Despite the injuries granted to her by the ocean, the hybrid was not going to settle down for long. Even when she had been granted a den for her own restoration, it had been accepted snidely; and when awake, Arkham was consistent in her attempts to roam. It hurt to do anything aside from lay down and sleep—and even that could be a prickly thing—but still, she refused to stagnate. When the call rang out for a gathering, Ark had managed to creep from the den. Her head raised as the eerie sound of wolfsong pierced the air, and for a moment (though it jarred her senses) she felt compelled to raise her chin and join in. That thought shocked her in to silence. She held back on the urge and chose to seek out the root of the noise. It took some time to navigate the forest—she was tentative in her movement, cautious and pained with every step. By the time Arkham arrived, a few others were already present. She chose not to expose herself to them initially, and roosted in the shadow of the trees.

None of these creatures were her friends, her allies. They were each too wild by comparison, with their proximity making the fur along her spine begin to prickle. Arkham watched them. She did not drift any closer because of the instinctual need for space that pervaded her mind; instead, she observed and made mental notes. The wolves seemed to be set in to a concentrated silence around Majesty, and while he spoke, Ark's attention drifted. The words meant little to the new arrival.

The mention of rivals piqued her interest though. If there were more packs in the area then she would have to be on the lookout; this land was indeed wild, and not a place she felt comfortable. The comments the beast made about some lady named Erika went in one ear... And out the other without so much as a chuff of recognition. The others in the group seemed adamant about the news, though. A few spoke up boldly, challenging what the leader had said. Ark huffed softly at the entire situation: to her, none of it was that important.

The hybrid's attention waned from the gathering. While her ears were perked and positioned ahead of her, towards the wolves, the rest of her began to drift. She looked to the birds in the trees, the clouds overhead, the path behind her which had been so troublesome for her weakened body—and gradually, Arkham's boredom became too great to manage. She began to slip away from them, slowly striding through the trees once more and away from the meeting.