Blackbeak Bluff Red is such a lovely colour on you but you won't be needing those

Set sometime before this.

"No," grunted a grizzled brown lump from the shadow of a tree. Lucas, suspended with his forepaws on the ground and his pudgy hindquarters held precariously aloft, lifted his head, lost his balance and somersaulted onto his broad shoulders. "Ow!" squeaked the fat pup while he writhed on the ground, drowning out the sound of a cackle and a cough from the shade. The kid was something else. Not entirely hopeless, thought the old wolf, but maybe a little too fat. "You gotta keep your back straighter," he commanded, then snorted. "Maybe lay off the rabbit thighs too..."

The crash of a restless sea against sheer rock wasn't so different from the old man's coughing, Lucas thought as he gazed out across the deep blue. White caps were plentiful on the ocean today, but he didn't know the meaning of that. He wasn't a sea wolf and hadn't been raised to read the waves like one. He understood the biting wind that blew in with the waves well enough, though, and knew that there would be a storm later.

Turbulent weather brought the sea birds out to play, and it was ultimately these that ushered Lucas away from the cliff. He hadn't known a bird to dive bomb a wolf before, but within minutes there were three seagulls wheeling overhead, taking turns at dipping low to nip his shoulders and his ears. The first one earned a chuckle, the second one a quiet growl, and the third a part-play-part-warning snap of his heavy jaws. The gulls were as nimble as ever a bird could be, evading him easily. With an amused snort, the piebald juvenile—or toasty bread roll from a bird's eye perspective—heeded them and shuffled away from the edge, followed by three pairs of wings squabbling over who would get to feast on his considerable buns.