Nova Peak and sailed to troy,

Imaq's floppy ears twitched in a faint tic skywards, both surprised and joyous to meet another she-wolf who spoke in the melodic quality of @Chacal (reference). The Glacier Gamma dipped her gilded diadem, splotched tongue of pink and berry rasping along her creamy chops as she drifted to an uncertain stop. Full-bloods, especially those belonging to established packs, were not always receptive of her company. But this woman seemed amiable enough, in spite of the crease that fixed itself fretfully between her scarab gaze of polished gold and jade. 

"No. Imaq of the Glacier," the shepherd answered readily in a murmur that hinted at apology, flicking her freckled muzzle in the direction of the frozen cliffs she had come to call home. "Of Wintersbane's tribe." 

"You?" Selkie asked then, merely curious as evidenced by the slight tilt of her head. The woman smelt of something vaguely familiar, almost reminiscent of the shaman's home. Of seawater and salted brine, wild winds and the warmth of others. Still, Imaq hadn't quite pieced together that she was one of Sapphique's leaders yet.