Ouroboros Spine oh no, she's at the bottom of that bottle

He withheld a small smile as the fiery she-wolf determined Tonravik must have been confused – it seemed strange to him, for a wolf to follow one without question if they determined them ‘confused’ or even slow. “Not confused,” he offered then, one ear flickering as Kroc had just finished offering her own name to the female within their presence. “It is the way of Tartok. A name is bestowed upon you.”

It did not explain to him why Kroc had not received an inuit name, and his brown eyes grazed over her briefly, the question lingering in his gaze, though he did not outright speak it. Lumbering forward still, he canted his muzzle back to Salamander, his tail giving an idle flick. “When they found me upon a riverbank, they called me Ivitaruk. Red trout.” With that, the bear-like wolf stretched up to his next tree, his claws raking the sides of it to announce their presence even further.