'Yeah, it was a joke.'

Dread hesitated again. He was not often... soft, considerate; he didn't try to put himself in others' (nonexistent, because they were animals) shoes, or try that weird foreign food called 'empathy.' But with his children, he was different; he instinctively tried to be understanding.

It's just that he... well, wasn't. Or rather, he wasn't smart enough to grasp everything, not all the time. And he knew it. And it was frustrating--and even a little saddening, in a way that little else affected the formerly-fire-breathing-monstrosity.

A faint grief gripped him as he considered how to respond--he could fake a laugh, but it was a little late; instead, he nodded firmly to Svartis. "It was a very good joke," he assuured his son, feeling like his soul was falling away, a little. Like that connection between he and his family was never truly there.

If only he were smarter, damn it-!

Then Svartis was casting, and Dread had real reason to praise him.

"Yes! Very good!" he cried, more enthusiasm in this. From behind this, they could definitely launch an assault of some kind...