Qeya River three

Nagruk. 

She looks like a fierce woman, and that she is at ease causes her own instinctive tension to melt away. They are West, and the wind tells the truth of it—though then and there, Tikigâk did not think to question the woman. 

Tikigâk moves deeper into the territory, sniffing, inspecting. She sought to learn the true number of them, and discern their differentiations in the ways that she could with her nose. Sex, health, their number identified quickly. Nagruk is among the tangle of scents, older than that of the man with her whose scent was more recently added. 

And now it is Nagruk she approaches, a measure of respect maintained for the name that she had earned. 

One Eye ruled many. But it was not One Eye that concerned her most of all. Men fought until hierarchy could be won, but it was known that women often fought to kill. It was not a cruelty—not when it saved mothers from witnessing the potential fate of their children, should there be a reason to cull them. How much loyalty was there, to the family? Who would someday rear their head and rally against them for revenge? 

No loose ends. There was no wisdom in it. 

Nagruk knew the hierarchy. Knew which wolf would cause the instability in others that would inevitably force them to collapse with a bent knee. Tikigâk was not clever, nor bright—but she was singular minded, and tactical. 

That did not mean One Eye did not concern her. There was surely a reason so many ran with him—and he could command them to strike all at once. They were at a great disadvantage. An ear turned backward to the man that lingered. 

You are ready to strike? she asked, wondering if there was a plan in place—or even a wish to take over this land. Tikigâk did not prefer it, thinking mountains more advantageous. [/align]