Teeny tiny blacksmith

The Warlord spread his paws, looking out across the heart of the pack with some fondness. There was a fire roaring in the pit, chasing away the shadows that seemed to linger throughout the day, and took the bite of the chill from the air.

The little rugrats were already less little, and today would be a valuable lesson for them both. He wanted only for them to be as prepared as they could be before venturing out into the world. He would always rather keep them close, but the importance of giving them their freedom had won that mental war.

He tossed back his head, and howled for the two to appear, knowing Ruga was in the cellar sorting out some mediums for the two of them. Ruga was a blessing to the Armada. Their very own blacksmith, and he already had many plans for the wolf.


"Sirius Fatalis"