you do not know who is your friend

and who is your enemy

Oomph. He grunted as the dark yearling collapsed in a neat pile on him, all fur and legs and tails, and while a lot of the weight hit his ribs and back, most of he other wolf fell beside him in the snow. Ice's tail thumped out a victory, even though he was half-buried under Dread, and when the yearling oh so graciously asked to have his fur back, Ice let it slide between his teeth. A couple of dark strands clung to the inside of his mouth, and he spat them out while slowly rotating himself, still laying, to face Dread instead.


And get snow shoveled in his face. With a sneeze, and a yowl, he got up, shook himself like a snow-cloud in his own right. More kept piling up against his frontlegs as he stood, and with a chuff to match the other's giggling he pounced with a tad more grace than you would suspect of a nearly ancient polar bear of a wolf. He didn't precisely know what he was aiming for, just Dread in general, to maybe roll him through the snow, or grab his tail, or anything, really. Depended on what suitable body parts presented themselves to him.