Nova Peak the bloodied hatchet

Sangilak yearned for the snow-capped mountains of the North. Spring was upon them now, which meant soon Summer would come and the infernal heat of it. Perhaps she ought to have remained in the further reaches of the world, where all wolves bore her stature and her temperament. But she had heard of her sisters success here from the lips of Tonravik herself. The woman and her mate had settled further out where food was bountiful. It was no wonder she had moved, but Tonravik had mentioned a fondness for a place she and her Iqniq had found. There was not much time to hear of it. Sangilak had thought it would be with Tonravik she became Tartok, but her early heat changed things. Sangilak, along with some of Tonravik's brood, were each displaced to find their own way in the world. Sangilak, who was superior among her siblings (and it was discovered to be so even with Tonravik's brood), had to move on for the second time. Her sister had separated to form her own branch, and Sangilak had ambitions to do the same... eventually. While it was true she was the most vicious of her brood, Sangilak had no ambitions to do anything but simply become Tartok. That would be her first step. That in itself would be the first mark she made.

She came to the Teekon when the moon was high and the weather was warm. The first mountain she had spotted had become the first place she would explore, only so that she would see, and know, the rest of the world from its upper reaches. Though Tartok discounted blood in the becoming of Tartok, time had passed that certain genetics had passed on through generations. Her mother had been a coastal wolf from birth until her second year, when she had moved to the mountains. Her father had been a mountaineer all of his life. Sangilak herself was built for the mountainous terrain, down to her calloused paws that did not feel the mountains rough edges biting into them.

The she-wolf carried herself with plenty of confidence, her ears perked atop her head, receptive to the noises that surrounded her. She moved, battle-ready as ever, her commanding tread slow and certain. Young, yes, but she had seen war, seen death. Sangilak had brought it, too. She was no mindless slaughterer, but a soldier to her cause, a warrior and a guardian of the people. All to earn the name. But she, as the daughter of the Issumatar, had more to prove. The name had been offered and earned, her mother knew this, she knew this; Sangilak had avenged her brother, Ataneq—the wolf and brother she had been named for—and with the help of her siblings, and elder mentors, brought an end to an old regime that had conquered only one. Siku had raged, and in the only evidence of love she would give for any of her children, sent the Anneriwok and Tartok to slaughter the offenders.

That was their Issumatar, who would slaughter many for one. The price to lay a tooth against one of their own was a hefty one to pay, when discovered, when known. It certainly did not help that the head of her elder brother had been brought to them, simply because he had been passing through. Ah. Bygones could certainly become bygones, but only when the reason for the upset had found their grave and lay within it.

Sangilak could not help but think of these thoughts as she ascended. The heavy plod of her every step would alert any that currently explored the place. Her senses told her that no pack was here, and so she had made no errors there... but her keen nose explored for other things, like the tell of another's presence. She had moved away from the places of the mountain that reeked of flame; a large portion of the place had been licked near-clean by them. Halfway up, Sangilak spotted a wide, flat ridge up ahead... and it was toward that she headed, still remaining alert all the while. When she paused, she looked unsettlingly calm as her imposing glare cast out over the realm below.