The Floodlands With a melody from the mourning band

It was a difficult fight of push and pull; she did not underestimate him or overestimate herself. No, in fact, Kuasak knew when to relent—she needed to conserve her energy... and against this wolf, she did not mind. He was, truly, experienced and strong. A man to respect. And one day, Kuasak would come against him again—but not this day. She dipped her head a measure, content to call him victor this eve, though when his tongue came Kuasak moved to nip him roughly. She was well spent from their "battle", and Kuasak sprung to all fours. 

She began to move away, though looked to him, thoughtful. She looked purposefully back to her path and then to him again. Come with me, the suggestion spoke. He would fit well among her ilk, she imagined. Brutes, the lot of them. Powerful ones. Though the man was a strong one, he would be stronger with them—of this she was certain. He knew Kuasak at her weakest, which was hardly weak to start with. She wondered if he might choose to remain with her—with them. She wondered if he would choose to become. If he, too, might be Anneriwok.