Ankyra Sound I ain't ever had a type, having a type takes two

From atop the cliffs, the grizzled she-wolf stared impassively down at the smashed beach, wind ruffling the wild hair on her nape.

So much had happened there. At the time it felt insurmountable, the rage and pain that Grimnismal and its wolves, especially the sea witch, had left her with; now she knew it was only a moment in time. Her life was defined by things other than her failure as one pack's leader. The spunky fire that leapt from her daughter's tongue, the glimmer of Lusca's eye when she beheld them returning for the first time, the memories of both her lost brothers that she clung to on her loneliest nights.

Grimnismal was only one chapter of one young life. Wylla had many others, most of them more successful than that, and she was no longer the childish yearling she'd been back then. Blinking slowly, she turned away, surprised to find she wasn't that torn up over the ruined state of the sound. It had never really been home, and all the emotion she'd spent on it seemed wasted now.