Silvertip Mountain calling

Tonravik did not so much as flinch when Aguta brought up her traveling. Truthfully, she was glad for it; it would give them more of an advantage in the future for one to know of the sort of landscapes the other territories harbored. Perhaps she would make a mission of it herself, to scout out the land and territories packs acquainted themselves with. The name she spoke would not be forgotten; the knowledge was invaluable, given in time, the male would come to follow her.

Only when Aguta spoke of wandering with Muirrin here did Tonravik bristle. Still, she could not fault Aguta for it; but nor did she hide her displeasure, how could she? From bottom, to top. One trip hardly meant the other would memorize a thing, but that gave the stranger more of an advantage than any other; and so, Tonravik truly wanted to find this wolf, to wander her homeland, to know it even if only briefly. A low rumble was all she emitted, one of true irritation, but she did not snap, bend, or break. Never again, the sound insisted.

Perhaps it would benefit them someway, somehow. She was sure Aguta would know to find that way.

Ghosts. Loa, she asks, wondering if Muirrin knew of the Cove, the spirits. Tonravik was not so educated as her own mother, but she had been introduced to them so that she was not oblivious.