Ouroboros Spine weathered

The wolves of Tartok seemed to be similar in their demeanors. There were small nuances here and there that allowed them to understand one another with fewer words than most. This was displayed in Kroc's greeting and in Echelon's reply; succint and without fluff. They didn't need it, for fluff was useless. What benefit did dancing around a subject, or using fifty words where five would do, bring? None whatsoever. Not in her mind at least.
 
She nodded at the suggest and allowed Echelon to join her in what she'd already been doing. Large paws carried her forwad, after the wolf to draw her nearly even with the smaller female. In silent gestures, Kroc acknowledged her dominance and her higher rank — for now. Things would always be changing and if the woman slipped, Kroc would not hesitate to catch her on it, just as someone would likely do to Kroc, if they had the chance. Such was the way of their world and there were no hard feelings behind the motive.
 
"The former alpha ran off with a male. Their scent twines on the borders farther to the West. They may be back." To reclaim land. To claim the loyalty of their once-followers. To just stir up shit with the new leader. Whatever the cause, the chance was there. If those fools took that chance, they would be met with teeth and snarls and violence unmatched. Kroc wouldn't have fools like that lingering around their borders; doing so was just simply begging to be torn apart. To put it simply, should they come back to reclaim followers, they would die.