Chess, Not Checkers

The Warlord winced at that. The whole family? It still felt like his family was ripping apart in slow motion. He hid his pains, but the wounds were still there. But the other part of that however… “They are absolute tiny tyrants. I swear, they have me wrapped about their little paws already, Artorias.” he was grinning again, the thought of the two pups bringing a smile to his maw. Yes, he was smitten with them.

“Mortis has a lot to learn. His grasp on leadership needs more polishing than yours, don’t be surprised if I have him directing some of your training.” he cautioned. The responsibility would help shape the boy.

Sirius nodded a little more solemnly at the mention of missing siblings and shrinking packs. That seemed to be a thing going around at the moment. Were wolves becoming a more scarce commodity of late? “Ulric can lean on the Armada if he needs to, I’m sure anything he needs, we could come to an agreement on.” he said, as he finished pulling out supplies. Some of which were already slung about the younger wolf's shoulders. The Warlord grunted in approval at the sight, and closed the doors.

Thunder cackled in the darkening skies above. “Let's get to the barracks before that opens up on us” Anything, anything to get his thoughts away from the wolf in his life who had feared thunder storms. Of the miserable, wet face peaking out at him from the bushes in the old Ashen lands. Seeking him out, and afraid.

"Sirius Fatalis"