Sawtooth Spire cold, cold man.

From the higher ridges, Wylla could see the trio of wolves standing on her borders, but she took her sweet time working her way down to them. The silver-furred Praimfaya was familiar to her, not formally but from chance sightings, but the other two were definitely not Sagtannet wolves. Wylla, in her ill temper, didn't appreciate loners loitering around on her borders, not while her son was still lost, not while they remained tense. Howl coming and going as he pleased with Mahler's misguided blessing was bad enough.

She halfway hoped by the time she reached them, Praimfaya would've turned the pair away, but that wasn't the case. The thin Eisen drew up at a slow plod, clearly unimpressed as she swept her gaze over the visitors. She wanted to snap at them to get off her borders, but Conquest's fiery fur drew her eye and instead, she flatly asked, what the hell is this?

The kid was young, probably almost around her missing son's age, and bore no resemblance to Stryx, leading Wylla to wonder if she was looking at a kidnapper. The woman would regret ever coming near this particular pack if she was. Wylla skimmed her lips back from her teeth in a quiet warning growl.