Redhawk Caldera I will fight you for eternity.

The month clue gave him a reason for why Colt might not be present in the pack scents yet.  Either he got turned away or he was working on improving his relations with those within the borders, not outside them.  He'd have to ask about it.  He nodded.  Seemed fair enough.  Well, maybe.  It really depended on whether or not the others appreciated rough-around-the-edges sarcastic dudes.

There was his first real clue.  The way she repeated 'tactics' was just... Well.  Odd.  He figured it was a common enough word, but these guys were in a heap of trouble if somehow that entire concept skipped their education.  But why didn't she recognize the word, or even repeat it accurately?  Had she not heard him?  Befuddled, he continued, trying to not be distracted,  Yeah, tactics.  Like uh.  You maybe draw a map or something and say, 'By going down this creek bed, they have the advantage, but if you go along this ridge instead, you can see them coming.'  Stuff like that, planning ambushes, escape routes...  He attempted to demonstrate with a claw on the ground but there was enough dying grass and not enough snow to be able to draw easily. 

Skeleton lords.  Eh, just a nickname for the tacticians group in my old pack.  Imagine the oldest wolf you know, make 'em a couple years older and half-dead looking, with their fur all clumpy like they hadn't cleaned themselves, multiply by three.  But damned if they didn't somehow keep living.  Didn't want to train anyone young, either.  He obviously had been very disapproving of their choices, but figured there was some sort of weird logic behind it that he hadn't seen.  That or they were secretly a cult.  Quixote wouldn't be surprised about that either.

He rolled a shoulder in a shrug at her reply.  Mercenary was close, he supposed. The place I was from was always wrapped up some sort of conflict.  I don't think our leadership made good neighbors, nor did theirs. I don't know if you'd necessarily call it a true war, but it was not a happy neighborhood.  Cold war, maybe: a lot of dramatic posturing, feint attacks, and, yes, actual combat when the message wasn't getting through.  Too many similar personality types jammed into one area...  Fur was destined to fly.