Nova Peak the bloodied hatchet

The fact of the matter was that she was terribly dull; in many manners, not simply conversational. She was primitive and base, and if knowing to speak were not essential to knowing the way of the enemy and thinking like them and knowing their intent, perhaps words would never be used or carried on at all. Most of her vocabulary was not given to her from her own mother; her claim was loud without sound as well as violent; and it required little speech, except for what she would command of her family. Aggressive expansion. Unity. Strength. Who they were and most importantly, why. Not every wolf needed reminding, but the presence of the Issumatar would not have it be a question asked. Very few outside of Tartok knew of Tartok. They kept to themselves, after all, and the mortality rate of those that they had come against fluctuated at their will from few to none at all.

His suggestion was accounted for with a nod. She agreed with him, and intended to. She was on this mountain to map out what could be seen from here, and would go from there. As he shifted, Sangilak's attention was for solely him. This time she did not nod, only offered out a monotonous, yet genuine, Thank you. It was in regards to what little intelligence he provided her on this land, but it was more than she had begun with and he had been willing to give it. Sangilak dipped her head some as he moved to depart in a brief goodbye, and then she turned back to the horizon—though one ear cupped backward to listen for the sound of his gait to recede in volume the further from her he went. Prophet was perhaps the only proof that she knew the word 'thank you'; she had never any reason to say it. What had she to thank any for? Anything done for her was in response to something she had inadvertently or directly done for another, and it was all for those of her brethren. This stranger required no favor or ultimatum, and so she deemed him worthy of it.

I just realized Tartok is like fight club