King Elk Forest if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail

It was a distraction, certainly, but there was something about the crunch of a stick between one's molars that was simply pleasing. Not unlike the feel of a soft breeze on the muzzle, or the cool of the stream against one's pads on a warm summer afternoon. But Rexxar was a wolf who knew how to take things in stride and who could find humor in a bad situation such as this. Oh, the stress was there, like the hum of an insect around one's ear it buzzed in the back of his head, a pestilence. But he knew that fretting would not put food in his belly, nor will the green shoots to grow any faster.

She took him up on his offer, growling as her fangs found purchase on the stick. She tugged it away from his paw, and the smokey wolf stood slowly, only to drop his front quarters back down. His hips and tail swayed, an impish smile curling the corner of his mouth as he, too, growled, soft and rumbling like a muffled chuckle. Then he lurched forward, slapping the ground with one paw as the other played in the air and his snout reached to grasp the other end of the stick.