empty

The wolves of Tartok had been quiet, but never idle; they trained, always, for a battle yet to come. But they were soldiers, and they were used to this life; it was not about the war they might one day fight, but the way in which they survived.

Food, currently, was scarce. Tartok had not perished due to the resources the mountain itself offered, but she hungered for bigger prey for them to take down. Mountain goat could be found, but she did not desire to eradicate them from Silvertip. The goats were useful, and so her course altered as she, for the first time in months, left the safehaven that was Tartok's stronghold.

Long-legged strides took her around the perimeter of Neverwinter Forest, a land she one day intended to be her own, even despite—

She pauses in her trek, nostrils flaring as she drinks in her surroundings. She could smell the resources Neverwinter had to offer, but it was what Tonravik could not smell that both concerned and pleased her. The snout of the alpha female pushed roughly into the borders, scrounging for details; but none could be found. The wolves were gone.

Without further adieu, Tonravik moves into the territory, preparing to investigate further and find prey.