Duskfire Glacier [m] Village song

Tikigâk regarded him with a keen gaze. Her season was not yet finished, but already—from the first night—she knew it was a guarantee. His seed would be undoubtedly be as strong as he was—and she was, at present, a fertile field. 

She was not tender, and would likely never be—it was not her way. Her affections, when given, was doled out physically. She knew no kind words to say that would soothe or comfort. Her own candor was similar to his own. 

The Darukaal woman gorged on the flesh of the beast, tearing into it while listening to him work at the flesh and bone himself. When he removed a haunch and placed it before her, Tikigâk paused in her consumption to peer at him wordlessly. She sensed the unspoken promise, saw again that she had chosen rightly. Even when she could no longer hunt, caring for their young, he would provide. 

No prey nor enemy can outrun us. We will have our kills, she answered in a promise of her own. She would hunt with him. She would fight with him. His compliment was answered with a proud roll of her shoulders and an appeased rumble, and sufficiently seduced, she rose to press against him. His heady scent filled her senses—now she told him, feast, her own low voice imbued with the fire of her season, you will need all of your strength, all of your energy, a wolfish grin presented itself upon her features for what was then on her own mind. He would know it well. 

Tikigâk listened to his next words, and was given pause. After several beats, she revealed to him this: The way of Tartok—only the strong survive. To grow soft is to invite death. I am no longer Anneriwok—but… it is still my way, it was what she knew. She would never become soft. And some things, such as that lesson, she would never outgrow. Tikigâk was not made to be soft. Truly, she was made for conquest—as were all sons and daughters of Tartok that chose their path. By now, it was too ingrained in her to be or become any different—her formative years had transformed her into something of a machine. 

But Tikigâk was glad—glad he liked her as she was. Preferred her. Because she could not change to become gentle, to become warm and inviting. 

And she would show him as much once he finished his meal, eyes unmoving and filled with that flame of desire upon him.