Redsand Canyon for the promise to come back

Wylla was as suspicious of Kallik as he was of her. It was her nature. His words suggested he knew nothing of the Saints, but Wylla wasn't ready to believe him just like that. She knew the Saints to be prideful creatures. Their leaders had behaved like total jackasses on Rivenwood's borders when they visited, carrying on as though they were superior to everyone around them, including the resident pack.

So she knew that a Saint could not resist reacting to an insult.

I wouldn't say that, said Wylla, drawing the last syllable out long. A bunch of slobbering meatheads without enough brain cells among the lot to power a single advanced thought. They live a life of violence because they don't know any better, poor things. Me big. Me stronk. Me bash in skull, take prize woman, me big dick. You know the type. Maybe Kallik did know the sort. He sure could pass for a Saint from appearances alone based on Kynareth and Nyra. It must be a very sad life, being so incredibly stupid. Can't imagine why anyone would want to find them, but they did make the mountains unsafe for everyone else. Just need to make sure they've gone and fucked off. She flashed a toothsome grin.

No doubt Kallik could work out from all that why Wylla cared if they were still here or not, assuming he wasn't a meathead Saint himself. Assuming Mereo was truly a different pack, which she very much wanted to believe. That possibility was why she kept her legs braced all throughout her over-the-top delivery, prepared to spring away at the first sign of aggression.