He knew who it was, he knew which fuckers had taken Caera and he would be out for their blood as soon as she was back. They had thought they could've concealed their scents, but they underestimated how much problem solving an old soul could do. He had put the pieces together, visited clans it could've been and ruled out the ones who didn't have it in them. There were only two clans it could be who were known to hurt children, one was on the decline and the other was on the rise again. One on the rise would want to take out leaders who were threats to their power, and a child, well, they would outlive them for sure. Kill the child and you were left to contest with adults, those who weren't protected by unspoken laws. Less backlash that way, granted you could keep your mouth shut and not your initials on your letters. What was a wolf meant to do, however, if those he was supposed to guide had been too demoralized by the lies of Westeros to even think about defending what they love? He sucked up his pride and asked others, others who were smart enough to see past the propaganda. HawkClan he perhaps hadn't been the nicest to in the past, caused by a mistrust of their good intentions that would have to be put to the test now. He just had to not raise his voice, or accuse their leader of being a puppet like the rest of these leaders who took a liking to Dictators. Caera liked Littlestar though didn't she? It was what he had been told in passing, surely he should learn to trust them just a little bit.
He had teleported onto the edge of the peninsula, carrying something that smelled like rotting flesh wrapped up in a pink blanket. The fact that Feliks knew what it was, the fact that he could feel it through the soft cotton, he was disgusted. that it had to belong to a child who he actually liked. Any others and it would've been fine, maybe even his own daughters wouldn't have made him flinch, but it just felt wrong. Someone whose story had caused him to regain hope in the Cartel and risk everything he had made in the Rift for Deathstroke, he didn't want it to end like this. Not without a fight, not without a chance to change the fate of someone too young to have even considered having a family. He carefully placed the blanket onto the sand, sitting down. How much time did the Cartel truly have? A deep breath was took, Feliks lurching his head backwards quickly and letting out a powerful howl, hoping the six mile call would be enough to attract the attention he needed. Why was his heart beating so fast again? Why the fuck was he feeling so worried about a leader he had barely even met? The male didn't want to get worked up, he was emotionally driven with social issues, sure, but if he even showed an ounce of nervousness then he hadn't changed. He was just the same old scared kid who tried to cripple the Exiles and failed.