Gilded Bay Kids these days

Akantha felt no immediate urge to shadow Meteora constantly for her sister had amassed a respectable following upon her departure and subsequent journey from Themiscrya. She was not a mother hen; in fact, she was not even a mother. Now, there was a thought; that niggling feeling of worthlessness that sometimes crept up on her like the shadow of approaching dusk. She had not yet been Chosen by Her. 

The Siren snorted as she plodded down the slope to the beach. Her womb was strong and would bear fine daughters in time, she told herself. Meteora, as far as she knew, did not look upon her unfavorably and the Rites would resume as soon as they settled beside Her again.

Her ears switched forward towards a noise that her mind only registered a beat later as a cough. It was nearly drowned out by the roaring Sea, but her keen senses were tuned to the sweetsong of the ocean. This was not something that belonged. The swarthy she-wolf scanned the beach, eyes narrowed suspiciously as they fixated on a tawny lump of what was unmistakeably a wolf.

Akantha wasted no time in approaching. The strange female bore a queerly marked pelt which was stretched thin over bone and worn muscle. It was concerning, but unsurprising. Outsiders were foolish creatures, that reared foolish young. "Get up," she barked, reaching down to nose the she-wolf's hindquarters roughly with the bridge of her own muzzle. The Siren was unconcerned about the reaction this could garner. "Move."