The muffled sound of rattling against his home's door prompted the general to begrudgingly stand up and answer it. Any other day, Leroy would've been out of the house at this particular hour, taking in the scenery, basking in the midday sun. But today, today it was fucking humid. The air wasn't friendly. And thus, the mongrel found himself within the cool comforts of his and Crow's abode - or, at least he did, until some selfish nincompoop made the tactless choice to intrude on his R'n'R.

Any other day, this blockhead could've come knocking at the door. Yet, they had to choose the one where he was stuck inside for the sake of his well-being. God, some people are so unbelievably self-centered. He pushed the door ajar to see this bastard's ugly mug, and...

It's his son.

Oh.

"H-Hello, Ryder," he quickly musters, his voice faulty due to a combination of fatigue and wasted fury. The male steps outside of the door, closing it behind him to keep the coolness in (Crow was still in there, and leaving it open likely would have led to the feline suffering from heatstroke). Paws shuffling awkwardly on the ground, the wolfhound plants his meaty rump on the scarcely-steady boards of his porch. "Err.. so how's it been with you?" Why was it so damn difficult to communicate with the child you hadn't known about for over a year, despite him being yours?

The wolfhound maintained a rough-hewn expression whilst his son spoke, though it developed into a neutral one midway through his dialogue. Ryder likely felt as awkward as him, and Leroy began to understand that as he analyzed what the younger male was saying. Truth be told, Leroy'd pushed the memory of Ophelia up and ditching in that manner out of his mind, as it had left a hole where his heart should've been. He didn't put any thought into how the German Shepherd might have been pregnant when she made her undisclosed exist, so the possibility of him being a father was never one that came to mind. But, now realizing the grand scheme of things, the general saw that Ryder hadn't known his true father for his entire life up until very recently. Thus, being cold and inelegant wouldn't yield any satisfactory results - if he wanted to have a true connection with his child, he'd have to act responsible and mature.

As the Wolfhound-Shepherd mix concluded what he was saying, the male- nay, the father promptly prepared a reply which he deemed sufficient. "Unfortunately," he says, tone much more certain and confident than before, "it ain't no falsehood. She didn't say anythin' before she left, but I don't hold that against her. Lotta people can't stand to stay in the swamp, and it seems that your mother was one of 'em." He wishes that she had left a note at the very least - even if he was illiterate, it would've been the thought of it that counted. "I'd invite ya inside, but I got someone sleepin' in there. I wanna talk to ya, though, so why don't we go on a walk together?"

A blithe chuckle escapes his maw when his son voices that final remark. Spring hadn't even come to its conclusion yet, and the younger male implored for a spot with shade. Not that Leroy blamed him, but if the current conditions were piquing Ryder's boundaries, then he wished him luck in coping with the scorching circumstances that the summer would bring.

"I can think of some places with shade," he replies, redirecting his gaze towards the blazing sun above while saying so. "There's the tavern, for one," the male continues, "we could grab a drink if you're feelin' parched, or anythin'. If not there, we could sit in the library... but I dunno how to read, though..."

He then rises to all fours, treads past Ryder, and heads down the few steps of his porch. Afterwards, Leroy notions towards the smaller canine to come along. "C'mon," he says, "we gotta walk in this direction anyhow - we'll decide where to go before we get there, and can chat along the way."