The sound of skittering rocks under paw drew a single ear backwards atop Sleekwing's skull. He listened carefully to the sound of the wolf's movement, perhaps having to strain a bit more than he once would have to hear the sensitive nuances to an individual's stride. Even so, it did not take him more than a beat to recognize the footfall of his son. Though he did not immediately shift to rise, wanting to wait until Israfel announced himself, Sleekwing could not help the way his tail began to thump against the rocky outcropping he lounged upon. A smile crept across his features, hopeful that his son had come seeking him, not simply returning to explore the land of his birth. And then the boy young man's voice called out to him as he bound closer, the cadence of his stride shifting from natural to erratic. Sleekwing glanced over his shoulder, barking a laugh in response to his son's initial approach.

He delayed no further than that, lifting to his paws in what might appear to the untrained eye as just as fluid and natural a movement as the once warrior ever would have displayed. But there were subtle hints to his aging, the slight boxiness to his turn which would have once been supple, the half a second longer it took him to pull himself to full height. This aging, however, had come slowly upon him and he had adjusted to it with the ease of any training he had ever mastered in his life. Perhaps he moved a bit slower now, but that did not mean he was no match for his son's exuberance at their reunion. His tail waved out behind him with enthusiasm, and at Israfel's words he loosed a throaty laugh, shaking his head before leaping down to stand on even ground with him.

Reaching out with a forepaw, he cuffed his son on the shoulder - for he now stood taller than his father and Sleekwing no longer had the flexibility to reach for his head. "Have you been away from Spirane so long that you've forgotten the scent of the mountains altogether?" he chided in laughing tones. Sleekwing had only abandoned the mountains once in his life - when those called Solevion had cracked and roared under the impending doom of the skyfall. There was some truth to Israfel's sense of smell, however, which he admitted after a moment of letting his son think he'd made a mistake. "I suppose the time I've spent on the western outskirts may have some effect on my scent, though," he said with a wink. "I've been keeping more of an eye out for your sister than she would probably appreciate. Thought I saw Kutcha circling on the horizon a few days ago..." His voice trailed off, hoping it was some kind of portent that Moonfeather would return to them soon.

He reached his head forward, forcefully bumped his nose into Israfel's neck before withdrawing and grinning widely. "And what about you? You've got that many scents all over you, but this old nose hasn't lost its sense yet. Have you been visiting your older sister in Glorall?" There was, however, something underlying in Israfel's scent that had Sleekwing slightly miffed. A scent that reminded him of a woman who had once been very dear to him, who had chosen a path that took her from his life - perhaps the only wolf to truly injure his guarded heart.