Redhawk Caldera Getting high and skipping class

Hotah watched her explode forward, a dark streak cutting through the valley grass. The instant she moved, he shifted too—lowering his center of gravity, muscles coiling, every nerve alive and razor-sharpened.

Jr’s chase was clean, fierce, precise. He felt a flicker of admiration at the way she snapped at the buck’s flank, the way she dropped beneath its kick and came up running. She wasn’t just fast—she was smart. She was pushing him exactly where she meant to.

Good.

Perfect.

Hotah angled wide, cutting through the frost-stiff grass in a sweeping arc. His breath came cold and steady, paws thudding a rhythm into the earth as he closed the distance. The buck swerved—Jr correcting him each time like a seasoned herder—until the animal’s path aligned with Hotah’s line of attack.

He caught Jr’s eye for a heartbeat, a brief, fierce spark of acknowledgment—

I see your work. Now watch mine.

Then Hotah surged forward, breaking from the brush at full force, intercepting the buck’s path with a powerful, decisive lunge.