Silver Moraine get a move on

The mountains. They weren't so impressive when you were forced to live upon them without the support network that usually followed the wolf; she couldn't help but look upon those distant fragmentary things and scowl, reminded of the hardships that her mother had borne her (and her siblings) in to. She did not want to go north if she could help it. But Ikkuma also knew she had nothing here. Nothing except for the nagging sense that the wolves of Tartok would find her, or the Redhawks with their spite following her betrayal. She did not like to turn tail in this way, but the warrior knew she could not stay.

Or that's what she thought. And when a hushed call broke the calm of the cloudy day, she visibly startled from her thoughts. Her head whipped around and she fixed her sharp gaze upon the stranger, sizing them up in a few glances. It wasn't Ikkalrok — didn't look fit enough to be Tartok, and in fact they looked much older. Grizzle grew along the stranger's features that she could discern, even from this distance, that he might've been an older fellow.

Rather abruptly she called out, What. As if being caught here was really a giant inconvenience. Truthfully, she was happy to have a break from her worries.