Dawnlark Plains ranger

Back to the Plains. She had not forgotten the meal she had seen lain out. Now she again returned, to see if it had been abandoned. She lingered a short distance away, pausing before the carrion, nose seeking the man that had been here but a day ago. 

Her ears worked, too. He had followed Issitoq—One Eye. Perhaps he had stayed with him.

there was no value to the deceased.
carrion birds had made short work of it; a wolverine had found it next, crushing bone and picking apart the remnants.
kukuvrak had no reason to return—whatever ritual he had perpetrated had failed when She had intervened;
now One Eye had his attention.
but there was chaos, there with the saatsine.
kukuvrak went to see if something could be salvaged—and he saw Her, again.
the crackle of a warning note comes next: alerting her to eyes, watching. his shape silhouetted opposite to Her's.

Tikigâk knew of religion, vaguely—at least enough to know it had failed Siku. While some things could only be learned by experience, the story of how Atka and Sos ignored their disciple in her time of greatest need was one that need only be told to her. Count on no one but your pack, and when there was no pack, yourself and your own capability. 

She had learned, though, that wolves sometimes left “gifts” to whatever power they perceived as real. Tikigâk could not understand it. To her, it was foolish; it led wolves like her to their altar. And she was no God. 

Now she heard him before she saw him, and Tikigâk rumbled a note in rejoinder, as though she ought to be aggrieved though she had sought to steal from him. She stepped out of his reach, gaze turning from him to the innards that still remained and back to him. She did not know still that this was a religious display; she thought him perhaps a dispersal, like herself, returning to a meal. His own? Surely he would have already come for her with his teeth?

A confident, albeit testing, step was taken toward the prize to be gained, attention still upon him.  

he wanted nothing of it; the meat had spoiled, he had made sure of that with the herbs, the bloodletting. whatever the scavengers had done to the remains after his departure, perhaps there was a bone to be picked from the mound, but little else.

a survivor could make a meal out of anything. perhaps She hoped to find something like that—and he wondered, in the way a scientist might wonder, about the after-effects.
would this meal empower her with the dark virility of Sos?
this was not a gift to any other god.

he swayed, swaggered, drawing closer but not close enough to touch the work he had done. if She desired a meal, perhaps it was by His will.

He did not seem adverse to sharing. Her nose hovered over an intestine when she detected the odor that revealed it had begun to spoil. Tikigâk had a strong enough stomach to tolerate it, but her dark eyes remained upon him. 

Tikigâk was not a bright woman by any means. But she measured time as a wolf would, and it confused her that the meat smelled this way now—something that lasted for only a moment. That he had done anything to it to cause it to spoil quicker was not considered by the she-wolf; there was time unaccounted for, even before she had encountered him. 

Not his kill, she decided of the swaggering man. Tikigâk, when seeing that he would not defend the kill, reached for the intestine and began to satiate her appetite. Her eyes were still upon him, her other senses upon the surrounding wilderness.

he watched.

wolves could handle much; this would not make her sick, he thought. it was not much different from any other carrion. dedicated as it was to Sos, and decorated with such strange arrangements, yes—but he was not wise to poisons and would not have knowingly damaged the meat in such a way.

She did not stop staring at him. as she pulled apart the intestine and kukuvrak heard the satisfying hard snap as it came apart, he gave a grunt of appreciation; then, drawing closer and closer in the style of a curious shark, he tested her resolve.
would she run from him?
her prize gained, uncontested. did she fear him?

he rumbled a note to her, something from the pit of his belly, primal.

She ate, pulling apart the meat that remained with verve. As he stepped nearer, her muzzle wrinkled in warning—another step, and she growled. Something had shifted the moment the meat came into “her possession”, and now Tikigâk would fight for the thing that became hers if that claim, as long as the meal would last her, was threatened. 

But he did not seem to seek to contest that. Whatever else he sought came second to this meal, and once she finished the intestines upon the earth she turned from it to follow her nose. Both ears back- turned, listening for him even still. He remained, perhaps for the sole reason that the kill was still there—even if it was her he orbited around then, pulled into the gravity of her void. 

But the liver was gone. Disappointing, but unsurprising.

She licked the blood and gristle off of her muzzle and turned to regard him, loosing forth a rumble of her own. Tikigâk saw strength in him, and that in of itself meant something to her.

her interest in the meat, even corrupted, gave him some leeway to approach. he continue to circle—and he showed no interest in the carcass, still. there was nothing of value within it, not to kukuvrak. his curiosity had expanded to Her.

