an unashamed with the wicked tongues sing

So tightly wound into her thoughts, she missed the coming approach of Kroc. And when the pale-haired bear of a she-wolf called out, those thoughts unraveled in steep descent. Echelon did not startle at the accompaniment that came, instead halting in her own travel to be joined by the much larger female. Her head raised curiously at the words that came forth and lowered with a nod; yes, yes, she had come back and so on and so forth. She had gone where Tonravik could not and in turn, had come back.

And like her reunion with their issumatar, she did not receive any ill tidings thus far. Which was good, not so much in her way of saving face but that those who welcomed her back understood her departure. Understood the necessity that the only aid they came to was that of Tartok alone. She hummed indifferently, her way of inquiring of how Kroc had fared. Well, by the looks of it. The summer heat had not slowed her, or like Echelon she persisted in their proverbial oven.