attierk

In her cryptic last words, she had meant their cubs, and the war; one certain, the other, not so much. But despite that, he remained, he readied himself. If asked, Tonravik would have clarified as best as she could; but he was silent, and Tonravik was gladder for it. The wolves of Tartok—one born of it, raised by it; the other brought into it, taken and taught and welcomed by her own mother—drew to her side swiftly, as she known they would.

"Our name is given freely to none," she rumbles, looking to Echelon and to Kroc briefly. One could not marry into the name; it was something you became. Someone. "Tell me: do you think Iqniq is fit?" She looked first to Kroc, and then her gaze lingered contemplatively upon her aokkatti. She would not know him as well as Kroc, and if the woman had any questions to ask, now was the time. One married the name; objections were taken seriously, and if they could be disputed, they would be. But if not, then it would be deemed that the wolf thus far was undeserving. It had yet, in their history, to occur that one was not worthy of their name; it needed to be proven.