Cressidor Blan-Virgine was definitely her mothers' daughter. On a rainy afternoon—and sometimes even a sunny one—she liked nothing better than to hop up in one of the big armchairs in one of the libraries and delve into one of the large, leather-bound storybooks. Whether it was tales of knights and princesses, heroes and monsters, saints and prophets, or wizards and enchantments, she loved to lose herself in a good story. Of course, it was also fun when her Mama, Lillet, would read or tell stories to her, but it was a different kind of fun to discover the tales for herself. She especially liked connected groups of stories like those of Arthur's knights or the adventures of King David, because she got to meet old friends that way and find fresh sides to an earlier story when a new one revealed something about it or picked up on a link between them.
Sometimes, her puppy would curl up in front of her chair while she was reading. Cress liked that, because rainy days were often chilly and she could dig her toes into his warm fur.
Today, though, he wasn't there; he was out for his after-lunch walk in the garden.
At least, he was supposed to be.
"Get back here, you overgrown mole!"
The raised voice belonged to Gaff, the Blan-Virgine household's elven majordomo. A moment later, two hundred and fifty pounds of half-grown barghest hurtled through the door, trailing mud, and with keen doggy instinct pulled up next to his mistress's chair, whimpering.
"Shuck, what happened to you? You're all muddy, and those are some nasty cuts and scratches!"
Shuck lifted his face helplessly. His eyes were blank pools of scarlet fire, those of a terrifying apparition in the night, but they still looked pathetic.
"I'll tell you what happened," Gaff said, following him in. The young elf was no taller than Cress, which emphasized how silly it seemed when he grabbed the barghest's collar and the black dog cringed. "Cook gave Shuck the bone from last night's beef joint."
"Oh, Shuck must have loved that!"
"He did. In fact, he loved it so much that he went out to bury it in the garden."
Cress frowned at her puppy.
"Shuck! You know you're not supposed to dig holes except in the side yard by the kitchen!"
He probably didn't actually understand the words, but the tone made him hang his head.
"It gets worse. He picked the freshest-turned spot in the garden to dig, probably because it was easiest."
"Oh, no! Aren't those Mama's new rosebushes? The magic ones I'm not supposed to go near?"
Gaff nodded.
"That's how he got all scratched up. Sleeping Beauties attack any intruders who try to get through. Mr. Deviled Fuzz here all but torched one and ripped half the vines off another like he thought he was an enchanted prince, and got a couple of nasty stabs in return. His right hind leg needs attention. Then, of course, he ran away and came in here, leaving mud and dripping ichor everywhere. He's just lucky I got the carpets enchanted with Glenlivet's Warding so the stains won't set in."
Cress pouted, then pointed her finger at Shuck.
"Bad dog!" she pronounced sentence. "Now, you go with Gaff and get a bath and some healing magic, and don't give him any trouble!"
Shuck whimpered again at the hated word 'bath,' but there was no mercy to be had. The elf, maybe one-fourth his size, dragged him off to the place of his punishment.
Cress snuggled back down into her chair and opened her book again. She couldn't help but wonder, though, how many of the rampaging monsters in the stories wouldn't have learned such bad habits if they'd just been properly trained growing up.