Craft your way

It was funny how much time had flown by since he was a child. He had come a long way from his innocence as a child, and as things settled within the Armada Charlie had taken up crafting and mending, learning his trade and keeping the forge busy. He had a dagger he’d been working on for Wylan, a gift, and he had just about finalized the mace his father had helped him begin. But above all Charlie was happy. He was proud to be in the Armada, proud to stand with his packmates during their last raid against his brother’s pack. Yorrick and Silveris had done wonderfully in working with him, but the spitfire of a woman he had faced was simply stronger. But that was okay, his brother deserved strong wolves in Valta. He couldn’t be angry about that.

A call from his father brought the young male’s head up. A glowing blade, one of the points of the mace he was forming, lay on a smooth stone he’d been working with it. Gaze flicked to it. It was just about ready… With practiced precision he took the stone he was using to work it and knocked the blade into a makeshift bucket of water. It immediately sizzled as steam rose up, but Charlie wasn’t going to keep his father waiting. He turned away from the forge, still dirty with soot and sweat from his work… but he wore the biggest of grins on his face. He had found what truly made him happy.

Finding his father, Charlie approached the older wolf with tail wagging. Excited as he was to see his old man, he still held the respect of rank in his greeting… at least until he was sure that this was personal and not pack business. “You wanted to see me, Warlord?”

"Speech," 'Thought.'