She was defensive of her meal; this was a good sign. the flash of teeth gave him a glimpse towards the quality of her fangs, her general health. she had a large figure and a boxy, heavy-set shape beneath the darkness of fur. as She glanced to the dirt where once he had dropped the segmented liver, kukuvrak was reminded of it.

he gave a glimpse to that spot too, and saw nothing. it had been a precious thing, and it had been taken by another scavenger. oh well. with his focus more upon the woman, kukuvrak continued to press his luck with Her periphery—maybe she would lash out, maybe not.

maybe he could find something else to do with her.

She did not lash out. Instead, after a moments consideration, she seemed to decide something. 

No land, yet—but this one had ensured that she had been fed. And so, he would be of her people. Tikigâk turned to face him directly, strutting back toward him with quiet purpose and ample confidence. 

And then she moves to exchange scents with him, pressing her own upon him if he did not snap her away from him.

Her abandonment of the carcass is important.

as She approaches him, kukuvrak tenses but he is not afraid of any woman, he had learned as much from his sister. the touch of the woman earns a new rumble, and as She draws their bodies together to mingle scents, he goes a step farther—reaching to grab for her neck, her face, her snout; clipping with his teeth, possessive, staining her with the blotted blood that muddied his own face.

he grasps for the neck furs hastily above all, tugging at Her. marking Her with what he perceived as the mark of Sos.

When his teeth come, Tikigâk meets them with her own in a jaw spar to dissuade him from his maneuvering. And as he makes a bid for her neck, she surges toward him and snaps at his own face in a clear warning she would swiftly escalate should it not be heeded.

Most lessons needed to be learned through teeth, and she was an adept educator young though she was. Her tail flagged over her hips in clear assertion. She did not refuse the blood pressed upon her; that, she thought nothing of. 

Now her teeth clicked at the open air, diffusing—she stalked some odd steps ahead and sniffed once more at the wind, contemplating their direction.

she parried; had he wanted to do her harm, there was ample opportunity. their jaws smacked and teeth caught, although the only blood between them was the noxious mixture that had been painted across him since his culling of the sheep. the eventual end of their dominance spat ended with a stalemate—however to kukuvrak, as She had not drawn blood in any meaningful way, he saw this as a win for himself.

She looked to go one direction; himself, another. with a rumble he reached for her again and more harshly tried to grab, and pull, and control. saatsine—the man One Eye, he was weak. she had seen it.

he was like a bullfrog with his call. rough with his grip, uncaring if he bruised her. as he relented he grimaced to Her.
saatsine. he shook tension from his shoulders and with it, aroused the scent of the caribou people from within his layered pelt of viscera.

must he call upon the law of tartok?
demand She follow, and they take?
he knew she had seen One Eye; the weakness of him.

Tikigâk again meets teeth with teeth, spinning slowly on her heel but quick enough to catch and parry his blows with an open mouth, tongue rolled backward as a snarl reverberated in her throat. A singular warning as she stepped forward to crowd him, to apply pressure. Relentless, up until he seemed to capitulate. Tikigâk watched him, now, and then he spoke.

Saatsine. As he shook his furs, Tikigâk caught part of what she had caught on the wind that other day. The scent of Issitoq was heavy upon him. Though she had seen the man’s weak point, she did not perceive him as feeble. 

She was Anneriwok and there were many paths she might take, to become Tartok. To become Issumatar. Strong of body and of will, Tikigâk followed no direct compass to that point but for her own instinct. The name could be earned in conquest, and Tikigâk considered that. Hostile takeovers were often their way—and it was the quickest way to earn one’s name. Tikigâk had aided in many; it had earned the she-wolf her first. Invader, she was known as, for eagerly participating in many. To learn, to fight. 

But then and there, she did not take that as his meaning. Tikigâk was not a woman to connect dots. The Anneriwok did not know why he spoke of Saatsine, or sought to move her that way; it meant nothing to her then. Saatsine were not her people. But the one before her, he had become such. 

This was why she listened still.

frustration brewed within his spirit. few of tartok held a sense of spirituality; one must wonder where it come from for kukuvrak, except if any knew of his guardian they would have their answer.

the woman was resistant and he did not see why. issitoq had stood before them both; while kikuvrak had kept watching and learning, She had fled. but She had eaten of the carcass and been empowered by Sos!
was she afraid? fear had no place in tartok.

saatsine, we go. hunt, eat, grow. take. must he spell it out in this way? he hated to speak things in to the world. had she noticed the man's blindness and bravado, maybe things would have been different.

This one had followed Issitoq to his land. Would know more of the man that she had only seen as she quit their company. He spoke, and her dull eyes regarded him with new interest. 

His words were broken, disjointed—in a tongue she knew, but not very well. We can, she speaks in Inuktitut, expecting him now to answer their creedo—waiting then to hear, we will. 

