god_of_the_arena | (no subject)

Entry tags:

daine,
unlinked

(no subject)

Someone at the vet's office gave him the girl's number. He'd been told that she was one of the people that helped Bran and Foha when he brought them in, starved and bloodied. He hadn't had the chance to meet her when he picked the dogs up again.

Daine, she was called.

He ended up leaving a message on her phone, giving his name, the relation he had to the dogs in his care, and asked if she would be willing to visit their farm. He'd been told she was exceedingly good with animals, and whether Gannicus liked to admit it or not, he realized he might need just a bit of help. He was relieved to get a call back, and gave her the address.

Their homestead had come a long way from when they first bought it; the family had changed as well. There were still touches of Hild all over, even if she no longer lived with them, or in Darrow at all. He wanted to find some more permanent way to mark her presence... He would think of something.

He awaited the girl on the stone fence between the pastures and the road; there was another, sturdy wooden fence behind that, already lined with sheep wire. At his feet were three dogs: Foha and Bran, the fighting dogs Daine had likely met before, and Aster.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Daine remembers Foha and Bran well -- enough so that she's surreptitiously checked in on them more than once, just to make sure they're still getting on all right and not being mistreated. They've never given her any reason to think their new masters were anything but lovely, but she was so furious over the condition they were in when she first met them, she doesn't want to just leave their fates to chance.

So when their two-legger calls her and asks her to stop by, she's quick to agree. The clinic rarely sends her on house calls -- not unless things are dire enough that getting the creature to the clinic might do more harm. But even with her there to calm them, few creatures like being brought to the vet. Visiting the farm they're living on strikes her as more sensible -- not to mention kinder -- than asking him to haul them into town.

Besides, if dogs would be difficult, she can't even imagine the trouble sheep might be.

Daine gives the man by the fence (Gannicus, she guesses) a smile as she walks up the drive, though her attention quickly drops to the dogs at his feet.

"Look at you," she coos, impressed, as the dogs come up to her. The one that shows the least restraint is one she hasn't even met before, but soon all three are surrounding her, tails wagging. She runs her hands over them, both affectionate and assessing, and notes with approval that they've filled out without being overfed.

Lifting her gaze back to Gannicus, she adds, "The others at the clinic wouldn't recognize them." She straightens, then wades through the dogs until she's close enough to extend a hand. "You're Gannicus, I s'pose? It's nice to meet you."

Aster was beside himself to meet a new person, curious about the smells on her; of all of them, his tail wagged the fastest, and his tongue was the most eager to give affection. He was not as big as the other two, nor was he quite as impressively muscular.

Foha and Bran were more reserved, but no less fond in their greeting of the girl. Foha, in particular, was reserved. My people are gone, he reported to her. But I live here now with a new pack.

Bran nuzzled into Daine's leg, leaned into her firmly.

Gannicus eased off the fence; most of the time, he would try to call the dogs off. But Bran and Foha both warmed up to the girl at first sight like they did no others, so he let them. He accepted her hand; his own were calloused from hard work.

"I'm Gannicus," he confirmed. "And you've now met Aster."

Bran became my friend, and I came here with him, the excited dog reported. Foha came when his people disappeared. Then one of ours disappeared. This, at least, made him more somber. He missed her gently scratching hands, and the way she would let him lay on her feet while she worked her loom. The whole pack missed her, he knew.

"Is it true?" Gannicus asked. "Do you talk to them?"

"He's a fine dog," Daine says, giving Aster a fond pat and grinning as he scores a lick to her wrist. "They all are. It's plain enough that you've been doing well by them."

She sobers at the news the dogs share, though. And how is your new pack treating you? she silently asks Foha. It's always a little awkward, talking around two-leggers who can't hear mind-speech. But she's only interested in how Foha would answer this particular question. And it's one thing to tell folk she can talk to creatures, and another to have what looks like a one-sided conversation with them while a hapless two-legger looks on.

"It's true," she replies aloud. "They say they've lost folk." She doesn't elaborate beyond that. She shouldn't need to; Gannicus doubtless knows exactly who she's talking about, and she doesn't want to twist the knife.

Gannicus's smile faded to a softer look, sad, but the grief was further away now. "Yes," he said. "Agron, my brother on the sand, disappeared. Foha was his, and now he has come to us. And... our Hild disappeared. She was--"

It was not emotion that choked him, necessarily, but for a moment he was not sure that he could put what Hild meant to anyone on this farm into simple words.

"She was the mistress of our household, and dearly loved by all within it."

She was a good mistress, Bran put in, in his quiet voice. Strong and clear. A good pack leader. Aster voiced his agreement.

Foha sat against Daine's leg and leaned into her. This new pack is good. There are two leaders now instead of three. But they care for us. I do not know if I like the cat.

'Agron' doesn't ring any bells, but 'Hild' certainly does, and Daine frowns in sympathy. "I met Hild," she says, a bit cautiously, wary of making things worse. "I didn't know her well, but... she reminded me of home, a bit. I'm sorry she's gone."

Foha is a warm weight against her leg, and Daine tickles the base of his ears. "He says this is a good pack," she says, indicating him with a tip of her head. "He's not sure about the cat, though." Venturing a smile, she adds, "I'd offer to talk to him, but cats don't take kindly to being told how to behave."

