Ouroboros Spine weathered

Kroc was generally a quiet wolf unless you got her in a nasty, mouthy mood. Then, she was a foul-mouthed heathen. But this was different. The wolves of the Spine were her family, as it were, and she would gradually come to know each of them as they were. Her interest in Echelon lay in the fact that she had Tonravik before the taking of the Spine; to her, it meant that either she had been picked up the dark wolf along the way or run with the Inuit pack before. There were certain things that made her think it was the latter. 

That suspicion was confirmed with the dark female's answer. A nod acknowledged her words, head turning to seek the source of the avian cry. It was of no consequence, nowhere close to their location, which meant that they could not catch it. Kroc did not favor birds as food anyway, their meat stringy and dull compared to the succulent tang of deer or elk meat.

The question made her refocus. "I ran with Siku, in the beginning of Tartok." Many times, Kroc wished that she had not gone to find her brother but what was done was done and there was no sense looking back. Such reminiscing got you nowhere. Looking forward had gotten her here, and that was what mattered.