[j] conquistador

Things did not appear to get any better for Kingumut when the request was made for him to call his two brothers and Uncle. To tell them the truth was to make him seem like a liar, he couldn't help but think. He couldn't call for them. He didn't know where his youngest brother had ended up, having left several days before Kingumut himself had been sent off by their Uncle, and the other two he'd left behind. Definitely out of howling range. He was at an utter loss on what to do. “I can't,” The Tartok replied honestly, albeit gruffly. “Uncle sent me ahead of him and my brother,” He got the pit feeling that his honesty would cost him; that he'd set the trap up and had set it off on himself, unable to break free. Either way, he would look like a liar so he afforded them the honesty that they deservede as Tartok; even if it cost him. “I don't know where my youngest got to, he left several days before Uncle sent me,” It'd been assumed that he'd found a Tartok branch and that he'd settled for there had been no reason to believe otherwise. Now, Kingumut was burdened with doubt.

Unease settled within the Hunter's stomach, showing just how much he was truly outnumbered now as a figure appeared in the distance, closing in on the small group that had came to be his reception. Death was not something that Kingumut inherently feared; but he knew the odds were not in his favor and with each moment they looked less favorable than previous. Except this figure he knew. “Aariak,” Kingumut spoke his youngest brother's name, acknowledging him as much as he could while remaining submissive to the two women and their silent watch dog. “Brother.” It might not have been all of them, but surely one brother who was already apart of the pack was better than none at all, which was what Kingumut would have been able to provide them with, though the fault, he thought, was hardly his.