Phoenix Maplewood locked in your own home

Legion. It’s a military word, soldiers marching in line ‘round the sturdy peaks they call home. The rigid, decisive beats of Kaertok’s name pose an almost jarring contrast; it echoes a language Dakota was too busy running to learn. If the thought of an army doesn’t intrigue him, Kaertok Tartok’s northern sound does.

The peculiar familial phrasing barely registers in light of subsequent talk. Is this a recruitment offer? That’s new. Kaertok’s staring must have drawn favorable conclusions indeed. Convention asks Dakota to offer respect to the beta; a swell of pride keeps his head lifted. “My name’s Dakota Tikaani,” he begins, “born and raised in the wilds of Alaska.” Might it ring a bell?

Much as the idea of being tied to a pack’s campgrounds doesn’t appeal to the roaming wolfdog, he can’t help but entertain the offer. “I’m at home on the trail, friend”—a show of camaraderie, if nothing else—“but I’m happy to offer some traveling eyes. Not nose, though,” he adds, for honesty’s sake. A light huff and a smile indicate this is hardly a sore subject. “I’ve learned to compensate.”