Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made. ~Roger Caras
"She's going to be all right...isn't she?"
Brego raises his head at the sound of the male's voice, turning his head from the hut where his Talia lay to regard him. He wants to be inside with her, where he belongs, but the two females whose home this was have forbidden it, and while he would have likely defied the younger one, the elder has a scent about her, something beyond the scents that she shares with the younger: an intriguing mix of fish and fowl, beast and serpent, all together and yet not quite any of them, and all underlaid with the odor that had clung to some of the humans at the warcamp, like the sharpness in the air just before the flash of lightning.
Those scents twitch along his spine, making him itch with curiosity, but the elder has another smell to her, a swirling blend of age and power and darkness, that keeps him from indulging that curiosity or defying her orders.
"I mean, you'd know if she wasn't, wouldn't you?"
The male is the only one left of the tainted ones...besides his Talia. He had been confused and alarmed when she had first come to him bearing that smell of taint, but underneath it was the same smell that he had always known. It had made it easier to accept the rest of what he decided must be their new pack. Harder to accept had been her subordinate status in the pack, but the thought of her displeasure kept him from asserting himself on her behalf. He had seen others of his kind in the warcamp for the first time since leaving his mother; he and another male glared at each other, stiff-legged and bristling, but both knowing better than to attack each other, while his Talia had spoken with the other's human.
"A fine looking beast, Warden; where did you get him?"
"A gift from my father." The sharp scent of grief from his Talia as she answered. "Out of Bann Lyndon's bitch, Brinda, sired by Talego."
An approving whistle. "Good blood, indeed. They say that the Bann can trace Talego's line back to the time of Dane. I've got a prime bitch going into season soon. After the battle, could we talk about a stud fee?"
His Talia had agreed, but their part in the battle had been a long fight up a tower filled with foul things that smelled of the taint that touched his Talia, though many, many times worse. He fought then for the second time in his life, the dark blood bitter in his mouth, and at the top of the tower, just as the male lit a fire in the hearth, his voice raised in triumph, the door had burst open and a flood of the dark things had poured in. He had seen his Talia fall, and then he was among them with a howl of fury, jaws crushing and tearing until they overwhelmed him.
When he awoke, he did not question how he had gotten from the tower to this new place, or wonder how his wounds had healed (they did still itch from time to time). The younger female had given him food once: a scrawny hare, then scowled and told him to hunt for himself when he tried to cajole more from her. He had been let in to see his Talia once, and while she did not wake in response to his anxious whines and nudges, her scent spoke of healing, rather than death. It was for this reason alone that he permitted the two females to shoo him out of the hut and keep him out. He could still catch traces of his Talia's scent when the door opened, assuring him that she continued to improve.
He misses her, though: misses hearing her voice, feeling her touch. His eyes remain fixed now on the tainted one; he was a part of their new pack, as short-lived as it was, and the smell of grief is strong on him, along with worry...worry for his Talia.
He rises and butts his head against the chest of the tainted one, chuffing softly, trying to reassure him that his Talia will indeed be well soon. The tainted one freezes, then lifts a hand and begins to gingerly scratch at his ears. It is not his Talia, but it feels good, nonetheless, and he groans happily, leaning into the touch.
The hand flies away unexpectedly. "Are you growling at me?"
Brego snorts at the question, then offers a sample of a real growl for comparison. The tainted one's eyes grow wide. "All right, definitely a difference there."
Trusting that his point has been made, Brego leans back in expectantly, and is rewarded by renewed scratching.
"I've heard that mabari are supposed to be smart; can you really understand what I'm saying?"
He lifts his eyes to meet those of the tainted one and barks softly in affirmation.
"Right. You could just be responding to my voice, though. You could just be a drooling moron."
His understanding of the complexities of human speech is far from complete, but he understands 'moron', and growls again: more than a sample, this time.
"All right, all right! I take it back. Everything but the drooling part." The tainted one shakes his hand and wipes it on the grass with a grimace. "No wonder you drink so much; it's coming out at either end."
His Talia's mother had voiced similar objections; he had never understood why, but he had eventually learned to give his head a good, hard shake before coming anywhere near her, just as he had learned never to clean himself in her presence. Evidently, the tainted one will require similar rules.
"I see you have found an intellectual equal to converse with." The younger female strides into camp carrying three dead hares, one of which she tosses at his feet. "Not that you deserve it," she sniffs, "but your clumsy attempts at hunting have driven off all the game within a mile. If I let you roam further, 'twill take me a full day to go far enough to find our own meat."
He sniffs at the hare (a plump one, he notes with anticipation), and lifts his head to offer her a chuff of thanks when he realizes that her smell is...different. The baffling blend of odors is still present, but one is more prominent...and enticingly familiar.
"Oh, no," she warns him, taking a step back as he approaches, sniffing intently. "I'll not have your slobber all over my clothes! Back, I say!"
He hesitates for a moment, but the smell is so strong and so familiar, he has encountered it while hunting, and he can almost tie it to the image of the creature it belongs to. He takes another step forward, his nostrils quivering.
The female's form shimmers, and he abruptly finds himself facing a cat, as large as he is, with a tawny coat and golden eyes. The feline hisses at him and slaps at his nose with a paw; he yelps and retreats to the side of the tainted one, staring at the creature in astonishment.
Another shimmer, and the female returns to her own form, smirking at him. "Let that be a lesson to you," she says, turning and sauntering to the rear of the hut, where she will no doubt clean her catch.
He whines softly, staring after her in confusion.
"I know how you feel," the tainted one tells him, scratching his ears again. "Creepy, isn't it?"
