Hideaway Strath to gaze upon you everyday but be denied your touch

Effectively distracted by the wiles of his thoughts, fantastic envisages that only children can dream up in state of awake Roarke is oblivious to the sound of following footfalls quieted with purpose. The rustle of a bush catches the attention of winter’s bane and the pale tundrian gives piqued pause, sticking his nose into the bush without thought of consequence as he seeks to investigate. Oblivious, ears slick back and head whips around at the sound of the battle cry and milky blue gaze beginning to cool into the frigid glacial blue that will make to his irises with permanence catches his brother launching through the air at him. Roarke is caught unprepared and unaware and has no time to effectively react. Their bodies collide without preamble. Roarke’s pudge absorbs most of the collision but the surprise manages to knock him off his feet and he goes down, hard, to the dirt he is tangled legs and snapping teeth at his brother’s giggles. Roarke’s chest swells with the vicious desire to be victor — for defeat is nothing short of insult and entirely unacceptable — and he attempts to use his weight to his advantage to remove his brother from his person so he may find his paws once more and return the act of (play, of course!) war in kind. The thrum of defiance he feels at being swept off his feet (and not in the kind of way he’d like, mind) is very real even if the actual wrestling match is all harmless play. A tool to enhance their skills and develop (in a more serious manner of play) their own dominance among each other.