Silvertip Mountain wolf mother.

Without his mother, he did not know what to do.

Where to go.

Who to be.

And so Tonraq walked, as he had done always in his youth—before, always by his mother's side—for it was all he knew. He ate when his stomach hungered, powerful legs giving chase to the smaller mammals he could take down on his own. He slept when he could walk no further, when his muscles could take no more. When dangerous, treacherous thoughts crept into his head, Tonraq ran until his head was empty of everything but instinct once again.

It had been a week, though he paid little mind to the time that had passed.

He saw mountains. That, that was familiar. And though he did not know what would come to pass when he arrived, Tonraq made them the destination of his course. The range of them intrigued him, for they could contain generations upon generations of Tartok: but when he came across a solitary peak, instinct called to him.

At its base, he paused.