Sheepeater Cliff hate or glory

The wolf she had spotted spoke in a thick accent, and it took her a minute to piece together his broken English. Tonravik looked back to him, now taking him in. He was littered in scars, graying, and large. A soldier, she assessed. He looked as though he had fought many battles. And he was old. More experienced than she, surely, even despite how frequently she trained and how many battles she had fought.

So, she gave him her full attention, curious of his origins. The Tartok woman remained in place for the moment, and gave a nod to his words. Yes. She was. To find suitable land. It had not occurred to her that she might find suitable wolves, too.