Rising Sun Valley takinik ⥉

Wylla remained breathless while Kukutux spoke, listening to the airy chime of the other woman’s laughter and watching the swell of her breast as she drew each breath. Kukutux was undeniably the leading woman of Moonglow, but how could she command respect when she was so soft? It made no sense.

To Wylla, leading was for the strong. When she led Grimnismal, she did so because she thought it would give her authority and power over the others. Not her brothers, of course. They were outside any hierarchy for her. But Caiaphas, Chusi, Nyx? She naturally had wanted to stand above them.

When she led Sagtannet, she did so in what she felt was the natural way. To be the leader, she had to be the strongest, the most intimidating, and if she cared for the wolves of the pack, it was veiled by her overbearing manner. If she had her way, she would have bullied every she-wolf in the territory out of estrus and presided over them with an iron grip. Nyx had challenged that status quo by existing almost outside the hierarchy, apart from the pack, and that lack of control served only to infuriate Wylla and set Nyx further against her in her mind. It was no wonder, putting so much pressure on herself and her authority, she had found reasons everywhere for her paranoia.

Here, now, was a wolf who seemed more denmother than leader, and yet her wolves deferred to her. Wylla had seen it at the borders of Moonglow. Kukutux had not had to say a single world. She had not had to lift her tail or stare down her subordinates to demand respect. It had been given freely.

She thought to pick the woman’s brain on the matter. She had already decided she would never lead Rivenwood if Mahler asked her to because she felt it would end the same as Sagtannet — those she toiled for would never respect her — and she was unwilling to waste her time on wolves she knew would oppose her at every turn. But perhaps it was Wylla’s approach that was wrong. Perhaps there was another way.

The drifting scent of meat on the wind stilled the words that lit on the tip of her tongue. Later. She met Kukutux’s eye with a swift glance of her yellow one, then forged ahead, making a path for where the smell originated. You say words in another language, she noted while they walked. It piqued her when others did that, but she schooled any little flares of indignation for her own lack of understanding. Mahler does the same. Why do you use these words when you know your company does not understand them?