The beasts forged through the thicket until they had found the end of this territory, too. By then, they had exacted their revenge upon the guiltless grouse the place had been named for; blood, wood, feathers, and dirt clung to their enormous figures, the latter of which Ikkalrok freed from her leathery nostrils with a heavy snort. With a lolling tongue, the bitch gazed to the night sky before her low voice sounded off, a summons to those who would know—or even think—to listen for it. The voices of those with her joined in, the sound surely a foreboding one to any that would not recognize their beckoning.
Ikkuma was far enough away to not be noted, known, or observed; as ever, however, Ikkalrok rumbles a command to her subordinates: seek. Two subordinates become silhouettes, looking every bit the wild bear from this distance; though she has the nose for tracking, Ikkalrok cannot scent what she has yet to meet and know. There were likely Anneriwok that would not be found, if they did not wish to be; Tartok, in truth, did not look very hard. Those that did not want to be found did not want to become, and were fickle in their loyalty—better they turn from them before ever being named. If that was to be their only act of courage, so be it—Ikkalrok was aware of how many it might save. Tartok was not suited for those that would turn their back when an eye was not upon them.
Such was the purpose of Anneriwok. Who was true, when no one was watching?
Ikkalrok's gaze perused her surroundings. She began to sniff at the soil she stood upon, and her remaining subordinate followed suit. Her brown eyes caught sight of a feather that had drifted from her ear to the earth, once she had lowered her head, and Ikkalrok grimaced as she stood and shook out her furs once more. Any other feathers she could not see were, temporarily, embedded in the knots of her wild, unkempt fur.
Ikkalrok had not been in hiding; she had been in plain sight. Big? Yes. Sneaky? Not the wolves with her; these were the offensive front, the beserkers. The wolves that went for the kill. There was no hint of amusement on her features after the other broke the silence; this was not the first loudmouthed wolf that had decided and chosen to become a part of them, and there was nothing unique about the situation that presented itself before Ikkalrok. Her dark gaze held the flame as she considered things for a moment.
Sort of. Anneriwok, then. The lack of confidence confirmed as much, and that was deduced even with the ample amount the lit match had brought with her. Are you?
comes her deep voice, rough and worn with disuse. There was no expectancy to her tone, or even in her gaze; the question was pointed. Were they still becoming? Or had they decided it was not the life they wished for themselves? In asking as much, she presented Ikkuma with her reason for coming: for this answer, firstly.