As the sun fell, Tonravik rose. She was not a creature of the night, no dark villainess that sought to bring ruin to the world; she hated the heat of the day, and her dark coat made it no easy feat to be productive when the sun was high. Tonravik would in time learn to cope, as she would have to. She had every intention of some day bringing Tartok and its legacy here. Perhaps even to the very mountain that kept her.

The bear of a wolf stalked throughout the night, thinking of her brothers. Sisamat—named Tonravik by her father—meandered with purpose this evening, her eyes hungry to catch something of worth, of merit. She had met Skyfall, and she kept them fed with his help. She was not his keeper, but they had become pack, and he returned to her. The powerful daughter of Siku did not know if she would join a pack before making her name here, or simply begin. There were worthy wolves, but she had yet to find them. It would take time, but it would be done. She was sure, too, that Tartok themselves would hear of the expansion, and perhaps even they would come.

She heard the other better now that they had spent time in one another's company. Its movements were different than any she had seen, and the sound of its traverse were much the same in the regard that she had not heard much like it. She was used to snow, though, and her time in that environment had certainly changed much in her. Toothless had taught her to be more wary, more observant. The strangers intentions were not ill as far as she could tell, and she was fortunate for that; but Tartok easily harbored wolves outside of it that envied their success, and hated their principle that the strong would survive and the weak would die. It was inevitable. They only quickened the process.

At the sound the other made, Tonravik turned her head to peer at him on a nicely sized boulder. Her nostrils flare and she thinks for a moment, before deciding that now would be as good a time as any to test out the ability of her newest companion. She abides by instinct, tipping her head back and summoning her other companion (Skyfall) if he would desire to join them, too; but the call of a hunter rose above the treeline they lingered beneath, mingling with the unique cry of the wolf with her, who likely had not thought she might join in.

Tonravik bounded ahead, and notes a trail. She freezes, head whipping back in the direction of Toothless, before she nudges the trail, invites the other to partake in helping her seek.

It was only because she saw it coming that she did not instinctively retaliate with peeled lips and snapping jaws; she remained still, knowing that she likely would not even be moved by the other due to her own impressive stature and girth alike. She was correct, and internally snickered as the other stumbled; her tail swept upward and she shifted her weight as her eyes remained upon her adversary, her packmate, her subordinate, and when she was sure that there was no cause for alarm (that her companion had not harmed itself or bruised its ego), she was ready to move on. Her eyes swept the horizon for sign of Skyfall, but she was sure he would eventually show. Tonravik had tested him similarly, independently; it would be fine to do so now with Toothless, but she wondered if he would work well with the young male. Time would tell, and time would bring them to a cohesive unit that would only grow.

Tonravik observed the change in Toothless and felt herself grow giddy with the transformation. A hot breath expelled from her nostrils loudly as her ears swiveled atop her head, and she took a step forward, to encourage. Show me. Tonravik could speak as well as any could, though her words were none so smooth as her primary language, the language that her body could express; she was so articulate that there were few questions ever asked about her own intentions.

Eagerly, she waits, patient; there was a reason their paths had crossed, a reason that this wolf on its lonesome had survived. Tonravik was sure its stealth was a large part of it, but it was not as starved as most could be, ought to be; licking her chops, she looks to the distance, prepared now to be on the others tail, to follow him and see yet another thing he would offer to the well being of pack.

Tonravik followed him, keeping a slight distance between them so that she could watch him work. He moved upon the terrain expertly, which pleased her. One less thing to teach. Tonravik had known the scent she had noted was goat; but Toothless had found it, and found it swiftly. Although they had moved on many different trails, Tonravik understood that the goats had been there longer than either of them had. It would have taken her likely the same amount of time. What she had wanted to see was if he was capable; and he was.

She moved toward his side now, gazing upon their quarry that was now in sight. Perked ears did not so much as move as her trained gaze remained upon them, utterly still. It was alone, and her eyes sought the herd... ah, there they were. Higher than it, climbing quietly in search for their favorite area to eat vegetation or perhaps just to sleep. Tonravik looks to the distance, wondering if Skyfall would join them. She howls again, so he would know where they were; and then she looks to Toothless, a short, quick nod.

Crouching, Tonravik stalks forward. Toothless could be the speed. Could scare it from its makeshift, lonely roost. Test it, be sure that this was the one that would die; for it might very well be strong enough to escape the both of them, in which case they would go for another member of the herd. But Tonravik prepared. For the kill.

He was gone. Tonravik waited, but no sound of hoofs could be heard; but she does not shift, so very sure that she would hear them come. There was nothing, and then there was a sound of which she had never heard the likes of. For a minute longer, she remains crouched, but there is chaos heard, and so she rises, wondering if the other had gotten himself hurt, if that was what the sound was for—

But there is the familiar song of victory, and Tonravik remains still for a moment, wondering... ah, it was possible; she had done it before, but did he not know that they were to do this, together? Tonravik moves toward the source of the sound, moving without regard of her trail; she bounds upward, muscles rippling throughout inky furs as she hoists herself up and over ledges until in time, there he is, atop the kill.

And there is Skyfall. She was not at all angered by his delay; he had not known, there had been no notice. It would take time, to acclimate; but they were pack, and they would get used to it. She notes the fish in between his jaws, and licks her chops, glad for them, for him. The question asked is answered as she nears the wolf, insisting physically that this being is with them, now. Pack. She gestures toward the goat. Ours.

Her tail waves, appreciative, pleased, as she looks to the dead beast. She drifts forward, tail lifted, moving to go in on the meat without delay, issuing a warning growl to Hunter to watch for her fangs. There was enough for three, enough to be shared among her pack, that there need not be any squabbles. This was theirs. Sisamat tears into the thing, seeking the liver, her favored part.