Redhawk Caldera The map lied to me!

Set a few hours after his return from the Bramblepoint, cue worried caretakers!

After his adventure in the forest, Titmouse had scurried on back home. He had a bizarre sense of direction - it was really good - and soon enough he was back upon the slopes of the Caldera. Around him hung the scent of a foreigner as well as the various plants starting to bloom within the forest, none of which grew by the stonescape he now raced upon. When the boy careened around a corner, eager to get home and have a nap or maybe harass one of his siblings, he collided with an expiring THUD! against a larger body and hit the dirt.

After a very busy week, spent hunting and scavenging, Birk had decided that one day spent just dozing off in the sunlight, doing nothing and being useless would do harm to no-one. Therefore after finding the sunniest and softest spot in the caldera, the man settled down there and slept soundly with his favorite bone held between his front feet and under his chin as a some sort of teddy bear substitute. 

He had slept for quite a while and quite soundly, because, when he was awoken suddenly by someone crashing into him, he got up with a start and snarled angrily at the little beast before him. A second later he realized that it was one of Raven's little siblings and that, if he wanted to be in her good books, he had to treat the little rascal nicely. Another second later - as another growl emitted from the depths of his throat - he decided that since she was not here, he might as well play the game by his own rules and set some boundaries.

Nobody he was familiar with looked like that, nor reacted in that way around him. So once he collected himself and became aware of what was transpiring, Titmouse's fur stood on-end and he cowered back a step. The boy was usually ridiculous, high-energy, and filled with the youth-centric bravado of the stupidly young. Perhaps it was his previous excursion that had tempered him? Or the shock of finding this puddle of angry snow in the middle of spring! Either way he acted uncharacteristically mute, backing away from the bared teeth and pinning his ears to block the sound of the low rumbling. His instincts told him to get as small as possible but that was nearly impossible, considering how tiny Titmouse really was.

Birk's expression softened somewhat, when the puppy seemed to respond to his actions - he had retreated and was cowering on the ground. Good. He thought and shook his coat to rid of the tension and now in a more friendly manner he approached the little guy and leaned his muzzle down to have a good sniff of the fur and a better look at, who the bugger was. One of the lot - that was certain.