Will they recognize him, he wonders?
He has been gone for long, taken away by a childhood sense of adventure and kept alive only by his own sense of cunning and will power. Alas now, he has returned; the child of King and Queen, royalty in the flesh returned by pure luck to the borders of his homelands. The scent brings nostalgia to his nose, and for a few moments he lingers at the borders, letting the feeling of home overtake him. He says nothing for a while, before he lifts his muscular neck towards the heavens and unleashes a summons for any within the Kingdom.
He wonders of his mother, of his siblings, of his father. He hopes they will remember him, but the striking resemblance to Isardis should be enough by itself to mark the teen an Armada. For now he reclines, relaxing as he awaits entrance to his homelands. He has seen much within these past few months of life, and he is ready for normalcy.

?Wait here my handsome boys,? she would chide as she slithered from the den. It wasn't safe to bring them to meet newcomers, particularly because of their size and vulnerability. It would be the death of her to lose either one of them, and so she would give them one last stern glance to remind them of just how serious she was. If they stepped a toe out of line they would be punished. There was an idle promise floating about that if she found a safe enough stranger she would let them come to her aid, but somehow she knew that was a promise she'd likely never keep. Sendoa hardly found a wolf in Glaciem she trusted with the boys, much less a stranger. Lips would part and head would tilt to give an answering call to the border walker, letting them know she was on her way - and that they had best stay put. Emerald eyes scan far ahead of her as her bodice weaved carefully through the undergrowth. The pines at one point had been just that, pines, but now bushes and foliage had grown up betwixt them - making the place even more sheltered. Head would tip down in greeting as she came across him, a pallid teenage form that looked so strikingly familiar she almost felt as if she were imagining it. Though she had not known Voltaire, his resemblance to his father was enough to cause her bottom jaw to drop half an inch. Tail flagged up behind her as she continued to stare, wondering if this was some mirage, or a recollection of the youthful Isardis she had once known so well. Then, when all of these possibilities had been ruled out, she would speak. ?You are an Armada.? There was no way the boy could not be of her lineage. ?speak,?

The woman who greets him is neither King nor Queen (for all he knows, his dam is still the leading woman in Glaciem). Ruby gaze settles upon her, deciding her to be an Armada of a lesser strand, particularly due to her close resemblance to Vereux?s appearance. The thought makes his heart ache; he misses his littermates dearly, and he needs them. He needs his parents as well, of course, but he does not feel quite the same protective urges towards them as he does towards his brothers and sisters. Alas, when the woman arrives at the obvious conclusion, he nods. ?As are you,? he announces. ?Or you?re a sheep in wolf?s clothing,? he says, eyes cutting over her, trying to decide which. She could very well be blood and not qualify for the name Armada.

Alas, Voltaire cannot truly make a decision about what sort of woman she is right off the bat. Instead he questions. ?Where are your Queen and King? I want to speak to my mother and father,? he says. No offense to her, of course, but with his age and the tension in his body he hopes she understands the desperation of a boy to see his parents. Perhaps he acts like a man, but he is a child still, and much growth lies ahead of the promising boy.

He noted her Armada blood almost immediately as well, but was also skeptical. Sendoa let loose a chuckle of amusement. Yes, she didn't look exactly like an Armada, did she? He would ask the location of the King and Queen, and she knew that he thought Argent to still be leading lady. Boy was he behind. He would then name them his parents, and Sendoa would pause. ?I do not know the whereabouts of the King, but the Queen stands before your very eyes. Argent is missing, has been for some time.? How could her son not even know where she was? ?You are Voltaire, yes? I had heard you went your separate way for a while.? She had not met him, but deductive reasoning would lead her to his possible identity. ?I am Sendoa Armada. I can see you to your father if you wish it.? Alas, more family coming out of the woodwork. Were there any wolves in Alacritia she wasn't related to? ?speak,?

The news she bares is far from desirable. Eyes narrow briefly as she announces herself Queen and he wants to snort, because in his mind there is only one true Queen of Glaciem, and it is not this grey-pelted woman. Alas, Voltaire knows that bold insults have no power. Change, if wanted, has to be made subtly. Already he conspires, but he supposes he ought to find out the reason for this usurper?s power before he comes to conclusions. She mentions that Argent is missing, and his teeth grind. He loves his mother, he?s been gone for so long, and he needs her. ?She?ll be back. She?s strong,? he says. He does not doubt; he knows the blood that flows through his veins is strong. It has seen him safely through hell and beyond, and he knows it comes form a combination of mother and father.
She mentions his separation and he sighs. ?Yes, I was?stolen away,? he says. There is no bitterness to his voice, only an emptiness that he cannot describe. In a flash he sees it once again, the jaws around his scruff, his useless legs flailing, the sight of wolves falling and dying in the arena he?d been brought to. He does not flinch at the memories, resisting it. No, he is stronger than his memories. She mentions his father, and he nods. ?I wish to return to Glaciem. I believe my siblings have need of me, and I?m almost old enough to help father,? he says, as if his broad shoulders and grown-up expression are not enough evidence of this.