Sawtooth Spire I can't get you out from under my veins

Shit, really? Wylla couldn't help but respond when Melkor introduced his daughter. You'd never guess. You look nothing alike. As for her, she didn't find names all that necessary to exchange on the border. If they became pack, they'd exchange names then, and if they didn't, then names didn't matter in the slightest. In fact, Wylla didn't find much of anything necessary on the borders except a healthy dose of submission and respect. Quellcrist hadn't actively shown any yet.

The lack of it was what prompted the straightening of Wylla's posture. Her ears flipped rigidly forward, her lips twisted into a silent warning, and her thin tail arced high up over her hindquarters as she stared daggers into Quellcrist's pale eyes, hoping to remind her that she was being rude by not at least averting her eyes from them. Maybe Wylla was a little old-fashioned to expect blatant submission from a leader's kid, but she would've expected Melkor to teach his daughter better manners than this. The man was impressive and respectable, himself, but if he wouldn't hold his daughter accountable for her border etiquette, she was happy to do so for him.

Wylla expected her body language to do all the talking for her regarding Q's missteps so far, so the only question she had was, what mission?