[J] Bubble Up Inside

Tonravik was not a woman to waste her breath with speech when it was unnecessary. And right now, it was quite unnecessary. The woman tilted her head as he spoke of stories. In her life, Tonravik knew of two story tellers. They were as good with fighting as they were with their words, but the trade was tolerated only as they told their stories. Lessons of grandfathers, grandmothers. Not of the moon, the sun. Stories of war and bloodshed and successes and overcoming failures and obstacles that had truly occurred. The stories the wolves told were stories they had lived through.

She was not one for fantasy.

Her mother had told her the story of their origins, a very important story. All of Tartok knew it; it was one to be shared. It was a large reason that there were so many branches. When a wolf wished to leave the pack, Siku would enable them to, so long as they dispersed to create their own branch. And they always did, so devoted to the creed and their way. It was the same within every branch. And now, Tartok was most everywhere one could see a mountain.

The alpha female listened to her mates query, and listened herself. If his words were well-spoken, perhaps he would tell of their accomplishments and their victories, of their growth and success. His tongue would sing the song that the warriors displayed but could not speak of prettily.

Of Tartok, she held many stories close to her heart. What story did he bring with him?