Big Salmon Lake fallen so far, like a shooting star

She listens to his story, interested from the get-go. One of Siku's. Order did not matter; nor did it matter that she was the first-born of the Matriarch of Tartok. Siku did not boast her cubs. She raised them alongside Tartok, she taught them (and taught them exceptionally well), and then she chased them off into the proverbial sunset when they were of the right age. Even through their achievements, none could truly know who Siku's true-born cubs were. All of the wolves of Tartok were her sons, her daughters, her sisters, her brothers; and when they did prove their worth, they were given this chance. Tonravik did not have her position because she was her mothers daughter. She had it because she fought for it, tooth and claw; she had it because she was a woman who was as meant for leadership as her mother. She aspired to be as great as her, and although she had not led a pack at the age of one as her mother had when she had chased off her younger sister, Tonravik had learned what it was to be a leader. Not even her mother had been given that.

So, perhaps she was destined for more.

Tonravik looks at his scar, taking a step nearer. She cannot help herself; the allure of a battlewound outweighed her desire to steer clear of him. At his words, her brown eyes lift. He had lost a fight to mate with her mother, and to become her mate. Siku did, in fact, mate for life; she imagined she would still be with her father had he not passed, because the man had been her mate for a reason. Much like the dark wolf who was beside her mother now, evidently; the dual-eyed stranger had lost. Tonravik imagined he was more than capable in battle. But there was a reason her mothers mate was her mate; she had chosen well, she supposed.

At his next set of words, Tonravik did not so much as smile.

But ah, as she hears him finish, that Tartok was all he could be, Tonravik takes another step forward. I am Tonravik. She did not acknowledge that he had been correct; she did not use her mothers name as a ladder to climb with. She was her own woman, and a woman with plenty of merit. Prove to me that you are Tartok. she demands, in whatever way you will. She prepares, physically and mentally; but perhaps he would speak, find another way. In heart, in soul.