Duty calls

The Warlord worked steadily, creating knives from the fangs of a shark. Easy weapons for practice, or attachments to battle armor if his members chose to wear them as such. Ensuring the points were sharp, and fitted into a leather holder took time. He had been at it for some time when Ulric showed. He raised his head as the other greeted him, and responded with a head nod of his own.

“Ulric,” he said in greeting to the woodland wolf. The man had not spent a great deal of time in the Armada since joining. He had been at the festival, but then, so had Zee and his son. His entrance into the pack had impressed the Warlord. It had earned him the slot of Warrior immediately, and bypassed the usual testing Sirius did on new recruits. Since then, what had Ulric been up to. The Warlord wasn’t certain. “What can I do for you?”