Iktome Plains tooth and scale

For @Silaluk!

She had commanded that @Astraios stay behind in the moors while she took some time to scout ahead, wishing for some solitude. She had little doubt that some of her sisters would soon catch up and join her but for now she was alone, but for the pitiful presence of a male. As well as she could ignore the drudge that accompanied her, the siren missed the security and strength she felt when surrounded by her fellow sirens. It would be good to clear her head.

The moorland gave way to a flat, sparsely vegetated plain. Meteora paused, sea-green eyes narrowing in disgust— thus far, she did not understand what the Protomedeia sought to gain from the Wilds. It was lackluster and barren, with few packs near the coast. But they still had hundreds of miles to travel before they would meet the Sound that had become something of a legend, and perhaps beyond the mountains to the north she would find what this coast lacked.

PP consent given!

Silaluk moved only with @Tugar, and had commanded the others to continue toward the Crag—she would meet them there, but first she would see the Ocean. The agouti, scarred woman had only asked to join her due to her yearning for the Ocean herself, and because the woman was from where her mother had first ever claimed—Seahawk Valley—Silaluk permitted her accompaniment. The she-wolf kept behind her flank, though now and then would move to kiss at her chin in submissive thanks and glee both. Silaluk snapped at her the fifth time this occurred, a snarl more terrifying than thunder coming from the depths of her chest. The other relented, and let her alone the rest of the way.

From Alpine Lake, they paused at the Plains. The ocean was ahead and her subordinate lingered behind her. The excitement the other felt was palpable, and Silaluk could take it no more. Attî, she commanded, and when the other looked to her for certain approval Silaluk only nodded. She would meet the bitch there, but wanted to survey the place before it for a time. Her subordinate had distracted her from the other present, but Silaluk's eyes found her soon enough. A warm breath billowed out around her face, the sizable span of the plume it left not unlike that of what came from a bisons huff. Her ears cocked forward, curious but not yet moving.

Meteora's ears stood alert when a sharp command cut over the gentle crash of waves upon the shoreline, her sharp eyes moving to scan the landscape for its source. A dark silhouette was easy to spot, noticing her just as alertly, while another agouti female moved with a gait akin to an excited pup's— to the ocean's edge, the silver she-wolf assumed. Her gaze followed the movement for a time, and when it was obvious that her assumption has been correct, those sea-green eyes returned to the stillness of the dark shadow some meters ahead.

Steam curled from her nostrils like smoke in the wintry air, dissipating with the sea breeze. Her breath was even and measured; Meteora was unperturbed by the presence of kindred drifter, and instead felt an overwhelming curiosity and desire to interact. After a moment, when they had each gained measure of one another, she took a careful but confident step forward.

The single step forward was all that it took for Silaluk to move forward herself, equally interested and contrasting her bored facial expression. Her long-legged gait was a mixture of a lions gait and a bears lumber, graceful and savage and powerful simultaneously. And yet she was lax, her tongue lolling. Someone as unattractive as she could hardly appear inviting, though at the very least she did not appear uninviting. She rounded the other loosely, licking her jowls and encouraging the other to close the distance with a gravelly chuff. Her severe features observed the slimmer ones of Meteora, and there was something distinctly familiar about the other. But it was not something she thought too much on.

Her own movements were serpentine in nature, smooth and graceful but no less powerful— for the ocean's currents had carved her muscles, and an athletic build rippled beneath the leanness of her form. As Meteora closed the distance, she offered a soft and quiet huff, a sound that spoke of her desire for a truce between them. Though the dark she-wolf tickled at something in the siren's brain, Meteora did not recognize why and certainly had never seen this creature before in her life. Some information could only be gleaned from scent and the silver tentatively drew her snout near the other's shoulder, then pulled back in case the gesture was unwelcome.

Much had carved Silaluk. She was chimeric, but beastly to behold. Ocean-waves, long plains, but mostly, Silaluk was stone. Those of her branch and of many others were tested by the waves, to see if they would crumble or erode beneath them. Tartok, militant as it was, claimed many mountains near the sea to train there. Some wolves specialized in Oceanic Warfare, and Silaluk herself had been taught by them before partaking in a particularly bloody war. Her respect for the Ocean was as great as her respect for the Mountains. It would not due to take any landscape for anything less than what it was: a force of nature.

As Meteora leaned toward her shoulder, Silaluk drew nearer to do the same. She drew herself alongside the she-wolf who smelled, more than anything else, of the ocean. The saltine scent caused Silaluk's nostrils to quiver, but her familiarity with it gave her the ability to not sneeze due to the strength and concentration of it.

When the other drew near to investigate Meteora's scent, the she-wolf once more brought her snout close to the dark beast's shoulder. She could smell the miles woven in the guard hairs, and her nose moved along the other's side— moving so that Silaluk could do the same in turn. Freshest was a crisp scent of the alpine air, of pine trees and stone and thin atmosphere. Familiarity tickled at her mind once more— a whisper of dark wolves, moving through a mountain forest with deadly grace. She pulled away, then, circling back to face the ebony she-wolf and look upon those piercing eyes.

