Silvertip Mountain wolf mother.

The air seemed to be unnaturally still, and she does not move until the wind wafts toward her. But the scent of wolf entices her, and she knows that if she desired this place to be her own, she would have to warn them. Not too close. She had been near enough to the base to arrive to him in quick time, but she was given pause as she looked to him. His familiarity was quite striking to the sole daughter of Siku, and her murky brown eyes assessed him.

But it was so very hard not to know.

We can, she murmurs to him, waiting for him to echo the known words—we will. For they were Tartok, were they not? Or had she made an error? It was all very possible, but she took another hungry step forward. Tonravik wondered if he was sent from mother. She could not know that the fresh yearling had faced the same fate as she and her siblings had; chased off, as soon as they reached their first year. Why, the very day.