Phoenix Maplewood i'll wind up working in the thick of it

Anticipating her stutter, Phoenix was upon the firebird in an instant, capitalizing on her brief weakness with the speed and dexterity of a wolf trained to do so. He dashed the space between them in a quick charge, the water parting for his momentum as if he were Moses' staff, and he stopped short to make a grab for her muzzle as she reared to meet him in kind.

Indra's robustness surprised and delighted the young Redleaf-Solothurn. He had not been raised gently—even in play he would not do so lightly—and to a softer wolf he might have seemed a bit rough and overzealous. But the time spent surviving alone, whether she realized it or not, had hardened her wiry build for such skirmishes, and she made for a good opponent, even to the battle-taught Phoenix.

Besides brute strength, he had no real advantage over his sister's foxish teeth. He decided that simply bowling her over wouldn't be any fun, so he tried instead to find a way around her defenses; but she was quick to meet each of his advances with all manner of feet and muzzle to deflect him. He whined and groaned about their back-and-forth, sounding like a cheerfully frustrated puppy while he pawed and gnawed at her attacks, and at some point, he made to fall on his side and fight her from the ground. Except the ground was water—very cold lakewater—and upon splashdown, he was jolted by the dunk and leaped up, running pell-mell for the steeped bank.