Bearclaw Valley i need fresh blood.

It was true Ikkalrok had the body of a fighter, and also, the mind. It was the singular thing she was good at; her primary function, one might say. Born and bred for the act of war, for taking and never yielding to the enemy, it was no wonder that while she ate she could all but feel the intensity of his curious gaze while she ate. 

She had assessed him the day they had met. Ikkalrok need not do that again; he had not accepted her meal. Perhaps he had no intention of changing. Gaunt and narrow, Ikkalrok felt that one need not be a bear to break the bones of this one, should they strike him and it land true. Malnutrition was an easy thing to detect, even for those not wise in the ways of battle. Whatever the purpose of it, Ikkalrok did not truly care. It was not her business to. He was neither Anneriwok nor Tartok. Some wolves, from what she had seen, walked the earth a spell up until they met death... purposeless otherwise.

He was pack, though, so she would make some effort to see him fed. What he did was up to him; deny it, and she would happily eat the rest... as she had.

Ikkalrok pawed at a tree, blunted claws dragging against the bark as her scent glands transferred her scent to it. And then the skinny wolf spoke again. Ikkalrok looked to him, and if she understood him there was no recognition present there.