Gyrfalcon's Keep Bones Exposed

ME TOO.

Tonravik, when given consent, did not waste any time in acquainting herself with Kroc (albeit a little stiffly, keeping her guard well up) and sniffing at every nook and cranny to be found. It was Kroc who was able to pick up something particular off of her, and as Kroc jerked Tonravik stiffened, raising her head abruptly and baring her teeth, stepping aside to keep herself out of reach. The dark woman was on guard up until the other spoke in Inuktitut, and although the authentic pronunciation that meant one was reared to know the language as opposed to taught later in life was not there, Tonravik knew what it meant.

Her thick plume waved, held loftily now. Kroc had known her mother herself. There was no disputing this woman was Tartok, now; it pleased her. There was no drifting from the pact one made when becoming Tartok; anything else was temporary. They became family when they took the oath and the name. Blood is thicker than water, but nowhere near as refreshing. Perhaps the only blood loyalty she bore was to her mother and siblings, but that came due to them being Tartok as well. The wolves that became such earned equal loyalty.

Kroc was swift to answer her own question, and while the woman worked through her own mind, Tonravik remained quiet 'til the last one was said. "Nothing. Tartok has spread. I seek to spread it here." She would do so quietly. Tonravik would have her pack of warriors, and they would keep to themselves and keep all others out. Those who wanted to take the name could if they took the oath; there were many ways to go about it, but she wanted it to be as it always had been. Tartok was private. They let few in while keeping anyone else out. She was quiet, her demeanor still stony as it always was, but certainly there was an openness to her now that was not offered before.