Dawnlark Plains woman king

Sangilak chowed down, but a shift in the wind alerted her to the presence of another. Her head lurched upward swiftly and her eyes held fast to the large being a good distance away. She kept vigilant up until the point she noted that he remained as he was, where he was, but when she returned to the task of eating she did so slowly. To be a lone wolf was not the life for Sangilak; she was after much, much more, but there were things she must attend to, first. Her worry had reduced as another breeze came; she recognized the scent upon him.

She heard Tatkret before she saw him; he moved toward the meal she had toiled over, and then past it. The low growl in his throat was rejoined with a growl of her own as she rose and paused in her meal to bark out a sharp, Tagva. But she knew it was not violence Tatkret sought; only further investigation. She spoke in regard to his growling approach; she was a proponent of violence, but not the foolish sort, not when it could not be afforded. She was a physical wolf, feral to the core; she would not bother what did not bother her for long. Still, if she were not preoccupied, she would have had the same drive to sniff out this other being that lingered; it seemed the stranger was sated enough to not bother risking her fang, which he would surely receive had he made to take her bounty from her, and yet he remained. She had returned to eating, the creatures innards spilling freely from it; she took the richest parts, and would leave anything else to Tatkret. The scraps were for the birds or any that would scavenge them. She paused again to lift her mighty crown, her tongue rolling over one bloodied canine as she observed the scene up ahead.