Silvertip Mountain black halo

I thought as much!! :D

He looked to her, though not directly in her eye (or else she would have surely moved to kill him, so offended and affronted would she have been; disrespect was never tolerated from strangers, though she would be more than willing to show others their place if they were Tartok); she can sense his strength, and is curious, hungry to test... but he had come here for a reason, and he speaks it. He does not waste any time. Good. xxxxxxTonravik hears the word, as she has heard many times before from others who search for their newest base. She does not nod, does not accept; and though she can sense from him that he knows of Tartok and its ways, she needed more than the name itself. Many knew of Tartok. Enemies were fearful, skulking creatures who were so low as to attempt to find one of them when they were alone. They were strong, even then, but strongest always together. She assesses him with a sweep of hungry eyes. Your former battalion, she presses then, eyes flashing. Iluliaq's battalion, of the Seahawk Valley, were the Bloodbringers. Sevendeath's—now belonging to one of her brothers—the Snapjaw. Her own would earn its name, but there were so many more battalions out there; they were all of Siku's Army. Each individual had their own branch. The hunters, the guardians, those that could have their own apothecary. So many firsts, seconds, and thirds. xxxxxxThe question asked plenty more than just that. Who was he, exactly, this strong stranger? He was handsome based on that alone. She never found women beautiful or men good looking; she judged them by their performance on the battle-field. And as she envisioned him, it was a work of art. How she wished to test him. To see him hunt, to see him take down another.