Redhawk Caldera Back before children had settled her friends

Hotah’s ears pricked at her laughter, a warmth settling in his chest. Scary or not, he liked the fire in her voice, the way she carried herself.
Don’t tempt me, he teased back in a low rumble, grin flicking quick across his muzzle. Give me time, maybe I’ll prove you wrong.
But her sudden whisper shifted his focus. He followed her gaze, catching the slick ripple of fur sliding from bank to water. His muscles tensed, body lowering into that patient crouch that had served him well a hundred hunts before.
I see it, he murmured, his voice almost drowned by the lap of water. A sidelong glance to her— yellow eyes lit, eager — and he gave a small nod. When it surfaces again, we cut it off together. You flush, I’ll pin.
His tail brushed hers once, quick and wordless, a signal as much as reassurance. Already he was leaning forward, every part of him coiled for the strike.