The Tomb of the Forest

His respect for her motions made her think of him differently. Most lone wolves were dense and impulsive. Most would not be welcomed within the realms of her lands. And then there were few that survived for a length of time. Ultimately, if they did not join a pack—particularly with the season Winter approaching—they died; it caused no ache in the heart of Tonravik, who only cared for her pack mates. Only those that ran with her mattered. All others were not her concern, unless what they did affected her (be it inadvertent or otherwise).

Tonravik reclined onto her haunches, casting her dark gaze to the grazing prey. It would likely not move for a while yet; either it would join its herd as day approached in the copse its brethren rested in, or it would continue to graze and sate its appetite. It looked healthy, and its size enabled her to know it was a female. Had it been alone for a while, she imagined it might have been hungrier. Of course, she did not know it all; perhaps it lingered because it was a gluttonous beast that wanted the rest of the land to itself. In time, they would see.