Not A Hell Hound

He almost died. That was an exaggeration but one bump from the wolf and John almost tripped himself into the ground instead of just onto it. There’s a yelp and supplies fly around and then there’s John lying face down on the grass. He just stays for a few minutes. He’s laughing but to anyone else it may seem like he’s crying until he stands back up. 

She was concerned by the sounds he made but when she saw he was laughing all was well. If Carey was in human form she would have fallen over laughing. As it was, she barked a little and made small leaps to the side, lower body to the ground in the universal canine position for play. He was a mess, spotted with flecks of black and brown as mud claimed him. She leans into the ear scratch until she feels the mud on her fur. She's going to need to bathe, or else that will clump up and become painful. But she doesn't mind. 

The creature was very amiable, much to John’s surprise. He looked at it for a few moments, noticing that it had a particular interest in his sketch. John found that both interesting and unnerving but since it didn’t seem to want to harm him, he continued sketching for a few more moments.

Carey made another displeased huff at the disturbance but moved so he could go. Humans were fragile after all, and they needed regular feeding. They couldn't last for two weeks on a deer as she could. However, she wasn't going to be got rid of just yet. He was silent as a ghost, as quiet as her, and he had sparked her interest. So when he began to walk away, she stood and stretched out. At her standing height she came to his waist, paw to shoulder.

"Simeo."

Tiny humans teasing and roughhousing with big scary monsters because they trust them enough to know they wouldn’t ever hurt them