Dawnlark Plains Stop, what the hell are you talking about?

Normally a shrewd beast, Wylla was so wrapped up in just keeping a handle on herself that she didn't notice Kigipigak growing uncertain of her. In fact, the longer she stood with these two men, the more apparent it became who was the leader between them, and the less attention she paid to the silvery yearling. He didn't seem to know about the fairies, whereas Stjornuati replied that they were gone, replaced by another pack entirely.

Duty was a hard bastard to kill; her first instinct was to return to Nova Peak to inform her pack of another in the area, but they were her pack no longer. She could not cross those borders again. She could never return to her sleeping place and pull close the trinkets that made her feel fleetingly like her love was not a pointless emotion. The reality of her situation walloped her in the gut as surely as if she had been punched.

Her breath came out slow and shaky before she said, no one. I have one comrade. I lead... I led Sagtannet. On the mountain, that way. A choppy gesture with her muzzle toward Nova Peak. Apart from my children who reside there, they are my pack no longer. They did not deserve her. Mahler did not deserve her. Maybe they never had. If that was true, why did she feel so low and alone? Her pride melted away as she pulled her ears backward and curled her tail into the space between her thighs, deferential to these pack wolves as she realized, really and truly now, that she was nothing next to them.