It was not surprising that Triell found their game exhausting, but such was the way of training. For his part, Marsh was beginning to feel a little exerted, but he was not having to think and act as much as the young Tainn; it was an easier job to let himself fall into instinct. He could predict action and twitch away with less effort than it took to plan a new assault and carry it through, only to be deflected. Marsh knew it could be a heartless type of fun.

Eventually, Triell drew back, practically demanding time to recover. Though so tuned in to the act of avoiding the boy, it took only a moment for his mind to switch gear. Triell could have his moment of respite, but the game would not pause without conclusion; tail wagging once, the older wolf dropped to his elbows and bounced back up, intending to shove Triell onto his side by sheer force and stand over him as the victor. Stamina was as vital an aspect of the game as any other; Triell would learn the consequence of finding oneself lacking as compared to one's opponent.

Point made, and made well, Marsh did not linger once Triell had been toppled. Before pulling back, he placed his jaws gently over the boy's in a sign of control and victory, just reminding him of the consequences of losing a conflict like this in more serious situations. He did not pretend to mind his authority for much longer, though, a good-natured rumble in his chest as he gave the boy plenty of space to get up. He could have his rest, and, if he was so inclined, they could continue; Marsh felt content helping his packmate out in such a way, and did wonder if it would become a more regular occurrence. It would surely help Swift River to become a more formidable force if they kept their wits sharp, and if they grew to know each others' strengths and weaknesses better.

His jaw fell open as his sides rose and fell with gentle panting, and the wolf found himself quite thirsty. Licking his lips and testing his mouth for moisture, he turned to the nearby, ever-present sound of water for a moment before glancing back at Triell expectantly. No doubt they would both be better for a drink.

It was all really quite companionable, and Marsh felt satisfied with the relationship he and the boy had managed to forge. With luck, they would continue in such a friendly, mutually understanding way. When they departed to the river, Triell lowered his paws into the water with very little hesitation; Marsh supposed to came from a lifetime of living alongside such a feature. Having not missed the glance, the older wolf chose to join the lad, heavily dropping down the small bank and into the waters with a splash.

Obviously, he was not all-graceful, and Marsh laughed at himself as he lapped his tongue at the cooling waters, stood elbow-deep in the river. The sensation was pleasantly chill down his throat, but what felt best were the water droplets that clung to his chest furs and were delightfully icy. The boy had been more tired than he, and thus probably just as overheated. An idea danced through his mind as he quietly drank, his eyes flitting up to Triell full of mischief.

Momentarily halting his breathing, Marsh turned his head towards Triell and dipped a few inches of his muzzle into the water, trying to be nonchalant - but that was ruined when he tossed his head upwards, creating a thin arc of water and drizzle of droplets intended for Triell.