Sleeping Dragon firesuite

@Sangilak

He wandered the newest land they found refuge in. He felt fuller than he had in weeks thanks to taking an ample share from the caches and the surroundings of the volcanic territory agreed with the mountain-dwelling wolf. Tatkret drew nearer to the bottom of the peak, making a slow amble towards the geyser field with mild interest. A spray of water erupted from the ground a distance away — a small and barely audible emission, though nevertheless impressive to the man.

His attention however was captured by a heaping of rocks that he happened to cross on his way to the field. The smell was enticing and repelling at the same time and, curious, Tatkret gave it a tentative lick, before withdrawing quickly with a snarl and a fierce look at the salty-tasting boulder.

Thuringwethil had permitted their stay, and day by day Sangilak grew stronger. She had challenged, truly, only one—Warbone, he had been called—and had been bested in her sorriest state. Although she trained consistently, no amount of it could save one from the throes of a travel-worn body. They had taken food, and now would return some to the wolves of this place. The scent of Tatkret was one Sangilak tracked, and when she found him his expression looked as though he had just eaten a belly full of rot. The woman would not ask what it that had made him so; instead, she observed what was around him and noted the very thing he looked to. She nipped at his shoulder and them moved past him; they would hunt just beyond the borders of the land, so that what they brought to the stores here was not from their own homestead. It felt wrong to hunt on grounds not her own, and so she would do so in the proper place for it.

Fortunately, the only one to witness his mistake was his travelling companion. He noted the black beast come up beside him and returned the nip with a bite aimed at her neck furs, missing only by inches and releasing a sharp click as his jaws snapped together. She continued on, unsurprisingly not questioning what Tatkret was actually doing and why he had such a disgusted look upon his face. He decided to tell her anyhow, his disdain for the taste of salt very clear. "Do not taste the rocks. They are horrible," he commented before following her as she led them out beyond the mountain. He sensed Sangilak's aim of their impromptu trip and his heart began to thrum with anticipation for another hunt. A proper one.

Sangilak's ear shifted backward as he spoke, and she felt herself stopping mid-stride to look pointedly at Tatkret. Taste nothing, her ears were erect and pointed toward him, and she paused to growl her disdain for his foolishness. Sangilak did not care to know why he had done what he had—rocks were not a part of their diet—so she simply turned toward him and growled low enough for only him to hear, Aitaurit!

They did not continue on, however. Tatkret almost ran into Sangilak's backside as she stopped abruptly and turned to face him. Her look and low growl was enough for Tatkret to lower his gaze and ears, licking his lips sheepishly. The taste still lingered, and he scrunched his muzzle and bared his front teeth at the remaining salty flavour. Then came the command and, after a moment of hesitation, Tatkret did as she asked, jaws parted for his company to inspect, hoping she did not simply rip out his tongue.

Sangilak waited for him to obey, and when he did her eyes fell to his tongue, looking for signs of poison or else residue of what it was upon his tongue. There were no signs of the former, but the dryness of his tongue was telling. Taeror, she informed him with a grunt. Her look darkened as her brow furrowed. She revealed to him the reason behind her agitation by spitting the simple word: Tokonartok, each word again in a voice that he would only be able to hear beneath the whipping wind and the roaring geyser that spewed each time she spoke, as though it echoed her sentiment. The word was said as though it might pose a question, but there was nothing to be answered: what if it had been? He would have died. The strong survived, after all. Sangilak breathed deep but shook her head. He must have known it was not poison, to have licked it; surely he investigated it. Her stormy expression seemed to beg that question of him.

Salt. He snapped his jaws shut again with a click and pondered on why a rock would taste like salt this far from the ocean. He had tasted seawater, which had been similar but not so potent. It didn't occur to Tatkret that it was because of the geysers that sprayed water high into the air around them, and he gave one a quick glance as it burst from the ground as Sangilak spoke.

He shrugged, knowing she strictly believed in survival of the fittest (and smartest). However, Tatkret was a curious sort, who thankfully had not come across any poisonous substances yet; he expected such would be of a fouler scent than the salt rocks anyway. He met her darkened gaze with one of his own and answered simply, "it smelt strange." Then, with a wave of his tail, added, "but wasn't poison."

Sangilak snorted at his initial statement, and her tongue rolled over her keen nose as he finished his case. She gestured to what he had sampled and commanded him as her mother would to her brothers when their curiosity could prove to be fatal, Kamanak, and her eyes went back to him. As ever, her voice remained at such a volume for him alone to hear; none would know what transpired between them in their tongue, or her worries. We are not ippigijaittuq; to let curiosity be the reason for your end would be a waste. Sangilak knew it to be a weakness of his. Sodium was never something she avoided; often, salty meat was sweet meat, and so the scent of it was not unappealing to her. Her plume lashed at her hocks as her tactical mind churned. But her eye caught another of these things nearby... and another. No trap; simply a landmark. Sangilak shook her head and grunted to him, there are better ways. She said no more on the matter; she turned, now, and moved again toward the borders. It was time to hunt.