Sawtooth Spire I'm the opposite of moderate

In the years before her birth her father and aunt had walked these lands. Eshe did not consider what her father had warned; life was not the same to the great North as it was here. The southerns were gentle he had claimed, and while she was a different breed of creature than most she understood his notion. Theirs were feral clans - it was in her blood, in her name even. The woman snorted and paused her ascension of the mountain to cast her gaze towards the grounds below. She had not met any of the wolves that called these lands home and it seemed that there was not much land that was owned. It boded well for her ideals, uncertain of any promise to anyone but herself. She was not made from wolves meant to bend. Her mother had bested her father in a scrimmage the first time they'd met, otherwise she never would have allowed him to touch her. 

It meant that Eshe was as deadly as she was beautiful, capable of fighting and negotiating. Her tongue was as skilled as her mind was sharp - she was made for this life. The haughty creature returned her gaze to her task at hand - she would climb the mountain to it's very peak and from there she would decide the next steps in her plan. From there, she could see everything, and she would determine what would be the most logical move.