Ghost Lion Crag And the rain

Smokestep couldn’t have agreed more with her; he had known suffering just as well as the next, but he was far more a fan of lavish living than anything in the negative realm. The pallid boy was far too young to understand that hardships were necessary for growth; he had only ever known the life as the Leviathan’s eldest son. Smokestep did not want things to change, though; he was pleased with the luxury he’d faced. The young Cairn would not have known how he would have fared if he had ever been presented with a situation that was not favorable to him or his cause. His pride had always been a fierce combatant against any turmoil that faced him.
 
The sound of the waves had started to grow stronger for the traveling wolves. Smokestep had grown increasingly more chipper, the closer that they got. He turned to her with sparkling mismatched eyes and motioned with a swing of his muzzle. “Race ye to the shore, lass,” he barked softly. Without her agreeing, he darted off toward the sound of crashing waves with his tail flagging behind him.