Silvertip Mountain black halo

Her face, her stance, her demeanor...they betrayed nothing. She was as blank as the face of the mountain, as indifferent as the breeze that brushed carelessly past them. He understood that she would not hesitate to lay him out in a pool of his own blood if he was reckless with his words or actions. Then again, it was no different than the way things were done back home. Many wolves had gotten soft and diplomatic; not so with Tartok. If anything, those of Tartok grew harder and more savage with each new generation. So as he eyed her, he was careful to push the envelope of her tolerance only so much. He knew that, like his mother, she would appreciate strength and fearlessness -- but not foolish disrespect. He walked a fine line, but it was a line he had walked since the day of his birth.

As he observed her, it occurred to him how very much like his mother she looked. Atuun, like many of her Tartok brethren, was a huge she-wolf of staggering size draped entirely in the darkest of blacks, who gazed out upon her world with glacial-blue eyes filled with cold, calculating contempt. Tonravik's eyes were darker and more sinister, but in her physical build and coloration, she was a textbook Tartok. She was splendid, magnificent, a creature of such vicious, dangerous beauty that the mind simply could not grasp just how lethal she was.

She posed to him a simple, curt inquiry as to his previous battalion. His answer was equally terse: "Northwest. Anubivaalua." The name of his home pack meant, "sound of the wind", for the merciless winds that howled and tore through the mountain fjords when the snows came. Those of Anubivaalua were the strategists and the quiet killers, the fleet-footed mercenaries. "I am Kaniq. Son of Atuun Tartok, cousin of Siku. Mother sent me to find Tonravik and help build her clan." It was perhaps the most he had spoken in many months. "There are others. We separated. They will come."