runnin' late with half your makeup on

The Warlord made his way down to the beach. Sand crunched beneath heavy paws as the afternoon sun warmed the dark tones of his coat. It didn’t take long for his eyes to scan the beach, and fall upon the small form of the rusty pup. Throwing herself into her exercise with abundance. He watched his adopted child for a moment. The last child now in the den of the Warlord. It wouldn’t be wrong to say a lot of fondness rested in his expression.

He had heard of course, about her loss to Ghoul. Seeing her determination now, he knew she was just the pup for the little exercise he had in mind. He padded forward, surprisingly quiet despite his impressive size. “Hazel. You're leaving yourself open on your right side. Guard up” he told her, stepping forward and tapping her shoulder. Ah, the love language of the Warlord.

“A young jaguar has moved into the woods next to the Armada. I’m going to scare him off, up for accompanying your old man?”

"Sirius Fatalis"