Dawnlark Plains ranger

Tikigâk knew of religion, vaguely—at least enough to know it had failed Siku. While some things could only be learned by experience, the story of how Atka and Sos ignored their disciple in her time of greatest need was one that need only be told to her. Count on no one but your pack, and when there was no pack, yourself and your own capability. 

She had learned, though, that wolves sometimes left “gifts” to whatever power they perceived as real. Tikigâk could not understand it. To her, it was foolish; it led wolves like her to their altar. And she was no God. 

Now she heard him before she saw him, and Tikigâk rumbled a note in rejoinder, as though she ought to be aggrieved though she had sought to steal from him. She stepped out of his reach, gaze turning from him to the innards that still remained and back to him. She did not know still that this was a religious display; she thought him perhaps a dispersal, like herself, returning to a meal. His own? Surely he would have already come for her with his teeth?

A confident, albeit testing, step was taken toward the prize to be gained, attention still upon him.