Redhawk Caldera sweet little lady sings like a songbird

@Sylvie get ur bum in here, oh also anyone else i guess he's comin to check out the club. he's at the borders btw.

Gentle willow branches bid the passing wolf farewell. Henry stepped out of the forest and onto the grounds of a grassy plain. In the distance was the caldera. On the breeze that blowed through the willow trees was the scent of a pack. It carried promise to the yearling ranger. It was the first sign that he had passed into his own story – out of the Deepwood and his past.

Henry followed the stretch of grass for some time until he came upon the marked borders to the caldera. It was there that he stopped to sniff at each of the unfamiliar smells. There were a few wolves within the claim, he could tell. The young Blackthorn wondered if they were opposed to visitors.

The ranger tossed his head to the sky and howled for any who would meet him on the border.

The call rang from the borders, a summon for what he assumed was either a visitor or a hopeful joiner. Intruders didn’t bother to ring the doorbell, so greeting someone who asked for an audience was much less stressful than finding a silent stranger, haunting their doorstep. 

He was easy to pick out in the distance, and a memorable figure with the sharp contrast of white fur against black. He was reminded of his son, and the way his white lower jaw made his smile all the more noticeable. The stranger looked young, fit- potentially even the same age as Killdeer. It endeared him to Bronco all the more. 

He nodded his head in greeting, and watched the male’s expression and posture as he approached for any visible cues as to whether he was friendly or well-mannered.

Henry didn’t expect to be met so soon. The approaching figure was a tall one, athletic in his shape, with scars and markings that had never been seen by the Blackthorn yearling. No matter his appearance, the rugged earthen wolf offered a nod of greeting and seemed to wait to see what was required. The young ranger had never spoken on the edge of another wolf’s claim before. He felt as though there was a spotlight shining down on his back, warming the dark of his fur and the flesh beneath.

Hi, hello there, I didn’t mean to trouble you today, Henry began speaking, tail waving. He took a tentative step toward the warrior wolf. The sea colors of his eyes lingered on the scars with a quiet admiration. What he must have done to get all of those… It nearly brought chills to the yearling’s spine. My name’s Henry and once, a long time ago, my mom used to live in these parts. I wanted to see if I had family out here.

Henry offered a smile in hopes that it would make him more appealing.

His voice was light, his words lilted with apprehension that Bronco suspected stemmed from respect, and perhaps a bit of inexperience. Bronco took this all in stride with a reassuring nod of his head. ”Not a trouble at all,” He said kindly, hoping to set the yearling at ease. This was a gentle place, for gentle wolves. 

He didn’t bristle, or frown, but Bronco felt uncomfortable in what looked like an appreciative gaze. He thought himself a dreadful thing to look at- and he was unnerved by the way the yearling seemed fascinated, impressed by his scars. Of course, he didn’t know that not all the scars were war wounds, earned saving loved ones or defending the borders. He couldn’t know to see just how many of those wounds had been inflicted by someone else who took so much pleasure in his pain. 

He’d forgive him for his stare, though. Call it naivety. 

”I might be able to help you with that, I’ve been around this area for a while. What’s your Mom’s name?” He asked. He tried to search his memories for a possible mother, and his features brightened slightly. ”Are you, by any chance- either a Blackthorn or a Redhawk?” He asked. Sugar Glider hadn’t been a part of the Red Hawks- but there was still a possibility that perhaps this was one of hers.