Despite the bluntness of her demeanor, there was an equally sharp edge to this shewolf. Though she fell into the step of a submissive wolf as is naturally expected when a foreigner walks alongside a queen, it was not with evident sincerity. The way she held herself and the expression written across her features made it clear that she was doing as was expected for not greater reason than that. Satinka was different from most wolves that I had encountered. And though her general attitude was slightly off putting, I found her more interesting than anything else. To simply go through life with the same old, same old would eventually become dull. Perhaps that was the reason that Spirane's youth fled the mountains as soon as they were old enough to desert their mother's teat, rather than remaining loyal to the lands of their birth. Maybe, I thought, looking to Satinka as we walked along, the mountain wolves needed to sharpen their edges.
Satinka showed no real interest when I spoke of ranks and honor to be earned among the pack, an attitude not altogether new to me. Eyes narrowed slightly at her response about having no tales to tell, though the corners of my lips turned up slightly. My inside ear remained perked towards her, while the other flicked back and then to the side to listen to our surroundings, ever aware of the on goings in my homeland. She spoke of the nomadic ways of the packs of her origin, and vaguely of the life she had come from. But I noted the way she spoke of how others conquered, some stole, and her own pack's loss.