Blacktail Deer Plateau rebel yell

It didn’t take very long — actually it was probably some sort of world record the raptor felt sure — for someone to greet him. Someone that struck the teen as familiar. There was always the possibility, he reminded himself, that the wolf that was quickly approaching the borders was just a black wolf and just because he was ebony colored didn’t mean he was a DiSarinno. But they were a monotone colored bunch for the most part, ranging from ivory, to grey, to even silver, to black; but the monarchs of their family had been smoky black and ivory and well it seemed obvious that they all took after one parent, or the other, or a mix of them, or distant relatives or however it was that genetics worked. Caution worked it’s way onto his face and he bordered on it (caution) and curiosity, awkward and coltish body tensing until he heard his full name fall from the other male’s lips. In that split second Grimlock had relaxed and grinned widely at his uncle — admittedly not all too sure which uncle it was; he tended to get Peregrine and Atticus mixed up — and his mix up caught him now as he attempted to recall if this was Atticus of Peregrine before him.

“’Sup dude?” The raptor greeted his uncle before inhaling and puffing out his cheeks, letting the air expel slowly, realizing that he was going to have to admit that he wasn’t sure which Uncle he was. “Not to be offensive or anything but …are you Perry or Atti?” Even a little kid he had always been getting them confused and joked, “Maybe you two should get name tags or something.” Maybe it was an inappropriate time for a joke but he was buoyant and young (if not a little crude) and, though he knew there was always a possibility he wouldn’t be welcomed he was hopeful, nevertheless.