Artom leaned back in his seat, a casual smile playing on his lips. "I've been thinking, what makes the Silver Mane Tribe so confident?" His tone was light, almost teasing, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
His father, Arar, furrowed his brow. "Confidence?" He tilted his head slightly, intrigued by his son's observation. Artom had always been sharp, just like him. If his son had noticed something, it was worth hearing out.
"I had our men infiltrate the Silver Mane Tribe," Artom continued, leaning forward slightly. "From what they gathered, there are two things that give them their sense of security."
Arar's eyes narrowed with interest. "Oh?" He glanced at his eldest son, the son who had always shown the most promise, his sharpest edge. "What did they discover?"
Without answering immediately, Artom turned to a young werewolf standing quietly behind him. "Carl," Artom called, his voice carrying a tone of authority. "Come forward."