Many came to gather in the tundra plain. Meleys hard gaze sweeps over those gathered. There is a whisper in her mind. One which has Meleys shifting closer to her own, jaw tense, hairs on end. The Lanzadoii had not seen the plagues which cursed the lands. Least not what she knew. The caribou walked cleansed grounds.

Yet the dreams Meleys had encountered. The same voice which whispered to them all now, Meleys was not one to trust it initially. Skeptical, cautious over curious. Her red fox brother spoke of Ice Raven. Meleys wondered how much he knew and if he truly could be Ghost Talker.

Already some began their charge, throwing themselves into the herd in scatters. Meleys woofs, beginning to move and makes certain she is close to Caan as she does so. She assesses the herd as she does so, taking note of the large bull which had been mentioned. A woof then, her eyes locking to Yaalk'ali and she juts her muzzle into the direction of the herd. Run the herd. Break it. The stag will remain to ensure they escape.

Awaiting for her command to be heeded, she would then turn to her young nephew. Stay close. Strike as I when the time comes. Her trot quickens but she remains on the sidelines. Those wolves who gathered and were not true hunter may run out of steam and fail before the hunt was over. Those who were swift would break the herd. It would be then that Meleys, along with the other largest of the wolves, would pull the stag to its knees.