Chess, Not Checkers

The Warlord nodded, seeing that the boy was just happy to be here and learn. Sirius had wanted to create something more… perhaps he wished to see the pack and their Allies bustling with activity again. The long winter had set everyone back a step, left them uncertain. Recruitment was down, and he wondered how many rogues or prospects had died in the colder nights.

Sirius examined the gift, touching a paw to each in appreciation. It was thoughtful for the Hallows to send along this gift, for Art to deliver it. He picked one at random, and popped it open with an extended claw. The scent of fermented grapes filled the building. “Your first sip of alcohol. In some cultures, that's considered a step into adulthood.” The Warlord smiled, and offered the boy the first sip.


"Sirius Fatalis"