Micah wasn't really in tune with his family or how they were doing. Really, he hated almost all of them, and couldn't care less if they all rotted. They probably deserved it anyways, considering that they were all terrible people. For the most part, anyways.

He glanced up at the sound of hooves against the dirt, absentmindedly checking to see who was riding into camp. However, he had to pause what he was doing when he saw a familiar face. "The hell...?" he murmured to himself, sheathing his knife. He almost didn't recognize you — it had been a little over ten years since he had seen you. You must have been six or seven at the time. It was impossible to miss you, considering how much you looked like his brother. He pretty much forgot he was an Uncle.