Whitebark Stream every hurricane gets its name from a girl like this

Thuringwethil's name doesn't mimic the majority of her wolves where they were easy and short. A few small families through the clans had something a little more intricate and for the first few months of her life, others not of her own family struggled. The day she had been chosen for the next commander, her name became commonplace among them. Hearing someone slaughter her name sends a tickle up the back of her neck and she has to remember that they are not her wolves. The male across the river doesn't have a clue.

He goes on, explaining the pack he'd come from. One of their leaders. The irritation built up doesn't ease but she feels a weird sort of relief to meet the other so soon. They could push some business out of the way, at least, but she doesn't feel threatened even when he lays down his suggested proposal.

"That seems fair," she decides after a moment of consideration. She doesn't know what else lays beyond this stream but she knows what's north and east of her own mountain and the promise that lays before them to keep their stomachs fed. The herd she has deterred from the dark male would have been theirs anyway, based on their agreement. "Where is your home?"