"I am Meteora Nereides," she spoke, her accent thick. "Well met."

Silaluk moved as Meteora did, and as the other withdrew so too did Silaluk. She had not thought to speak on the familiarity that Meteora herself connected, but as the other spoke the words Silaluk recalled the stories she had been told. Had she seen them for herself? Silaluk could not recall. She had absorbed cultures, she had ended them. But the Nereides, she had been taught, were wolves in which Siku—the Issumatar, their own Matriarch—respected, and made note of, quietly, in their Great History. Aktaie Nereides was a woman who did not intervene with the Nameless Ones heinous fit, which made her wise, which made her a wolf. Silaluk had been taught to not bother with trivial things such as alliances. Pack was pack, and that need be ones only concern. Tartok had amassed such a number now that their small beginning could be smiled upon, now—but Siku's appreciation was to be as respected as her wrath.

More saw the latter than the former, as Siku's respect was given to a very select few.

Silaluk's own accent was different than the Grecian lilt of Meteora's; hers spoke of the ocean frozen over in a place of perpetual winter, and of mountains that knew only pine, oxen, bison, and snow. To hear the name Nereides brought something known, in some way, to this strange place that had been discovered by her own relatives a time ago. The Nereides were of the few that could know of their being there, despite their secrecy—they knew of their origins, and so what was there to hide? Silaluk Tartok, she greeted in her voice, rough with its lack of legitimate use, and then she spoke her own tongue readily enough, her tail waving behind her, and in a sentiment that would likely not ever again be expressed or shared, she genuinely responded—though her tone was as monotone and inexpressive as her cold features were—to the other, Katigatkit quvianaq. She nods stiffly, and looks the other over, openly admiring the others sculpted features. She had heard that the Nereides could be Warriors, too, as well as Mystics—Silaluk, for her own part, was a heathen, as was the rest of her lot. This one wore scars that Silaluk admired without refrain, and so she assumed that she was perhaps a part of the warriors the Nereides were said to have. The Nereides are known to us, Silaluk spoke succinctly, her own glacial eyes at last moving to the face of the one called Meteora. Aktaie, and Thetis, were well respected by Siku. Her mother, though one would only know by looking at her. It was not something she shared, verbally; she earned her respect by action, not by whom she was borne to.

"Tartok," she repeated the harsh word, knowing it as a legend whispered by her sisters along the shore. They were, of course, a minor thread of the greater legend of Aktaie Nereides and her pack within Sirensong Cove-- but they were a respected name nonetheless. Meteora had never been sure if they were real or simply a convenient piece of storytelling, but their presence here was a comfort. It felt like fate; a gift from the Mothers. The silver she-wolf did not think often of her biological mother, nor were the Nereides particularly concerned with their lineage-- in the Sea's eyes, they were all mothers and sisters and daughters.  Perhaps her sea green eyes meant that Aktaie's or Thetis' blood ran in her veins, or perhaps not. They were all part of her, regardless.

"Our legends speak of respect for you," she agreed, and it was present in her words, too. Like Tartok, the Nereides shared and cared little for outsiders-- it was pack that was most important, and spreading their legacies. But all those years ago an unspoken truce had been borne, and it would be honored still.

Tartok did not have legends, but it had history. Memories chronicled the past, and there were but two historians who were entrusted to the stories. Often these historians traveled, chronicling the growth of Tartok, witnessing and partaking in their wars. Siku, though as eloquent as Silaluk herself (read: not at all), was the grandest story-teller of them all when it came to their origin. She had the privilege to hear it, and could be a historian herself if she so desired. Siku only told the story once, when the cubs went from Anneriwok to Tartok. Silaluk's memory could often be poor, but it was difficult to forget her mothers passion.

The cowardice of a nameless sister, who could not fight her own battle, who called upon the wolves of Seahawk to come against but five wolves! The wisdom of the Nereides for seeing this folly, and for being one of the few whom did not participate in the potential violence. Siku had even expanded upon the Nereides, her commendment going far beyond a simple brief mention (for Siku).

With her curiosity sated, Silaluk chuffs quietly and nods to the other. They had a simple, unspoken understanding. There was little to the myriad of scents the Plains offered that called to her appetite or her curiosity, and so she would continue forward. It was good, and interesting, to know that the Nereides might have claimed land in these Wilds. She suspected the woman likely did not wish to share their location, just as surely as Silaluk did not wish to disclose their own potential one that she had yet to witness. There were only so many hours in a day, and Silaluk did not intend to waste them. She moves to depart, though would pause should Meteora speak to her again.

Like Silaluk, the siren was a woman of purpose and few words; beyond their mutual respect and curiosity for each other, Tartok and the Nereides had little interest for one another. It was merely good that a noble pack would reside here somewhere, with them-- that the truce and pact of non-interference in their ways would hold true in this foreign place for them both. She chuffed a returned farewell, similarly disinterested in disclosing her band's location. Meteora continued across the plain, leaving Silaluk to her own devices.