Sawtooth Spire From the dusty mesa, her looming shadow grows

While she often tempted fate, Potema was no fool. She was not a warrior like her brothers and was half-blind anyway. When one wolf charged towards her and snarled, Potema backed away respectfully until she felt that she was far enough, her mouth opening slightly to ask a question. When two more came, she nearly jumped. Mongfionn circled above, flying close to the wolves' head, but far enough to stay away from their claws, cawing raucously. Potema narrowly dodged the snap at her jaws and wheeled further away from the mountain, panting softly when she slowed to a halt at (what she thought was) a safe distance. Mongfionn landed on her back, indignantly cawing at them in raven's tongue. "Are wolves often this envious of your lands that you prevent them from even seeing your mountain?" She said, more to herself than to the wolves. They did not seem as interested in conversation as she. She had merely wanted a glance of the mountain; they held nothing else that she knew of that would interest her.