Ouroboros Spine And yet the menace of the years

dated after this, anyone who is interested in Healer trade!

With the pissant wolf dealt with, Tonravik lurked the perimeters of her land, even more on guard. There were plenty of insipid wolves in this place, it seemed; in time, they would surely pay the price of their senselessness. Be it by her fangs, or the fangs of another, it mattered not. Their fate was sealed for it. When she was sure the land was well-marked, Tonravik turned to find the nearest stream. She had cleaned her muzzle once, but was not so sure how to handle the torn ear which still bled. It had come to a trickle, but the tick in her ear needed something to help it clot. No medicinal genius, Tonravik humored literally rubbing some dirt in it.

By now, the bridge of her muzzle carried a scab. Although she could not see herself, she now looked more like her mother than ever; for the Issumatar carried the same mark after challenging a wolf in the Bay to leave her spot of shame. Nolfavrell had been his name. Siku had nothing against him; she had beaten him, and earned her place in the ranks of Shearwater again. That was still not to last. Siku had been meant for more.

Tonravik thought of her mother, the cold, stalwart woman. Her bloodied ear twitched. Siku had taken care to name the male, who had fought and understood what his loss meant. But this fight, for Tonravik, was simply another victory of hers. The name of the other was not relevant. It was just another scar.