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.

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.

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.

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.