The face the whole crest resolves into. A wolf reads the room before it moves, and it does not change its nature to be let in.

Three sides, no slack, nothing left to remove. It runs down the centre of the mark the way discipline runs down the centre of everything else.

The ridges either side. Where you came from, and the few who were there before any of it worked. They hold the shape up from underneath.

At the base, where the pressure is. Formed by it rather than broken by it, and clear enough to be looked straight through.