Fighting - Lesson 1

Instructions

Smoke led the pups into a clearing where the grass had been pressed flat by wind and passing deer, a soft ring of earth that gave beneath their paws. Evening light stretched long across the ground, turning the world blue and quiet. Smoke’s steps were slow and steady, the kind that told the pups this was not playtime but something older, something important. He stopped in the center of the clearing and looked at them with calm, steady eyes. “Fighting,” he said, his voice low, “was never about anger. It was about staying alive. About protecting what mattered. And it always began long before teeth touched fur.” He lowered himself into a balanced stance, paws firm, weight centered. The pups tried to copy him—some wobbling, some leaning too far forward—and Smoke moved among them, nudging a foreleg here, shifting a hind paw there. “Feel the ground,” he murmured. “Let it hold you. If you stood strong, you could not be toppled easily.” To show them, he leaned his shoulder gently into one pup. The pup swayed but stayed upright, paws digging into the earth. Smoke nodded once. “Good. That was the first part of defending yourself.” He stepped back and began to circle them, his paws whispering over the grass. “Now watch me. Not my paws—my shoulders, my breath, my weight. A wolf showed his intentions before he moved.” The pups followed him with their eyes, their bodies tensing as he shifted his weight forward in a sudden, subtle motion. All three flinched. Smoke stopped, satisfied. “You saw it. Defense began with seeing the moment before it happened.” He approached one pup and gave a soft nudge with his muzzle. The pup stumbled. Smoke shook his head. “Don’t meet force with force. Let it pass you.” He nudged again, and this time the pup sidestepped, letting Smoke’s momentum slide past. Smoke’s tail flicked once in approval. “Yes. That was how you stayed standing.” He returned to the center of the clearing. “Sometimes you must use your teeth,” he said, opening his jaws—not in threat, but in demonstration. “But a defender does not aim to kill. Only to stop danger.” He snapped his jaws shut in the air, loud enough to make the pups jump. “A warning snap can end a fight before it begins.” He stepped closer and placed his teeth lightly on a pup’s shoulder, barely a touch. “A quick grip here creates space. A hold on the scruff can stop an attacker without harming them. But the throat…” His voice dropped, steady and serious. “You only go for the throat when there is no other choice.” The pups sat in a tight cluster, ears pricked, absorbing every word. Smoke lifted his head, scanning the trees as the shadows lengthened. “And sometimes the best defense is leaving. If you are outnumbered, outmatched, or on bad ground, you move. You find higher ground, thicker brush, or your packmates. A lone wolf fights only when he must.” He settled onto his haunches, letting the pups come closer. One pressed against his side; another pawed at his tail. Smoke’s gaze softened, though his voice stayed steady. “Strength was not in how hard you bit. It was in how clearly you thought. How well you read the world. How wisely you chose your battles.” The forest darkened around them, the clearing cooling as night crept in. Smoke lowered his head to meet their eyes. "Now," he said. "Show me your stance again."