Dawnlark Plains ranger

His words earn a short snort. We are all born the same. Blood is nothing. Strength, will, the choice to become—everything. The chain of command, the hierarchy, was dictated by strength among those that were Tartok. The children of Issumatar were born without surname, lest attachment form. Not all decided to become. Not all could—nature had taken from them many. 

Tartok was not an easy name to earn. 

She did not disbelieve his words—not due to any faith, but due to factions perhaps having heard of her journey—it often happened in this way. Sometimes, though, it did not. Tikigâk did not share her own heritage, for her blood ties went back to the very first matriarch—but it had not been told to her by her own mother, nor her father. 

Her ears twitched. More will choose. How many had she seen choose of their own volition? Abandoned by family, or merely wishing to strip their ties from them. A new life, a new purpose. Brothers and sisters that would die for one another, and kill for one another too. A bond that grew as battles and hunts partaken against their enemy or their quarry. Killing with one another, that mattered too—trust was built. Those who had not lived this life, walked this path—they would not understand. Blood of kin meant nothing next to the amount of blood shed and seen with one’s brother or sister in arms.

Tartok had not been born—it had been made. First by Siku, then by those beneath her that were born anew with their choice. Not one was more important than the other. 

Here, a chain of command would be made amongst those present—as Anneriwok in conquest to earn her name, it was her right to choose the path in which was taken when no branch was yet made within the region. Here lay two opportunities for her, but there was ingrained respect already for Nagruk who had earned the name. The how did not matter—only that she bore it. 

Where? she wondered why they did not journey to her, unaware that already they occupied Saatsine.