He told them he was the Worker Bee. He had no desire to move up the ranks. He was Kimo, always late, but working hard. Just Kimo.
In reality, though, he was their guard dog.
They never noticed his nostrils flaring at a strange scent. They never noticed his irises flashing silver when he sensed a threat. They never noticed the look of pain that sometimes crossed his face at loud noises. They never noticed that when he yelped, it sounded suspiciously like a wolf; or that he could see exceptionally far, as though binoculars were glued to his face.
And that was fine. They were his pack, and he kept them safe, and he didn't care what kind of recognition he got.