Maksim Baranski had been watching over his children as they romped together playfully, chuckling softly at their quips and childish tussles. They were his life, those cubs. Protective big brother Aleksei, the mischevious prankster Orren and the sweet, sensitive Karina. A litter that any mother or father would be proud of. Yet, as he watched and the midday sun rose high, the agouti wolf had drifted off to sleep, sprawled out in the green grasses that swayed in the gentlest of breezes.

Time passed, the leader snoozing away blissfully. And then there came a howl and Maksim's ears perked, one green eye opening into a small slit as he grunted. It was low and quivered at its end, as if not quite as strong as any other wolf's call. He determined what he could; a male had arrived, with no exact meaning behind it, simply the same old generic request. Another soul had wound up at the Baranski's border and was calling for the leaders. Maksim's eyes, though somewhat dazed from being roused from his rather peaceful slumber, blinked open. The agouti king rose, yawning and snapping his jaws shut as soon as his lungs were full of fresh air.

He began with a short trot, feeling the energy slowly returning to him as he fully awoke. Gradually, he worked into a swift jog, kicking up pine needles and dirt with each bound. Closer and closer he came until the scent leapt up to meet him and the king's eyes widened as he picked up the pace. Taras had returned. Had he been the one to make the call? He was mute though! Unless … had he conquered his disability?

Striding towards the caller, towards what Maksim believed to be a well respected follower, the agouti wolf couldn't help the gentle wag of his tail. That's when he spotted the male from between the trees, with that one tell tale sign that this was the man who had gone missing: that one, golden eye.

“Taras,” he called out, stopping a few wolf lengths away. “I do hope you have a good reason for disappearing.” The king couldn't help but raised a brow, humming audibly. “Was it you? The one who made the call?” Perhaps now, the swarthy male would be able to answer with his voice.

The one-eyed wolf spoke. By the stars, he god damn spoke. Maksim couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, his eyes widening. It was I, sir, he had said, and the agouti regal remained silent. This was not a time for interrogation. No, he simply needed to listen to Taras. Gods above, he couldn't quite get over it. Listening to Taras, the wolf Maksim had named himself! But now, the scarred wolf would no longer live under a given name, would he? No longer would he be introduced by others. His birth name would be spoken by him and the River wolves would rejoice in the discovery of the truth.

An elk, he mentioned, and the king nodded. The winter had been so harsh and every wolf tried to find what they could, even with the coming of Spring. There was much they needed to make up for, caches to fill. Hopefully, the wolves of the River would never face such a harsh time again—they would be prepared. Maksim swore it.

He had run into his family. Something had happened and this had resulted in injury that had crippled his movement for a while. At least, prolonged movement, the Baranski presumed. There came a sudden shock, news dropped so nonchalantly in conversation that the regal couldn't help but falter in his thoughts, wondering if perhaps he had imagined it? His brother had died. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he mused, sympathetically. Maksim couldn't dream of what he would do if he ever lost his brother. He didn't think he'd ever be the same, losing Arman … or Anzhela. But they were mountains away from him and anything could have happened in his absence.

“Well, I must say that I am pleased to see you have finally returned to us, though I was aggravated by your departure. Dare I say, wounded.” The king lifted his tail, an act of dominance. “But things will not pick up where you left. Many things have changed in Cut Rock River. Three healthy cubs, a medic and a scout officially within the ranks. So we shall start anew. Tell me, stranger,” he spoke, lifting his chin ever so slightly, “what is your name? And what can you offer us?” Of course, perhaps Taras would notice the gentle edge of amusement in the agouti regal's voice, how a tiny smirk barely touched the corner of his lips. This was all very symbolic, after all, and the black furred wolf had not lost his agouti superior's friendship.

Taras gave his congratulations and Maksim nodded with a smile. Yes, his children were fine wolves and the trio grew larger by the day. He had no doubt that they could rival perhaps even himself when they reached maturity! And their mother, stars bless her—if he were a man of romantic ballads, a bard of sorts, he'd sing songs to praise her name. Kisla Baranski, queen of the River and of Maksim's heart. She stood by his side always, and he by hers.

Next came the apology, a hint of amusement in the gravelly tones of the once-mute male. The agouti wolf could not help the twitch of his lip, a forced down smirk of his own. And then came the thing he had so desperately sought for months: Taras' true name. Maksim didn't notice how his tail wagged in almost childish excitement.

Hati Roukan. It fit the dark male perfectly. The regal ran it through his mind over and over, memorising it. Certainly, the king may slip up here and there, let Hati's given name pass his lips. But he would correct himself. He would remember. Maksim's smile grew warm, a genuine happiness washing over him. His friend had returned and, gods above, he had shattered the mental shackles that bound him to his muteness, an ugly weight that tugged and dragged him down. Truthfully, the agouti wolf felt nothing but joy for Hati. Hati Roukan … gods, he had a name—a real name! It was almost hard to believe.

Perhaps Maksim would have caught the wink if the man before him didn't have one eye. The king heard the jest in his follower's voice, though. “Well, you've captured my interest. However, I cannot keep this charade of starting over going for much longer.” Lifting himself higher and stepping closer, the Cedar regal brushed up against his old friend, earth-toned guard hairs mingling with ebony strands. “Life has forged you into a survivor, my friend. You have battled hardships and claimed the spoils of victory. To turn you away would be foolish. You're a Cut Rock River wolf, Hati Roukan, and have been from the start. Any wolf, any beast could see that. That drive to survive—to prove yourself—has been evident to me since the day you stood at Darkwater Rapids' border. So I say this to you now.”

Stepping back, Maksim bumped Hati with his shoulder, a friendly mannerism.

“Welcome home.”