pushed against one another, but never was a drop of blood drawn, nor even an indent in flesh made. After a few moments, the black wolf jerked his head back to disengage, so that he, in a surprise move (maybe?) could duck down and nip at his subordinate's toes.