Big Salmon Lake [m] Fresh out of an icky gooey womb

Tonravik was too immersed in devouring their dead calf to pay much heed to the others scent. Even then, Tonravik was not all that mindful to the way horrific things smelled; that was life. If it was too putrid, like skunk, it could sting and be obnoxious but other than that, the scents of nature were well-known to Tonravik. She gobbled down more of the animals innards before pausing to pay heed to the wolf before them, who, like most wolves, wanted to talk.

She listened for the most part, a stiff nod to his first question. That was the extent of the knowledge she would deign to give him of their home, and she licked her bloodied chops. He spoke of a male beta, and Tonravik flared her nostrils. It must have been a man beneath the woman who led once; not a one remained of them but for the timid Loreley, although Tonravik still wondered of Sitri and his return.

He continued talking, speaking of his gladness that they did not come to his borders any. They were close; truly, the Caldera were their closest neighbors. But they had seen no trouble from any of their subordinates, so she was not troubled by them yet.

What he meant she was not sure. Tonravik was not so verbose, so surely her mate knew what he meant by his slew of words. But his thanks did leave her wondering. "Have you dealt with any of the wolves of the plains," she gestured in the general direction of the river. Across from it was Hoshor. The scarred she-wolf wondered if perhaps they had a preference for these wilds when trespassing.