Dawnlark Plains ranger

Tikigâk again meets teeth with teeth, spinning slowly on her heel but quick enough to catch and parry his blows with an open mouth, tongue rolled backward as a snarl reverberated in her throat. A singular warning as she stepped forward to crowd him, to apply pressure. Relentless, up until he seemed to capitulate. Tikigâk watched him, now, and then he spoke.

Saatsine. As he shook his furs, Tikigâk caught part of what she had caught on the wind that other day. The scent of Issitoq was heavy upon him. Though she had seen the man’s weak point, she did not perceive him as feeble. 

She was Anneriwok and there were many paths she might take, to become Tartok. To become Issumatar. Strong of body and of will, Tikigâk followed no direct compass to that point but for her own instinct. The name could be earned in conquest, and Tikigâk considered that. Hostile takeovers were often their way—and it was the quickest way to earn one’s name. Tikigâk had aided in many; it had earned the she-wolf her first. Invader, she was known as, for eagerly participating in many. To learn, to fight. 

But then and there, she did not take that as his meaning. Tikigâk was not a woman to connect dots. The Anneriwok did not know why he spoke of Saatsine, or sought to move her that way; it meant nothing to her then. Saatsine were not her people. But the one before her, he had become such. 

This was why she listened still.