Ouroboros Spine My head is bloody, but unbowed.

ilu

Tonravik did not mind the questions of the brown bear. They were for intel, not for pointless blabber; that she could understand. For some miles they moved, heading upward toward some steep ground. She knew that the wolf had been near the borders when she had come, simply toward a more difficult area to get to given her lack of knowledge of the place. From where they were, it took an hour at a brisk, leisurely trot. And she assessed the climb they would need to make, one ear cupping backward to catch Kodiak's words.

"Ouroboros Spine," she informs. "I will keep it." The name was strong, and beneath the guise of the name, Tartok perhaps would grow again; she had much determining to do. Many that were of the Spine had gone, and she, the savage romantic she was, dreamed of making this place more than it had ever been. And so she began to climb, bighorn sheep observing them nearby. Her muscles coiled and she propelled herself upward, the climb challenging and invigorating to the woman who veritably glowed with the challenge presented. Up and up, toward its peak she traveled, listening for signs that the bear behind her followed.