For one so young, his mind is bogged down with troubles he is unsure how to solve and aspirations he cannot fathom how he will fulfill. Would Fiammetta even want him around anymore, after he'd so desperately failed her? If he couldn't find Paravana, would his parents even welcome him home again? Surely he would not have a place among the ranks of the warriors like Guardian or Kane. As his head rested upon his paws he felt the heavy weight of doubt upon his shoulders, but beneath that doubt was a firm resolve to find a way to recover from his failures. He couldn't give up now; not ever. No angel had ever given up on what they believed in. Lifting his head, pale owl yellow eyes glanced towards the borders of Diveen. His father had never given up hope that he would grow from Prince to King, even when Kane saw defeat at the paws of Covet. Even when Ambrosia had been given the stead of leadership by the usurper, Achilles had not been deterred. His determination had been rewarded, and now he stood as King of the red dirt, as he'd always known he would. Atlas took a breath, filling himself with the determination his father had shown. It was then that he noticed the dark wolf adorned in crimson and gold moving towards him. For a moment he watched her, not recognizing her and therefore assuming she was just moving through the area of her own accord.

Not wanting to be rude, Atlas did not stare any longer than necessary to realize he did not know this wolf. But even though his eyes moved back out over the landscape, he was aware of her presence. She grew ever closer, until it became apparent that she meant to approach him. Despite her direct route towards him, she seemed momentarily unsure of herself, glancing around before continuing towards him. His eyes alighted upon her, quizzical, until his nostrils flared and he inhaled the sweet and potent scent of Diveen - of home. Atlas hadn't truly realized how much he'd missed it until the scent flooded over him, and in a rush he felt a longing homesickness root itself in the pit of his stomach. She spoken to him in the mother language, and his ears flitted forward to hear what she had to say. Nepos, she called him. The Angel family spanned far and wide, and so he was not overly surprised that this was perhaps an Aunt with whom he had never met before. There was little reason to doubt her claim, for she held that underlying perfume of family and she carried familiar traits to others in his family. "Numquam amissio forte alia esse arbitrabar,I was never lost, only perhaps not where others thought I should be," he replied, his voice smooth and uninterrupted. While he often paused and hm'ed when speaking the common tongue, the words rolled of his tongue effortlessly when he spoke Latin.

"Nonne pater mitto vos?Did father send you?" Atlas asked a question that he already knew the answer to. But for what reason had he sent another out looking for one of his missing sons? If she had come to take him home, he would not go. It didn't matter how many angels Achilles sent out looking for him, he wouldn't come home without Paravana. And even then, would he stay? It was doubtful, for the boy had found some purpose in the mission that Fiammetta had set for them. He wouldn't desert her to return to the comforts of his mother's warmth. He had to be strong on his own, stand on his own, and he couldn't prove himself when he was sheltered by the angels' wings.