Having followed the faint sound of a cry, there were few things that Marsh expected less than to discover an epic battle between a young wolf and an adult packrat. On the opposite side of the river, Triell's black shape had been seen, and Marsh had stopped with the idle, momentarily intention of watching for a few seconds. Seconds turned into minutes, and as he had stood, staring at the distant jumping and twitching Triell, Marsh had failed to comprehend what the boy was doing at all. The revelation come only when the vocal rodent's angry shrieks caught his attention.

For a moment, the wolf stared, and then let out a snort of laughter. Well, however you wanted to pass the time...

Before long, it grew apparent that the war was disturbingly balanced, and Marsh thought it time to intervene on behalf of the poor boy. Wading quickly through the river, he shook his heavy coat briefly once across before padding carefully towards the battlefield. Making no effort to hide his approach from Triell, Marsh came to stand beside him (or as best as he could, considering that the boy's sparring took him all over the place), staring down at the viciously defiant creature with mild disbelief. Offering Triell a raised brow, Marsh snorted down at their opponent, amused and ashamed all at the same time.

All the while, the little beast remained impossibly defiant, as if it were not actually outsized and outnumbered but instead in with a good chance of emerging victorious. Marsh almost felt some mixture of respect and pity for it, as foolish as it was. One ear swivelling towards Triell as he issued the challenge, Marsh's lips pulled back in a small, feral grin.

The packrat, having gotten used to the manner of its first opponent, made the foolish assumption that the second would be just as jumpy. Wondering why it didn't just flee, Marsh stepped forwards and took the rodent's attention. With a noisy, high-pitched squeal, it faked a dash at him, but Marsh didn't move. Small things could give nasty bites, but Marsh had been on the business end of creatures far more dangerous than a oversized mouse. Snapping his jaws forwards, he tried to scare the impossibly brave (suicidal?) packrat back a little, but any ground that he won was instantly re-covered as the rodent came to meet him head-on. Faintly alarmed by this, Marsh could understand why Triell's instinct had been to flinch away.

Here to prove a point, however, the wolf made certain not to do the same.

Having had its bluff called, the packrat hesitated, and this moment of uncertainly was swiftly exploited. Paws spread either side of it, Marsh lunged at the rodent, missing the first bite but catching near the base of its tail in the second. Flinging it upwards, careful aim and timing was all that was needed to ensure that the doomed packrat landed true; giving one hard shake of his head out of instinct, even though it was almost too small to have its spine broken in such a way, the battle was won.

Smugly dropping the dead creature in front of Triell, Marsh snorted again with a curt nod of his head to mock-arrogantly acknowledge a job well done.

Though he had not involved himself to gain any kind of admiration, Marsh could not deny that he was tickled by it. His cool grey eyes carefully watched the younger boy as he processed what he had seen, and despite Marsh's aversion to words, he allowed himself to take the compliment. He didn't quite attribute it to skill, per se - more 6 years of experience and a life of learning how to kill things - but he took it. The introduction was, of course, unnecessary, though the confirmation of a name was welcome; Marsh already knew the boy's name, who his family was, and a few things besides. A few faintly familiar scents lingered on the black wolf's pelt, scents that didn't belong to Swift River, but Marsh put them out of his mind. It wasn't his business who Triell chose as company, and even if some of it wasn't entirely friendly, the boy was here and healthy. No matter how much he may have wanted to improve, at least he already had some 'skill' of his own.

That was good. As Marsh's eyes widened inquisitively at Triell's request, he noted that was probably a very good thing indeed.

Shifting his rear so that he could face the boy squarely, Marsh glanced down briefly at the remains of the packrat as he considered the request. Well, Marsh couldn't quite emulate a rodent, but he thought that wasn't quite what Triell had meant. Assuming that it wasn't necessary to offer his name (since Triell had been so accepting of him, it was easy to assume that his presence wasn't a surprise) Marsh gave a sharp nod and lowered his head, his ears perked and body primed.

Jerking his head to the side slightly, he openly invited the boy to begin as, when and how he felt best. Bring it on.

In hindsight, it may have been more effective to just jump the boy with no warning, but at least this way he knew Triell was fully consenting to some potentially rough play. He hardly noticed that the words have evaporated from their meeting because they were still speaking volumes to each other, and Marsh was aware of Triell's lunge a split second before it actually happened.

A good-natured growl rippling from his chest, Marsh twitched away and to the right, his body shifting to avoid the grab but keep himself directly facing the boy, all his actions orientated around the young Tainn. Conscious of Triell's target, Marsh's head lowered in an attempt to make his neck less automatically tempting. After all, you didn't need to go straight for the neck to win a battle; many conflicts could even be resolved without the need for any bloodshed at all. Eyes wide and alert, the large wolf spread his front paws slightly and dropped his front half down a little more, his posture a faint replica of the typical rear-in-the-air, elbows-to-the-ground stance that many playful wolves adopted.

Not yet going on any offensive, he snorted, demanding that the pup try again.

The feint was well planned, but Marsh wasn't afraid and thus hadn't flinched away. He was ready when Triell made his move properly, aiming for a more conventional muzzle-grab this time, and Marsh let him believe - right up to the last moment - that his attempt would succeed. Despite appearances, Marsh was quick when it counted, and this time he did flinch away, whipping his head down and around so that the side of his closed muzzle would come into contact with the side of Triell's face.

His tongue came out to affectionately brush the boy's cheek, a growl of amusement and contentment rumbling from his chest, before he jumped back with a provocative yap. He wasn't going to turn tail and make Triell chase him, but this time, he was going to dodge and skip around the boy with abandon; most normal fights didn't involve quite so much avoidance by a single party, but it should help to improve the boy's sense of timing, judgement and agility. He was young yet, but it was the perfect time to start making a wolf out of him.