a trophy father's trophy son

It wouldn't be easy but then, it didn't need to be. Dread was going to drive off the predator. He was going to keep them safe. He was going to do what he needed to in order to make sure that his family stayed okay. Dread was going to fight a bear, and that was pretty cool. Frankly, he felt pretty cool and pretty good about the whole thing. Relentless in his assault on the creature, his teeth digging harshly into fur and flesh. Gore ran down his face, his chest, pooling against the crystals that protected his throat. Everything about this was grand. For once, he feels at peace. There was a peace that came with fighting. How strange.

His father joins the assault. Reinforcements. It's not just Dread and Roan and Basil anymore-- that's likely for the best. Though they had grit, though they had heart, they were relatively unpracticed. Dread took a swatting from the predator's great, massive paw on the shoulder, and he can feel the searing pain that came with the scratch. Still, it's a beautiful kind of pain-- the kind of thing that let him know he was alive, and he was making the right decisions. He is relentless. He will not let go. The Warlord was here to assist, to help distract the creature, and they could work in tandem now. Safety in numbers. They would take the bear out together, and it would be glorious.

"Dread Fatalis"