Oystercatcher Tide Pools Wolf King

Her gaze fell back to Anuniaq, and she licked her chops. He was a good soldier, from what she had seen; the disappointment he felt was perhaps placed on his shoulders by his mother, who had hoped only for greatness from her progeny. The male was a good fighter from what she had seen, and strong—but he was simply not born to lead. His mother was a great commander of men, and many of her other sons had succeeded where Anuniaq had not. But Ikkalrok, and Tartok, needed wolves like him; if every wolf were born a leader, well, she had not the imagination to complete the thought, and so it ended there.

On the battlefield, he had the ability to adapt and take over should those that led the way be felled—that was what mattered most to her.

She remained where she stood until he arrived beside her, licking her chops and staring ahead. From here, she could see two separate ranges—she wondered which had once belonged to their kin (that soon would again). Ikkalrok, too, longed to head to the mountains, but the arctic sea beneath the ice was her blood, just as the stones of the alps were her bones. The woman did not feel out of place here, and though but moments ago had determined not to exert too much energy was swift to change her mind. 

To not train was to become soft, complacent. Such a thing could never be said of those that bore their name, nor of those that hoped to that would come to earn it. What experience did her comrade have in the waters?

Wordlessly, the woman trots toward the waters, and when it laps against her ankles she looks expectantly toward him. They had done this on land enough times prior to their earned rest, but now that they had found the sea they would do so here, too.