White River Canyon

Once it seemed that majority of scuffles had resolved, Aresenn's piercing gaze swept across the field, his jaw clenched tight. "Stop!" he barked, his voice sharp enough to slice through the cacophony of snarls and yelps. “That’s better, but still not good enough," Aresenn growled, his orange eyes narrowing as he surveyed the panting, disheveled pups before him. The sun beat down mercilessly, turning the sheltered valley into a sweltering cauldron. Sweat matted his thick russet fur, but he ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on the lesson at hand.

"You're relying too much on your eyes," he barked, pacing back and forth with restless energy. "In a real fight, your vision can be obscured, disoriented. You need to use all your senses." Aresenn's tail lashed behind him, betraying his frustration. "Listen for the rustle of fur against grass. Feel the vibrations in the ground as your opponent approaches. Smell their fear, their determination."

He paused, fixing each pup with a piercing stare. "And most importantly, anticipate. Your enemy's movements, their strategy, their weaknesses. A true warrior is always three steps ahead."

Aresenn's gaze swept over the assembled trainees, noting their heaving flanks and trembling legs. Good. Exhaustion would push them to their limits, force them to dig deeper. ”That’s where we will call it for today.” He finished, Giving each of them one last lingering glance. “Good effort.”

"Aresenn Praetor"