Redhawk Caldera i warn you not to doubt the silence before the storm

We are not a threat to the wolves here...

Artaax watched his mother closely as she smiled at them, feeling nervous. He had never met any family outside of those who lived with him in Drageda, and so he wondered if they would be much like Wildfire. In his head, he pictured all of them with red fur and golden eyes, just like his mom. He knew that probably wouldn't be the case - after all, only Blixen had ended up looking like Wildfire. Bobby looked like Thur, and he himself was living proof that a wolf could be born to look like neither of their mothers (someone has got to science this poor kid). But still, in spite of his logic - flawed-but-kinda-not as it was - he pictured the Redhawks in varying shapes and sizes, and all of them coated in brilliant, ginger red.

Then there were the Blackthorns, and one thought of Eljay reminded him to set his standards low for the leaders they were about to meet. Much like an uncle he was unlikely ever to know, he judged the family based on his useless sitter and was thankful that he truly shared no blood with them. Wildfire had always spoken so fondly of her "aunt" and "uncle", but had a soft heart. He appreciated that side of her and found fondness in what he considered to be such an endearing quality. Inwardly though, he would claim no such weakness to be family of his. Teenage inflated self-importance for the win!

The heda tilted her muzzle back to call for the leaders of the pack, and Artaax to a moment then to look around. The landscape was... bleak. His opinion of anything not Drageda was already low, but he had expected something more grandiose of his mother's family. She had told such wonderful stories of her childhood at this Caldera, but looking at it now, he saw nothing redeeming about it. His gaze traveled up the slopes that barred them from the inner circle of the territory, wondering if perhaps they hid a utopia within. Uncharitably, he thought it unlikely.

Artaax shifted his posture to match the heda's, though lowered respectfully as her subordinate. His thoughts of the Caldera and the Blackthorn went unspoken on his tongue or his features. Nomi had told him to be thankful and polite. Artaax would be nothing less.