Dawnlark Plains ranger

Tikigâk was a practical wolf. She had no imagination, and her line of thinking was simple. For all of the territory in the world that existed to be claimed, there was this one that had a herd to hunt and wolves in need of leading. She herself felt assured that the Tartok wolf before her had assessed this. 

She would test this. See the truth of it, or perhaps not. Sooner than she had anticipated, but that was the way of Tartok, too—one must always be ready for the call of battle. It could come at any moment. 

Tikigâk moves to greet him more companionably then, physicality her way—teeth nipped nape, shoulder, flank. Tartok was here. Our number? she asked, wondering if he had traveled here alone.