Duck Lake You'd better have good aim

As infuriating as it is, there's something so strangely satisfying in seeing how easily she seems to have gotten under the woman's skin. She's hardly said a word, and it's clear already that Takiyok can hardly control herself. Her lips curve upward faintly, expression smug, and her next words are accompanied by a lift of her tail and a disdainful upward tip of her muzzle. It isn't my fault your idiot brother can't hold a pack together, She pauses a beat, hesitating only a moment before she continues a little viciously: Or his own family, apparently. None of the scents she'd grown familiar with in IkKanattuk surround Takiyok now, but the absence of Siarut's is most glaring — and in a way, it feels like vindication. It doesn't occur to her that he might be dead, or that something might have happened; to her, it means that Takiyok is either a deserter herself, or that she has lived her life in the shadow of one. She can't decide which would be more satisfying.