Her gaze goes a little distant as she lets her magic wander a bit, taking a mental tally of all the minds present. "You've a fair number here, haven't you?" she asks after blinking him back into focus. "Are they getting on all right?"

"She is a good woman - I am glad she is remembered." Gannicus yet carried grief for the loss of her, but he would rather remember her well than linger in sadness. That was too heavy a burden, and he knew well where it would lead him.

Hild would not want him to chase her memory to the bottom of a bottle.

Gannicus smiled at the mention of the number here. "In the house lives a snake and a lizard, and Goblin the cat haunts the house and fields. The three dogs here, then in the barn a small herd of sheep. And they are why I have asked for you."

He looked a bit... well. Sheepish. "My people were herders, and it is not their care that escapes me. But I know well these dogs - they are built like the Molossers I knew in Rome - bred to hunt, to work, and bred to stand by men in battle. Bran and Foha have done their share to rid the field of rodents. As yet they have heeded me when in sight of the sheep, but they are yet young and at times excitable."

Gannicus showed Daine his forearm, which bore a shallow, healing bite. Foha slunk down in shame. We were all playing, the dog said. I forgot he is not a dog and held him. For his part, Gannicus did not seem at all upset by the injury - he could survive it well, and Foha had not intended to break skin, he was certain. But he worried what an excited dog could do to a sheep or lamb.

Daine nods along with his explanation. None of the sheep feel ill or otherwise like they're doing poorly, so it doesn't surprise her that Gannicus knows his business. The more he speaks, in fact, the better she likes him. It's clear that he knows his animals well -- enough to know that even a well-intentioned dog might do harm to a sheep by accident, especially one not bred for things like tending.

"They're not sheepdogs," she acknowledges with a wry smile -- which turns closer to a wince as he shows her the bite mark on his arm. He doesn't look troubled by it, but that doesn't mean it's not a problem. In Darrow, a dog might be put down for such a thing, no matter the circumstances. Foha looks guilty enough that she can't bring herself to scold him. Besides, there's not much point when he knows full well what went wrong.

It does need to be sorted, though. Especially with sheep on the property. Mithros knows she won't be able to explain to them that the dogs didn't mean any harm if something goes wrong.

She nibbles her thumbnail, considering. "I can't change their nature," she says, "and I wouldn't want to, even if I could. It'll always be safest to keep them on different sides of a sturdy fence." Part of the problem, she knows, is that it'd be natural for the sheep to run from a dog, and that might be too exciting for a young dog to resist. She doesn't expect a remembered lecture from her to make much of a difference in that sort of situation.

An idea starts to form. "Can we go take a look at the sheep?" she asks. "I ought to get their measure."

"No, they certainly are not." But he said it with fondness, looking at the muscular beasts surrounding Daine. "I understand them well. But I can change - I would not ask them to."

Maybe once Gannicus might have believed that killing was the only thing he was good for, but he knew better; he found purpose in other professions, and he found purpose now in their little farm.

"They do get work around the farm - Bran has learned to pull a cart. He was great help in mending fences." The blue dog wagged his tail at the mention of his name; his cropped ears perked at the mention of his cart.

I like to pull, he said to Daine. And it makes him do the smiling face and rub my head.

Gannicus climbed over the wooden fence and offered his hand to Daine. She reminded him of his sisters, though, and he was certain she could manage a fence without him.

"The ram is out in his own field, but the ewes and wethers are in the barn yet."

He hadn't known the extent of Daine's skill with animals, and had thought that having most of the herd in one place would just make things easier.

The dogs each get a last pat and some whispered praise before Daine follows Gannicus over the fence. "He likes the pulling," she translates as she clambers over, declining the assistance with a smile and a shake of her head. "He knows it pleases you." That's all to the good; dogs'll behave better for someone they want to please.

She'll want to meet the ram, too, but she's not too worried about him for starters. He'll likely have a good pair of horns and the inclination to use them if he feels pressed. Even a solid, stubborn sort of dog will feel the kind of blow an angry ram could dole out. The ewes and wethers might be able to handle themselves too, but a lamb wouldn't be much of a match.

"I'd like to start at the barn, then," she says. "We'll see if the ewes are made of stern stuff. I can say hello to the ram, too, but I wouldn't expect a ram to suffer any nonsense, and sheep can pack more of a wallop than folk realize."

"He picked it up quickly. I thought a job might suit him." Something to learn how to do, something to do well. Bran did seem to like pulling his cart around, and it had saved his back and Krem's when it came to moving some of the stones for the fence and the greenhouse. He wondered if Foha might take to it. Aster was a bit too silly and unfocused.

"Aster has already tested the ram," he said, eyeing the dog that bounded along ahead of them. "And narrowly missed a horn."

When they reached the barn, Gannicus gave the dogs a firm command to sit and stay. All three rumps hit the grass; Aster went all the way down, wiggling where he was. He rolled his eyes and pulled the sliding door open to let Daine in.

They had a small herd of eight sturdy ewes and three wethers at the moment. At the moment they had full run of the barn, with all the stalls left open. Geralt wanted to keep a horse with them; eventually he would figure out a way to make sure the barn could house all the animals without issue.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only