No rest for the wicked

The Warlord's lips brushed up into a small smile. “My reputation precedes me” He said. He had not given her his title, but it came as no surprise to him when she used it. He led one of the largest and oldest packs in the lands, after all. It was more interesting to him that she had shown no recognition when he had first given her his name, until her slip just now. “Survival is our greatest teacher. My Grandson has his pick of tutors, but he’s a product of his upbringing - sheltered. You would be bringing something new to the table, and I value that.” He explained, not yet showing his hand. It would not do to scare her away and admit that he hoped to entice her to his pack.

He also wasn’t entirely surprised to hear of her own upbringing, but he found himself intrigued by it. She certainly wouldn't have been a rat on the Empire's streets. His home had fallen long before she was born. He raised a paw, gesturing forward. “A few days teachings for kitting you out. We’d need the time to craft them to order regardless. Take it or leave it” He prompted her.


"Sirius Fatalis"