There are many new scents in the barn, but Mother insists it is not frightening.
The four month old pup thinks otherwise, and so when many pairs of legs gather around a large jar of khaddis, a thick leather collar, and a too-loved cushion, she approaches with caution. There is something deep inside of her that makes her like the scent of the Elf woman, but even a hint of base instinct on behalf of her lineage is not enough to tempt her closer.
"I'm so sorry, Meran… I can't imagine what this must feel like," the man's voice is soft and sounds sad.
She tips her head to the side, cropped ears shifting with only a hint of lingering soreness. She gets sad when long bones, sticks, and ropes are all taken from the floor, and when the stable boys are thumped and sent back to cows in need of milking and mules in need of grooming.
"It was his time. We all knew it was coming, there at the end…" She says.
The pup pauses from a distance, and a confused grumble rolls in the back of her throat. Though she is young, she is already packing on thus far untoned muscles on thickening bones. In months to come, she will be trained to be the companions of one of the rangers.
"Ahh, good riddance to that big slobbering mutt," Oghren grunts. Thinking no one sees him, he dashes a hand up to wipe his eyes and nose with the ends of his beard. Even the pup sees it. "I can't tell you how many times that blasted mongrel had me running into trees."
"That is not how it happened, and It knows it well. It is only because of the mabari that in Its drunken stupors It did not wander off of cliffsides," a huge slab of stone makes noises just as the other living creatures, and it makes the pup lower her head defensively and frown with an unsure sternness. Of her litter, she is still the boldest, standing a few yards away from the gathering.
Unsure smiles pull at their cheeks, and the group begin to look to one another.
"I, for one, will miss The Dog more than I will ever miss another," Shale volunteers. It surprises the rest, who all snort incredulously and shake their heads. The strange noises make the pup grumble, and she lowers down to a crouch to crawl closer and investigate.
"Truly! The Dog proved useful time and again—whenever I found myself besieged by crows and pigeons, I had only to shout 'Crows!' to see The Dog run the little cawing shits into the winds… Sometimes, he would even catch a few. They popped inside of his mouth, and he hated it so."
Unsure chuckles grow into fits of laughter. The pup thinks she can smell a hint of salt from their cheeks as she stands next to their knees, but in the barns where everything muddles together, it is hard to tell.
"Something I never thought I would miss is his begging," a blonde man with a simple crown on top of his head speaks. He smiles and shakes his head from side to side, "That dog was a better thief than you could ever hope to be, Zevran. All he'd have to do is just look at you—I might as well have just given him my bowl to eat out of." The elf takes no offense to his words, and merely sets a reassuring hand to the center of Meran's back.
"He was a good boy. I don't think there will ever be another like him…" The elf murmurs, releasing a sigh that seems too heavy for a person so small. The pup grumbles and plods on top of the woman's foot, prompting the elf to look down at her hound's lineage.
"Did you hear about Sten? I heard he's had Kael declared Qunoran vehl, and that all of Seheron celebrated his life," the golden haired man says, wonderment in his voice.
The pup stares up at the woman. The elf does not look away from her, but she smiles as she says,
"He sent me a letter. Ataash varin kata," her lips brace the words reverently, "In the End Lies Glory."