A kicked piece of scree. Paw pads over scuffed rock. These sounds made Ipiktok’s ears turn just as another wolf crested the apex of, and began to descend, a tor of stone.

Up until then, he had not noticed her presence. It was evident she was naturalized to this kind of place… or perhaps this territory, in particular. Like a curious raven on a branch, who blended in with the evergreen needles of pine.

Ipiktok’s weight shifted to face her. She was a young woman, perhaps of similar age, cloaked in a timber agouti pelt. The waxing crescent of her smile was impish, but friendly.

“This time?” Ipiktok parroted, intrigued by her cryptic words. Had they crossed paths before? He had not detected her presence upon the Spire when he had awoken a moon ago.