With her wolves behind her, they make their way down from the mountain and arrive at the hilly landscape of the terrace. She had considered continuing to the neighboring mountain, but packscent and the odor of young deterred her. Her course shifted, and beneath the cover of the night, Ikkalrok moved in ground-eating strides to pass through. She had no inclination to pause; she had observed from the heights of the Crag where she would like to go. 

But she remembered her mission and slowed, stopping once she was atop a hill. She lifted her head to call for any who might know to come upon the sound of this particular aria, her brethren joining her.  It was not the sound of a claim, it was the sound of a search. One had been found this way—Ikkuma. She had been sent away, to another branch; another test. Ikkalrok had faith that those that truly wanted to become would hear the call and find her here, where she would wait for a brief amount of time before forging ahead.

The wind was not in Ikkalrok's favor, and the yellow-eyed Moonspear juveniles step was well-practiced enough where she had not immediately heard his approach. Still, she was here to conduct a brief search, and her eyes drifted to her comrades. They began to move, and Ikkalrok's gaze landed to where the boy lay in wait without seeing him. He blended well with the shadows in the moment, and was obscured from the moons light where his eyes did not reflect its light with the green-glow that foretold that someone was watching. 

Descending at a fast, lumbering clip, Ikkalrok would not waste time in beginning to inspect the cover he lay in, and had he not moved upon noting her impending arrival it would not be long before Ikkalrok saw him there and reacted in violent accordance, a blatant response to the way she felt about being watched.

It was Anuniaq's purposeful stride that led her to believe there was something here, and she uncovered it without much difficulty; the yellow-eyed male knew he was found and made no further effort to conceal himself. It was this that prevented Ikkalrok from attacking him outright, and as he stepped out of the cover the foliage had offered him Ikkalrok observed his tense and frightened body language. 

Fear. A powerful motivator. It made fools of wise men, and as Ikkalrok looked upon him she recognized that this was no man. To be sure, he was no small cub—but there was more of him to come, evidenced by his paws and his coltish physique. Even worse. 

Why do you hide, came her baleful voice, the words a demand. She was a wolf who had forgotten the curiosity that came with youth, and as a cub, she had not had the luxury to explore such a thing. What Ikkalrok had been taught was to trust her instinct, and that any could be the enemy no matter how soft they presented themselves. Ikkalrok did not enjoy to be watched from the shadows; it was the way of the skulking fox, or the lowly coyote, and was unbecoming in those of their breed. Those of that sort might have their use and their value, but Ikkalrok, a woman without wit or intelligence, did not think of such things.  

Were this the mountain Ikkalrok sought to claim, there was no question as to how she would react. What withheld her from such a violent reprimand was that alone, for the moment. He labored over inconsequential things, and his tongue failed him. He slumped against the earth in defeat, and his averted gaze afforded him his good health. 

But not his personal space. 

The Tartok beast hovered over his form, one foreleg stepping easily over his back in a display of her acknowledging his fearfully submissive response. Body language and scent revealed the painful truth of what he presently endured, and with it his inexperience, but to be certain Ikkalrok lowered her own mighty head, her nose working its way up his spine as she searched his furs for evidence of an enemy. Those were scents she could never forget. Where she could not place faces or names from sight, scent was one thing she would always know. 

And there was none upon him that meant he was her enemy today. Lifting her head and snorting loudly, Ikkalrok's stern gaze shifted to Anuniaq. Lingering above the quiet boy for a moment longer to assert her authority, she mutely looked in the direction she imagined he might have come from. He was young, which meant others might seek him. Walking over him entirely now, Ikkalrok moved to leave, electing to avoid the path he had taken to her. Her ears cupped backward to listen for Anuniaq, as well as the stranger.

Although she heard the events that transpired, Ikkalrok did not move to intervene. The yellow-eyed boy had made the mistake of watching wolves who were unforgiving when it suited them. To kill him would likely take little energy, she knew as she heard his clipped cry. But killing him would do nothing for her this day. He had appeased her baser instincts when discovered and had heard nothing of consequence. Ikkalrok was no teacher; she did not think of the impression an attack might give, such as, do not watch me. In fact, she hardly thought much of anything. If Arcturus tried his luck with her once more, he would find that his luck had run out—she did not believe in coincidence. 

She continued to move onward, the dark figure of Savik drawing alongside her. If Anuniaq wanted to bring an end to the cub, so be it—the truth of it was that Ikkalrok did not care one way or the other. These things happened, and she was not the protector of the innocent and naive. Disobedience often meant death in their world, but all wolves were reared in such a way from the start. Those that forgot such a lesson did not last long, she had found.