Happy Honeymoon

Her ears cupped forward at the approach of two wolves, and a...

Did they know what was in their midst? Of course they did. It walked with them, lowly, but with them. Tonravik kept her stoic disposition, though an ear turned as her mate elaborated. Slaves. This coyote was a slave. A slave might be easy to earn if they fed it. But, why waste the meat? And as for roles of the sexes, Tonravik betrayed nothing to her thoughts on that. In this culture, she could see why. Their women were vapid and senseless, suicidal, even. Who could listen to that? There was not one who proved differently, and she had seen two.

The male seemed disgruntled, spitting vehemently in a tongue she did not understand. Iqniq had said that. Her own mate spoke in their tongue... but still, she remained utterly still, protective near the plains wolf. That she was paralyzed she did not know. If the wolf died, she died. It was deserved and overdue. The other wolf then spoke, amused. That was good. Better amused at his subordinates demise than irate at their retaliation. The alpha female looked the two over. Strong men, certainly. Their coloration accentuated the fact that they were made for these plains.

When her mate silenced, Tonravik continued: "And any others. This one was not your only wolf to come to us."

The alpha female wanted none near her borders. Not of the Plains, not of the Plateau, not of any pack she knew or did not know. It did not matter. She wanted this meeting over and done with; she wanted to return home. But in the meantime, she sniffed the air openly, drinking deep dregs of air in. Although her eyes moved to look beyond them, to note the plainness of the plains, her attention was upon them again, her eyes waiting for their move.