What it takes

Dad seemed to approve of the way that he'd been going about the sheds. Dread was happy with that-- if Sirius hadn't been, it would have been a lot to do over. Then again, the Warlord was a pretty reasonable man, and there was no reason he shouldn't... anyway. Dread would break the anxious train of thought as he turned his attention to his father. He was offering to help. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it, actually. " The boy's tone was even, relaxed as he spoke.

"Is it okay to keep bait down here, actually? I have a bucket of stuff from Halo that I brought down, but I didn't really know where to put it." Grateful that Sirius had come down, and could answer his questions. "There's also some stuff outside still, but some of it doesn't actually belong in here." There was also the question of who was just throwing things into the sheds at random, but whatever. Dread had always liked order, and having things tidy.

Dad had come to talk about ranks. Dread breathed and audible sigh of relief, relaxing a bit. So he wasn't here to reprimand him about the whole Deluge thing. Thankfully. He'd come to talk about something arguably more serious. It was true, they were yearlings now. They needed to think about where they'd go from here within the Armada. Sure, he'd put some thought into it, but thinking about the future was always so daunting. That, and it was still pretty recent that he'd stepped away from healing. Dread was certain that he'd disappointed Halo, and that still stung. He'd try not to dwell on that. Moving to begin bundling more cordage for the nets, taking a moment to phrase his response carefully, Dread finally spoke. "I want to do more with the relations between us and other packs. Politics and stuff." The yearling doesn't quite know how to phrase that, but it's good enough for now.
"Dread Fatalis"