Sheepeater Cliff hate or glory

She watched his face shift, and wondered at it, but did not pry. Tonravik did not care. Us. It could mean many things. The scents dictated many. Tonravik was a literal wolf, and connected the meaning of he and his son. There were more she could smell; he could mean that, too, but she did not bother to think much of it. It mattered little to her, unless they could offer her something. His response was an action to which she shook her head. I am not. And she was not, not yet; she would always be Tartok, but she felt that he asked the same question she had.