Moonspear dealing with danger

She she spoke, he realized it was not quite his mother’s voice that called to him.

He tucked and rolled along the earth, flipping himself over with more grace than what would have been expected of a rough-and-tumble boy to face her then. His hackles bristled at what he thought was a playful challenge, eyes alight with an ever-burning eagerness to perform. His head held low, ears back; it was clear that he expected her to come to bowl him over yet. It would not have been a surprise—his mother and his aunts were rather known for flipping children heedlessly.

“Hungry for what?” he needled at her, panting.