Toward the ocean she went, now. The emissary had been sent to her, and she bid him safe travels as he returned. He had asked her: 'What will you do, here?' And she had told him she did not yet know; she needed time yet to decide that. He would return again, Sangilak knew... perhaps in the span of time between now and the future she would have a better sense of what it was she would do, exactly, and when it would be done. There was too much to be done beforehand, and she would accomplish it all.
Sangilak moved toward land that was messy and unkempt, a world rocked and scarred by ice. She had contemplated returning to the Glacier and lingering there, but the sea beckoned her. The beasts of the water would keep her fed, and she could train herself further in its waters. She was a rough woman, and this place was soft. Sangilak sensed that it was somehow young, and knew so little of war. Times of peace were brief and fleeting for Tartok, if only because their expansion was aggressive and they were ever-growing in their conquest to conquer. No doubt the name was familiar to those who had heard of those who had not survived against them, or else the very few that had evaded their grasp. That was, of course, done with intent... survivors were selected and frail. Eventually they too would die, simply on their own. The reason of death went without wondering: the strong survived.
One massive, bearish paw pressed against the stone earth and she began the steady ascent. The rocky earth was but a trail toward her next sojourn.
He hadn't followed Sangilak to the coast too far (though strayed close every once and a while), content enough to know that she was roaming within these territories. He was grateful he didn't need to travel any further; for as much as he enjoyed it, he had grown tired of rabbit and weasel and longed for something that actually went down fighting. He hungered for the larger game but knew it was suicide to go alone, despite his size.
He kept to the northern reaches, scoping out the territory and enjoying the chill of the air. It was when he picked up his companion's trail that he finally made a beeline in his ambling, long legs carrying him quickly to the beastly woman's side.
Butting his head against her shoulder, he greeted her before quickly sidestepping away, not wanting to be shoved into the sharp rocks that made up the ground here. While they were the same height, Sangilak had the upper hand when it came to sheer girth.
She was glad to know Tatkret had come and was here to remain with her. Within the war, he had been a favored companion of hers. He was as much a warrior as she was, and she had bore witness to his savagery as certainly as he had her own. His head landed against her shoulder in the rough gesture befitting a ram, and Sangilak retaliated with a rough nip that he only just evaded with his sidestep. Sangilak snorted and lifted her head imperiously, plume lashing behind her as she revealed to him a fine row of teeth and a fiendish glare that dared him to test her. His gesture was playful, and she had known it; it was difficult to discern whether or not Sangilak was serious herself in the moment, and not a grin nor a smirk betrayed her.
Sangilak slowed enough so that she could snap hellishly at one of his heels before surging forward and upward again. She hoped to arrive to the ocean by noon, and they moved in the witching hour where only the moon watched them, the stars blinded by the cover of cloud.
Only barely had he escaped the painful reminder that her patience was not one to be tested. Test it Tatkret did, though, his playful nature making a rare appearance. He was young, and so was his companion, but they were groomed to be warriors and had been raised by a harsh, unforgiving family. Perhaps Sangilak more-so, and so that was why Tatkret still had some essence of mischievousness that remained within his otherwise stoic and defensive demeanour where his friend did not. He was certain it was tucked away deep inside somewhere, though, and was eager to coax her into a game whenever he could — even if bite marks were the only reward for his efforts.
He hadn't a chance to wonder why she slowed in her gait before he felt a nip at his heels. With a yelp, Tatkret sprinted forward, only to be overtaken by the other massive wolf as she rushed forward up the moraine. He was quick to catch up with his long strides, and tried to see where Sangilak had her sights set on. "Where we headed?" he asked in their native tongue.
