Blackfoot Forest hit them right between the eyes

Tonravik was unperturbed by his display. Her own head was held loftily above his own, her tail rigid behind her. It moved in a loose arch, and the almond eyed woman observed as his eyes narrowed as though bothered by something. What that was, she could not know. She also had no desire to. Tonravik took his question wrong, responding simply with, Many places. And this was true; Tartok and its branches and battalions were most everywhere by now, the band of conquerors a dominant bunch that were making their name for themselves even still. Tartok was a good name, a strong name; it was no wonder he had heard of it.

His curiosity did interest her, naturally. ...you do not run with us, she deduces of him and Tartok, her voice a low rumble. Tonravik did not think his intrigue meant he surely wished to join them, but if he knew anything of she and hers, their strength and how they would surely grow, then he would perhaps come to desire to. Tonravik was no brilliant recruiter. She had the stuff of a leader, strong and sure, confident; she was equally cold and indifferent. Tonravik only had desire for strong wolves, and her eyes looked to him to measure him.