Ouroboros Spine Finds and shall find me unafraid

Tonravik heard his approach, his heavy footfalls as telling as her own. Her head turned and she rumbled back, tail swaying behind her. It was always good to see him; his familiar face reminded her of the very thing he had mentioned, if ever there was an identifier to the word. Home was not the place, but the wolves. And although some were very different, there were many that were coming into their own, falling into her definition.

"In its way," she rumbles. Not quite yet. "I have much work to do." The Spine had once been lax in comparison to what she would make it. Tonravik shifts to attempt to bump into him, muzzle moving toward his shoulder so that her fangs could comb the furs there, the proximity solely to allow him to investigate the superficial wounds that would scar. The outsiders here were dumber, she found; perhaps that was why this place was right. To weed out the weak, to take in the strong.