The boy's movements are of interest, disjointed, strange. Like a puppet on invisible strings, and speaking in the third person. Dread looks on with interest, though he knows better than to condescend. Kids are fucking weird sometimes, who's he to question it? A name, too... Redrum. It suits the boy.
"Dread." Amicable smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There's no hostility in him, he's not out to be a dick to children. "Are you far from home?" Translation: does he need to worry about a mother hen coming from the shadows and boxing him about the ears. That, or is the kid lost? Though the scent of a pack hangs around the boy, Dread can't place it. Too many packs to keep track of, too much turnover. Better safe than sorry.
Bard
