The Sunspire when the trees are crowned with leaves

From a distance, vividly green eyes tracked the wolf's movements. As Toothless watched—unblinkingly, for the most part—it purred under its breath. It liked the wolf with the stripe along its back. Toothless wanted to grab the wolf by its scruff and hold it tightly, then run its claws over that soft black stripe... even as it imagined this scenario, it pawed the air like a kitten. Eventually, the tiny foot resumed its place on the rock and the sylph grew very—watchfully—still once more. Only its eyes moved.

When the wolf sat on its haunches at the base of the mount rather than ascending as predicted, Toothless made a sound of frustration deep in its throat. It flitted down the mountainside, leaping, cat-like, from rock to rock down the steep decline. Every so often, it dove behind a rock and hid, peeking out shyly and making sure it hadn't been spotted. The wolf's eyes combed the shadows searchingly—searching for Toothless itself, little did either of them know—but the experienced critter moved stealthily. It was used to flying under the radar and did so quite expertly, somehow striking the balance between wariness and confidence.

Trees grew here in the foothills. Toothless darted behind one, pressing close to the rough bark of the trunk. Slowly, it poked its head out and peered at the wolf, its chartreuse gaze one of admiration. It purred unthinkingly, its eyes flying wide a second later and its belly pressing flat to stone as it tried to become nothing more than another flat black shadow.