Silvertip Mountain wolf mother.

His instinct was rewarded, for in mere heartbeats a female presented herself with clear body language. Mine. Tonraq's body moved in answer, melting smoothly into a nonthreatening posture. Still, he looked over with curiosity, careful to never meet her gaze. He did not want a challenge. He did not want a fight. At least—he didn't think he did. Not yet. Tonraq knew he wasn't ready.

Looking at her was like looking into a pool of water: his own face seemed to look back at him. Pitch fur, brown eyes. He supposed plenty of wolves appeared thus, but it was unnerving to be faced with someone so identical and yet radically different. Both perfect mixtures of Siku and Kilgarrah, but in different ways. Still. Many wolves looked the same; it did not mean they were of the same blood.

"We can," came the murmur.

Tonraq stiffened, the surprise causing the yearling to meet her gaze.

They were of the same blood. Tartok.

As the female took a step forward, eager, his low voice sounded with a rumble like thunder.

"We will."