Dragoncrest Cliffs i'm not doing that, you ghoul.

Artaax wasn't certain why he stopped, in retrospect. The squeakers were always making noises - some soft, some sad, some loud, some grumpy as fuck, and every one of them irritating. Perhaps it was because this was the first sound he'd heard come from one that sounded something like a word. And actually, we'll go with that because that makes the most sense. He paused as he exited the den and turned to give a thoughtful frown down to the ball of black and white that had shouted at him while bounding after him on apparently untrustworthy legs.

Somewhere in his mind, it occurred to him for the very first time that this creature was his brother. He studied the beast, looking for features he recognized. Being Artaax, he saw only fur color - black for Thur and white for himself. Maybe that was another reason he chose to turn fully to face the small wolf, and also why we should actually be glad that he knows absolutely nothing about reproduction or genetics because this thing was obviously not created by either Thuringwethil or himself. But in any event, he did turn, and he leaned forward to sniff at its face with the first glimmer of interest he had ever before shown in his younger siblings.