Her retaliation was swift. Play was something she knew of; it was simply that her games were quite different than any others. Surely he played similar ones. Sangilak was raised to play games that made her nothing short of an exceptional triathlete, even better than wolves ought to of already been. That was their lifestyle. And such competitions thrilled Sangilak, who was driven to win. Therein lay the first hints of ambition within her, but the others lay dormant. She was dominant through and through, a woman who bowed to none bar those who had proven to be her superior. Her leaders, wiser than her and more experienced, were those wolves. Sangilak had beaten wolves superior elsewhere, but the wolves within Tartok were each exceptional warriors who honed their skills within the pack. Perhaps the only wolves who could stand a chance among them were their own, but the unity was unshakable beneath the foundation her mother had built and the others fought to maintain. The very few dissenters died; they were unsuitable for the commitment, which was known to be lifelong.
His query was met first with a grunt as she moved ever-upward up until the point she reached a portion of the moraine that offered a view. She gestured toward the sea, and looked back to him. There was no questioning whether or not he had seen it. All cubs were required to be brought to the sea to train within it for two months of their lives. Sangilak had been eight months when she was brought, and had been made to return many times. That was largely in thanks to Ataneq, who had been fond of the sea and went with his brothers. Those brothers were her brothers, but due to her name, saw her as their elder brother Ataneq. Even Tonravik regarded her as such, and from time to time submitted to her will for it. Such was their culture, but at the peak of it was strength. Sangilak would surely match her sister, but had never dared to do so due to her respect for her and, more than that, knowing Tonravik's merit. Tonravik's ambition was vicious; the very instant Sangilak even imagined leading had been the very instant Tonravik chased her from where she stayed now. That, and her heat.
Indeed, Tatkret was not used to Sangilak's sort of games. Though he was of Tartok, and they were known for their brutality even when playing, it wasn't often that he ever sought to injure the other in play. He himself had been bruised and bit many times but never did the same to his company, even if they were as rough as Sangilak. He reserved his fangs and vice-like grip only for battle, where he was free to hurt the other as much as he wanted.
The response he got was expected, and he was knowledgable enough to remain silent, knowing he would be shown rather than told.
He gave a soft "ah" of understanding as they reached higher up the rocky remains of the river. Beyond a barren field and a small rise was the ocean, grand and ever-reaching across the horizon. Of course, he had seen it before as a cub, to be trained and accustomed to the different sort of terrain. He hadn't been as fond of it as he was the mountains, but enjoyed the delicacies it yielded. Tatkret turned from the view to his companion with a quizzical look scrawled upon his sharp features. He respected Sangilak almost as much as he did her mother — who he essentially idolised, not that he'd admit it — but it did frustrate him that her plans were never easy to decipher. He himself had no sense of purpose at all save for expanding the Tartok name and ensuring it thrived (as well as tend to his own needs in a mildly hedonistic way), and so was well suited to being a follower.
"Why?" he asked off-handedly, not entirely expecting an answer.
Sangilak's stare continued to look upon the line of the coast well beyond them. An ear turned at his question, but she fulfilled his expectation in her mute response. This seemed the simplest way to get there, and Sangilak was after just that. His question hadn't fallen on deaf ears, and to assure him of this, Sangilak looked to him briefly. The masculine she-wolf, who was bearish and unattractive to the eye and frightening to behold, did not so much as snort in response; she looked again to the distance, and then began to move toward it. Wordlessly she had smoothly gesticulated that he would see why in due time; better not to waste their breath, to reveal her intentions to the air around them. Wind had a way of betraying the words of others; she had no interest in that, this day or any other.
So onward she went, for now, minding each step as she moved. The place shaped by the glacier that had surged through it was not too terrible to move through, and she felt their progress would be quick here. This pleased her, and caused her pace to quicken.
As predicated, the bear of a wolf did not respond — audibly at least. She turned to look at him once, snorted like an oxen, and then began to head towards the ocean once more. A smile curled up one side of Tatkret's lips. Typical. Yet he was in no hurry to see exactly why the shoreside was their destination and, really, was only curious as to why. Sangilak's reason would no doubt come to surface eventually and her companion was just in for the ride and, of course, to help in securing their overall goal. These grounds were fertile and ripe for the taking; the Wilds would suit their purpose well.
Licking his lips, the man shook out his ruff and wordlessly follow the woman onwards.