Tramp couldn't help but grin widely at his son's pure innocence. It amazed him how perceptive the boy could be at times, and yet he still managed to be the sweetest thing ever after the war.
The war. Now that was a topic that still had Tramp pacing at night, worried that at any moment someone would be trying to break down their door and try and do something to Lady or worse of to Jack. He had done his best to make their traveling home a fortress; he had boarded up the windows, made a barricade around the motor home; and of course always kept the shot gun loaded. If he could have, he would've moved his family away from the war, completely fled Sundance all together the way some of the other Runners had. But they didn't have a boat they could just float away in, and the tires for the motor home had long since been replaced with some cement blocks that Tramp had found to station up their home. So he and Lady had made due with what they had. Tramp still work around the tribe, repairing boats and motors for various members, but it killed him to have to leave Lady and Jack alone while he went and worked. There was some comfort in the fact that the Runners had remained neutral in the fighting, for the most part, and also in the fact that Tramp knew there were some men in his tribe that would look out for the two most precious people in his life.
Bringing his attention back to his son, he put out his hands to help him climb down the ladder. "Well, I'm glad to hear you slept well. Now what do you want for breakfast today?" He asked, playfully tickling his son's sides, Jack's giggling ringing through out the homey motor home.