follow the leader

It took little time at all for her to arrive. Her wolves were marking and taking care of their territory, now that it had become theirs. Tonravik watched them, and worked herself. Pride was a growing feeling within her, blossoming, blooming. In her day to day life, she was changing. Her wolves carved her as the oceans would carve the land they lay into. It was little, but it was significant. There was more pride, more hunger for power. An inherent need to grow. An insatiable thirst that could only be slaked by their united gain.

The howl called to her. Her swift response could be attributed to how very close she had been prior. Their scent had been on the wind, but then again, there were many scents on the wind. Still, she lingered. Her encounter with the too-bold wolf had Tonravik hungry for their next attempt; she was ready, and so too were her wolves.

She meets them with her tail lifted above her hindquarters, her eyes immediately assessing them without shame. The male that stood there was strong in appearance, and it was that alone that made him handsome to her. She could appreciate that, strength. She could not appreciate the way his eyes were as green as the lushest of grasses she had seen, nor that his colors complemented that. The other beside him seemed content, but not so very well-fed. Her stature promised that she could boast size and muscle were she given the chance, but she had not been, not in this instant. She was alive, though. Thus far the silver being had survived.

Tonravik looks to one wolf and then the other. One had called, but it did not mean the other might not speak. She waited, patient, hoping for swiftness.