The small girl of royal descent had been standing in the frothing waves, cursing and fuming, when the call had ripped out. She immediately perked up. A new pack! One to join and that would not have known of the war! She knew Amberbjorne, Hawthorne, Dawnshire, and Nightingale would not have taken her, what with her being Beartooth’s daughter. She didn’t dare stoop so low as to go to Sabertooth, the pack full of cowards, and at the moment she hated Sindri. Running back to Tarben was not an option. But this! She reached out with her power and froze the lake, and began to run on the thick film.
She reached the island in no time. Wood littered the beach. The homeless lass let out a triumphant bark and then followed the tracks of two other wolves. Was one here before her?
She tracked them a little inwards on the island. She saw a handsome male, and in front of him, a lean female, with mist just beginning to congeal around her. The petite girl cleared her throat to let them know she was here.
“I am Raven, daughter of King Beartooth of Tarben. I’m in need of a pack,” she told the wolves. “I will gladly be a warrior for your pack. I was raised a protector of Tarben lands.” Raven, her mottled pelt matted with sea spray, stood proud, awaiting the male’s answer.

“I’m so powerful, I don’t need batteries to play!”