The Tangle If you must die, remember your life

Wylla spent many days patrolling throughout the Tangle, tedious as it was to navigate. Once upon a time, she would've considered this place as treacherous as Sawtooth's jagged foothills and wanted nothing to do with it, but time in the mountains had granted her an appreciation for natural fortifications, and a surefootedness that ensured her safety in spite of the unstable terrain. She could almost be content that the Tangle existing between the cliffs and Sagtannet was enough to ensure their safety regardless of the sea rats amassing there.

Almost. But Dragoncrest Cliffs was something of a legend to any who had ever lived in its shadow. She would feel sick to know that the Rusalkans compared her to the imperious bastards that once stood high upon that cliff and took captives and believed themselves kings of the world. Wylla was not one to cast her net across every territory she could see from the mountain. In fact, it was only the cliffs she was concerned about. Only them, and their bloody legacy, and the harm that had been done to her brothers by that pack. The stress that Grimnismal had been forced to endure living beneath them, all because Wylla had wanted to go home.

It was nothing compared to what Rusalka had put up with. She remained unaware of all of that. It was not the wolves who lived there that mattered, but the cliffs themselves. They held a darkness to them. All wolves who touched them seemed to be violent and unreasonable. At least, that's how she saw it. She could not forget how Mahler had returned to Sagtannet, ragged and bleeding. She could not forget how she lost her eye. She would not be content until the cliffs were barren for the rest of her days, so that no Drageda could rise there ever again. She foresaw Rusalka becoming the next Drageda, the next Saints, who would eventually consider themselves greater and begin to push into lands that sustained Sagtannet and ensured their safety—it was a threat to her growing children and her livelihood to allow them to place roots there.

So Wylla, approximately twenty yards from Rusalka's growing borders now, began to mark the Tangle in earnest so that they would smell it even from their outskirts. If they would not see reason and leave the cliffs, then until preparations were complete for Sagtannet to descend upon them, Wylla would box them in. Any who set foot in the Tangle would know Sagtannet was watching, and they were not safe.