Redhawk Caldera rosebowl

”Oh, you’re right,” Bronco murmured thoughtfully. ”I used to live on a mountain called Moonspear. We’d hunt them there too.” The thrill of hunting on steep, rocky terrain no longer appealed to him, though. The foothills and steppes were a safe compromise. 

The mention of Moonspear always brought to mind the flash of light, and the crack of thunder as the mountain was dashed with starlight, and the way the ground shook as it shrugged a curtain of stone from its shoulder. He stared ahead as they walked, until she spoke. 

He blinked, mildly confused. He formed an assumption, and smiled. ”Don’t thank your hunter until the game has been caught,” He chuckled at his interpretation of an old adage. 

He wasn’t sure exactly where they were going, or if there was a destination in mind, but he was learning quickly how amiable his leader was, and wanted to know more. After all- he didn’t need a tour. The Caldera was very familiar to him.  ”So when did you join the pack?” He asked.