Ouroboros Spine heathen fires burn the ancestral night

Sure!

Ivitaruk’s creamy muzzle nudged the last bit of dirt upon the newly placed cache – his trust in the pack’s possessions given their sudden change in leadership was unsettled, and when he was not ranging along the borders, the man was hunting.. and learning the lay of the land. He had lucked out when he had come across the pheasant earlier, and his scouting journey had instead taken a turn to help feed the pack – though not before sampling a morsel for himself.

Pulling back to regard his work with mild contentment, the copper man smoothed his tongue across his lips, cleaning the blood that had settled there form his snack. One last glance for good measure reassured him of his duty to the Spine, and turning, the Tartok wolf began to find his way to the borders for one more sweep.

He, instead, found a rather slender she-wolf. Her pelt could have rivaled Tonravik’s own had ivory not brushed her shoulders and chest. Casting a cool gaze upon her, Ivitaruk slowed his pace down, noting she scented thickly of the woman he followed. This was only reassuring in the sense that the she-wolf had either accepted Tonravik as her new ruler.. or always had. One ear flickered in uncertain greeting – Ivitaruk was not a wolf of many words, and so he allowed the silence to stretch between them, though his pace did begin to slow.