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In spite of his less-than-savoury experience alongside Taggarik, Farstep had not blamed the superior male for being present there. The pack wolf they'd encountered would have been just as foolishly proud and aggressive if there had been only one loner instead of two, he firmly believed, so Taggarik had neither prevented nor caused the outcome. The pack wolves that Dash had summoned had not found the loners, and with nowhere else to go and no interest in those who didn't know how to communicate with or respect their fellow wolves, Farstep had found and followed Taggarik's trail into the mountains.

For all the stops he made along the way, he still made good time. He came upon the ridge quietly, keen eyes noting the tracks pressed into the dry loam and the scent of Taggarik thick on the wind. He took little note of his surroundings, for any territory was fair game for a wolf and he wasn't overly concerned with the terrain or what it looked like. There were spires coming out of the ground, small but numerous, like the back of one of those spiny rats he liked to avoid, but he noticed almost nothing else.

He couldn't see the swarthy loner from the terrace, but the drifter fell into step with him nonetheless, following the tracks Taggarik had made at a brisk pace. He was careful to keep his ears draped over the sides of his head and his tail pressed firmly into his hindquarters—he'd invited himself along and didn't know how serious Taggarik was about this place, nor did he have any way of knowing if he was welcome here. He would only know the answers to those questions when he found the superior male, who would either accept or tolerate his presence or chase him off.