Tartok had grown much, since the time it had first come to be. In its earliest days, secrecy was demanded of its people—back then, there were more enemies. Times had changed—Tartok was a force in of itself, and those that made themselves an enemy could speak no ill of them. They were killed—it was as simple and as brutal as that. No vengeance, no need to look over one’s shoulder.

Their name was better known, now. But their ways were still their own, something not shared to any but for themselves. There was a reason for their continued foothold, and each that had become Tartok took their oath knowing that their lives, and the lives of their kill-brothers and kill-sisters, depended upon it. 

And should he say those words, it would be decided—she would fight with him. Her loyalty was to Tartok, to the strength and power of her chosen pack, before any other.  

tartok was an unstoppable force, and no object before them was immovable. he believed this; he had been born to this, indoctrinated beyond all doubt. weakness was to be purged—although knowing this, kukuvrak had seen what he had wanted to see within issitoq, and hoped to benefit.

we will.
Sos would be fed.
tartok would find itself a foothold here.

Tikigâk was a practical wolf. She had no imagination, and her line of thinking was simple. For all of the territory in the world that existed to be claimed, there was this one that had a herd to hunt and wolves in need of leading. She herself felt assured that the Tartok wolf before her had assessed this. 

She would test this. See the truth of it, or perhaps not. Sooner than she had anticipated, but that was the way of Tartok, too—one must always be ready for the call of battle. It could come at any moment. 

Tikigâk moves to greet him more companionably then, physicality her way—teeth nipped nape, shoulder, flank. Tartok was here. Our number? she asked, wondering if he had traveled here alone.

Sos moved through her.

She clipped at him with teeth, not enough to harm but enough for feeling. her bulk was bear-like, her stare dark and scathing.

we, and one other—woman, nagruk. high-born. although kukuvrak put more faith in the vagabond, especially after his magic and her feasting, there was no mistake that having an issumatar on their side was a boon.

with time, more will come. his work would bring them together. the dark god's favor was won through blood.

His words earn a short snort. We are all born the same. Blood is nothing. Strength, will, the choice to become—everything. The chain of command, the hierarchy, was dictated by strength among those that were Tartok. The children of Issumatar were born without surname, lest attachment form. Not all decided to become. Not all could—nature had taken from them many. 

Tartok was not an easy name to earn. 

She did not disbelieve his words—not due to any faith, but due to factions perhaps having heard of her journey—it often happened in this way. Sometimes, though, it did not. Tikigâk did not share her own heritage, for her blood ties went back to the very first matriarch—but it had not been told to her by her own mother, nor her father. 

Her ears twitched. More will choose. How many had she seen choose of their own volition? Abandoned by family, or merely wishing to strip their ties from them. A new life, a new purpose. Brothers and sisters that would die for one another, and kill for one another too. A bond that grew as battles and hunts partaken against their enemy or their quarry. Killing with one another, that mattered too—trust was built. Those who had not lived this life, walked this path—they would not understand. Blood of kin meant nothing next to the amount of blood shed and seen with one’s brother or sister in arms.

Tartok had not been born—it had been made. First by Siku, then by those beneath her that were born anew with their choice. Not one was more important than the other. 

Here, a chain of command would be made amongst those present—as Anneriwok in conquest to earn her name, it was her right to choose the path in which was taken when no branch was yet made within the region. Here lay two opportunities for her, but there was ingrained respect already for Nagruk who had earned the name. The how did not matter—only that she bore it. 

Where? she wondered why they did not journey to her, unaware that already they occupied Saatsine.

his spine bristles at the mention of blood, the sentiment not shared between the two of them. She was traditional; himself, perhaps brainwashed to older ways, saw things differently. this was an aspect he must keep secret—such ritual was not welcome, he knew that.

yet She had eaten of the carcass.
whatever he had aimed to accomplish with the gutted sheep, he had seen the magic shift and mutate as needed. so went his thinking.

kukuvrak had earned his name with the same such rituals. a canticle unspoken before anisaġniq—sacrifices made, of meat and men, and with no help from his sister. a name corrupted, at least to true tartok, but still his own.

glowering, kukuvrak draws attention to the east, where the river camp was settled. saatsine.

He was silent, but as she looked to him she noted the rise of his furs. She peered around them for any disturbance but could see none—and as he remained quiet, she did not think his bodily reaction was in response to her.

Nagruk, in Saatsine—and so, they were already in place. This was different than what she was used to, but not unheard of. There were subbranches of Tartok that had developed, groups that specialized in other matters that helped their own mission ever forward. Tikigâk was more used to utilizing her might. 

She lengthened her stride. Anything else, she listened for a report—otherwise, they would journey forward.