Neverwinter Forest Children of the Firehawk

Tonravik listened to his words, listened to him speak of her late father. She bristled at his senselessness, and stared on at the eloquent man with much confusion. She had not the broad vocabulary he did, but she understood the very bare basics. Tonravik knew his words were not true, but this was the truth he knew. I do not. For Kroc had pledged fealty to Tartok long ago, and so too had Echelon; they were not new by any means, although Kroc was newer to her.

"Tartok grows. Only its number will change." This she said with plenty of pride, her eyes still upon him. "I would seek you all. Would you return?" For it was her eventual plan, to seek any with their name. Her eyes were watchful, now, wondering how he would meet this; Taltos would know it to be so, and also know that her claim here had been made not so long ago that it could not be disputed. And it was for the wolves that would question her claim she waited for; their question would cost their life. But Kroc spoke again, and Tonravik listened to her.

First, amusement (there could be none better) then, anger. "You speak ill of me," Came her eerily calm voice, her ears leaning forward, "to my wolves?" How coolly she spoke, how calm she seemed; her tone did not betray the true extent of her rage. It did not matter that he was wrong, and that she knew how wrong he was; Tonravik knew that none could rival her. She cared not for the opinion of sheep, and would lose no sleep over any ill spoken of her. But this was his betrayal to her, a betrayal that would cost him dearly; for the first and last time, his history with her bought him seconds, seconds to right this wrong, or perhaps seconds for him to dig himself deeper into his own grave. Tonravik was not gracious. He knew this of her, as all of Tartok would. He would know what to say, what not to say; the twitch of a muscle betrayed that how very thin a line he tread, and how thinner still her patience was.