A miscreant, a rascal, a rogue of a boy-- yeah, that was pretty accurate so far. Warden was out here committing small crimes, like eating the very last of the sun-ripe blackberries in the garden and pretending he had no idea who'd done it when his siblings asked. That, and like, blaming his mother's raccoon for pretty much any transgression he could. What, it's like, why even have a little trash bandit if you're not going to let him be your fall guy? Mr. Raccoon was all tiny hands and no shame, and... well, so was Warden, actually.
Anyway!
On the call from Sirius, the boy made his way away from the garden patch and back through the woods. His gaze was bright-- it was always a good day when grandpa came to visit. His pace was a light, thoughtful jog. Warden's gaze was bright as it settled on the Warlord, head cocking to one side, then the other. Did he bring something for them to eat? Did he bring something for them to do? Someone for them to play with? Warden peered curiously up at Sirius, plunking down in front of him. It had been a sorta long walk for such little legs. "What're we doin'?" What indeed.
