Redhawk Caldera Getting high and skipping class

Hotah met her gaze, breath still warm in the cold air, the pulse of the hunt slowly settling in his marrow. Jr’s signs drew a small, approving lift of his brow.

He lifted his own paw, signing back with firm, deliberate strokes:

-Yours.-

A glance toward the buck—then back to her.

-You earned it.-

His grin edged wider, the crease by his eye deepening. Both in exhileration and joy. Her mom's voice in his ear rang out, I'll support it, and he swallowed. Eyes drifting lower to her panting body.

-You're fast.-