White River Canyon

"Enough!" he growled, his voice carrying across the field. The pups froze, some mid-grapple, and turned their attention to him. "That was... adequate," Aresenn said, his tone making it clear that 'adequate' was far from praise. "You must learn to anticipate," he barked, frustration edging his words. "Your enemy won't announce their presence. They won’t give you time to prepare. You must be ready at all times.” He stopped abruptly, fixing each trainee with a piercing stare.

"Again," he growled. "Switch roles. Attackers become defenders.” Aresenn's eyes narrowed as he watched them, his tail twitching with barely contained impatience. He could see the fatigue setting in, the slight trembling in their limbs from the previous round. Good. Real fights weren't won in perfect conditions.

"Eyes closed," he barked at the new defenders. "Remember, your attacker could come from any direction. Use all your senses."

Aresenn paced the perimeter of the training area, his paws silent on the sun-baked grass. "Begin!" he snarled, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife. The field erupted into chaos once more. Aresenn's keen eyes darted from pair to pair, cataloging every move, every mistake.

"Aresenn Praetor"