"Spike," Sinbad shouted, rushing away from the merchant he had been talking to and after his rangy mutt. "Gods-cursed dog," the pirate grumbled as the dog shot down an alley. Nearly falling on the ice that covered Syracuse, Sinbad bolted after him.

The winter was a bitter one for Syracuse, ice frozen on to the streets and the bitterly cold air forcing people into thick clothes. Sinbad had arrived with a hold full of winter clothes, and was already making a killing selling it to desperate merchants and towns people.

A man was bent, knees resting on the icy surface as he stroked Spike's back. Spike washed his face with an urgency he normally only reserved for friends. A guard scowled down at the dog, but the man held out an arm to stop him from acting.

"Hades." Sinbad snapped under his breath. He was going to be arrested because his dog wouldn't leave a Gods-cursed noble alone. For a moment, he considered leaving the mutt, but knew he couldn't. Not his gift from Proteus. Besides, the crew would mutiny if they found that he had left the dog.

Catching his breath in the cold air, Sinbad walked forward. "Spike, here boy." He called, approaching them.

The man looked up, and Sinbad felt any warmth his body had managed to preserve wash away. Wrapped in brown winter clothes and a dark blue cape, Proteus had grown taller in Sinbad's absence. His shoulders had filled out, his face had elongated and lost the softness of childhood. Sinbad almost didn't recognize him.

"Sinbad." Proteus said, his lips parting in surprise. He obviously had no trouble recognizing him. His hold on the dog tightened, and he buried his face into Spike's neck. After a moment, Proteus straightened, his face split by a grin. "Men's best friend, huh?"