Cassiopeia's View when'd this just become a mortal home?

Stone and wind, Atlas found a sense of home within himself again. The high peaks of the mountain range had always been a challenge for the inkjet beast to scale. His youth had been spent in close rivalry with his brother. The dark brother had always hoped to be more like Osiris. Until the day that his brother had died, Atlas had only wanted to be like him. Since Osiris’ departure from the world of the living, Atlas had been forced to become something of his own – something sadder, something colder.

The presence of a wartorn white wolf approached and stopped some distance from where the dark figure was stationed. It was the turn of the wind that carried her scent to him. Atlas frowned and turned to set his sunset gaze upon her face – scarred beyond reason, marred by countless fangs and claws. It was clear that the pale beast was a warrior.

Hello, the inkjet figure greeted her in a deep voice. He did not stir to rise or turn to meet her. Atlas was not overtly concerned with her presence there, unless he had crossed into territory unmarked by her scent. The Ostrega sniffed at the wind, noting the freshness of its smell. You have not claimed this land, have you?