Blackfoot Forest blood & iron

The scent of wolves upon the Spire might have vexed any other, though for Ikkalrok it was par for the course. She held no protectiveness over the territory in particular, nor desire to reclaim it or fight for it; there was also no residual disappointment there. Only the knowledge that she needed to forge ahead and find some other mountain to lay claim to. Sagtannet's own scent was strong enough where Ikkalrok did not see merit in usurping given the leaders diligence. Perhaps elsewhere might be easier.

But even that was not her priority.

Her compass spun, and spun. Her season encouraged her to do nothing but run. No male specimen in her travels thus far captured her attention. Too skinny, too lean. Where were her fellow bison hunters? The men that brought them down with their strong mothers and fathers? Ikkalrok only saw rabbitchasers and deerstalkers. But it did not dissuade her. Instinct guided her, and it had never led her astray.

The she-wolf paused within the dark forest, sniffing the air. The cacophony of foxes was not irksome to her; it was all simply nature, and this was not her territory. Ikkalrok tilted her head back and called to the wilds surrounding her, seeking a man proper—the volume of her cry quieted the din around her, and with a shake of her thick furs the mountaineer continued onward, rounded ears swiveling even as her nostrils flared to catch scent of any near that might have answered her call.