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.

It had been @Anuniaq who had been followed; for as slow as they were, mentally, physically they were perhaps the wisest. He had heard the sound of her, or perhaps he had smelled her, and when she approached Ikkalrok caught his body language shift from seeking to alert. And so it was him Ikkalrok steadily approached; by the time she arrived, there was a ruddy bitch standing near to him, a bright stain to the muted canvas of monochrome around her. 

Ikkalrok drew to her full height as she observed the other, noting their injury without mention. Still she moved closer, seeking to bridge the distance between them entirely, to gather the scents collected on this stranger and to better know this place for it as she moved. If Ikkuma shied away, Ikkalrok would be given brief pause, though throughout this exchange she remained entirely mute. Their (the strangers) approach did not mean anything as to what they had heard in the call, but if they had heard anything in it, they would know to state their full, given name. Nothing was truly ever risked by a stranger to approach the large band of wandering wolves; they were all social creatures. Of course, there was some risk to it—but if the advancement were aggressive, or became that way, Ikkalrok was all too familiar with ending exchanges with like-minded, malignant intent. It was, for the most part, never difficult to eradicate whatever threat posed itself. There were some true warriors among them, but even they were brought to their knees in the end.

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.