#werewolf cod

You were used to Soap's occasional exuberance by now, the way he would on occasion act as if he had not seen you in days when it had been at most twelve hours, twelve hours that he had been gone, not the other way around. So it doesn't surprise you that he is barreling into the kitchen in the gloom of early morning, letting in with him a frostiness that speaks to cold days to come.

Maybe you could convince him to cuddle in bed for a few more hours.

Daydreams of cuddling are quickly replaced by an acute sense of dread. You would think by this point you would be used to the peril that has come with letting Soap into the cottage or at least you would no longer be shocked by it. And maybe to a degree you are because you choose to let him stay over and over.

What you did not expect from this unspoken arrangement was for him to come home with a friend.

It's dark enough in the unlit kitchen that the other wolf appears black as it leaps in after Soap. The two tussle on the floor of the kitchen as if this is totally normal, as if your cottage is just an extension of the woods they have stumbled in from.

You press up against the wall, too far from the knife block to grab a weapon, praying to any god that will listen that Soap has some kind of loyalty to you, that he will protect you from this random other wolf the same way he protected you from that harmless delivery driver.

Although, the growls and yips of the scuffle sound far more playful than the growls directed at that driver, even in the dim morning light you can see that neither wolf is really snarling, neither has their hackles raised. It's more like puppies tussling but you are more than aware of how dangerous Soap is.

You don't have time to worry about what to do next because Soap manages to subdue the other wolf, his maw grasping firmly to the others neck demanding submission. The other wolf gives out the barest whisper of a whimper before Soap is leaping off and eagerly licking at the wolf's face.

You let out a strangled laugh, closer to hysterics than humor, but a laugh none the less that drags the attention of both wolves to you. In their fervor and excitement it seems they had not noticed you fully.

They can see you better than you can see them, you learned that in your research. Something about more rods and cones than humans, the rods picking up more light and cones more details, and then the eye shine. That creepy glowing look that makes them so much creepier when they appear like looming beasts as you struggle to see. Thirty minutes later and it would have been bright enough to make them out better.

Instead you grope at the wall behind you until your fingers snag on the light switch and you flick it on.

Soap scrambles away from the other wolf, nuzzling into your side with his head, his nose cold when it presses against the sliver of skin over the waistband of your sleep pants. You hiss at the touch, but do nothing to push him away as you take in the other wolf.

You can't know for sure from looking, but something makes you think its another male, his size so similar to Soap's if a bit leaner. Where Soap's coat is cut with grey, the other wolf is a deep mahogany, dark enough that its not a surprise he appeared black in the low light. The color is darker around his paws, along his snout and the tops of his ears. His eyes are a warm brown, lighter than his body, attentive as they track your movement.

"Hey, buddy," you say in that same voice you have used with Soap.

The wolf tilts its head to the side watching you in a way that has your heart racing, but has none of the predatory danger you expected.

John and Kyle hadn't seemed too surprised by Soap, maybe someone nearby was secretly keeping domesticated wolves? Maybe you were just naive to think they were domesticated, but as the other one approaches you — furry face impassive, tail low and swishing back and forth — you can't help but accept your fate.

The first step the other wolf takes is slow, as if he is the one approaching a wild animal, trying not to spook you. But you are more than spooked, even with the pressing of Soap against your side. Then with a burst of speed and power that is too fast for you to react to the wolf pounces.

You have just enough time to consider that maybe coming out here has done something to your sense of self-preservation, because despite the fear you had felt more than once since being here you continue to put yourself in risky situations over and over.

That thought is fleeting as the full force of the paws hit your chest, knocking you back solidly into the wall. Your breath seizes in your lungs, from the impact, from the shock, from the continued firm press of the paws against you.

One time you are going to think this is it, this is how I die and it was going to be the last time you think that, but not today.

The wolf's tongue is wet and warm and surprising.

You try not to squirm as he licks at your face, and your neck, then back to your face. You worry the wrong move will set him off, the same apprehension that plagued you when Soap first started staying with you.

When he finally loses interest and drops down to the floor you laugh nervously, watching the two batting their heads into each other. Its a move you remember seeing when you were looking at wolfdog rescues. One rescue had talked about how in the wild they would scent roll to bring information back to their packs or to hide their own scent.

In captivity though they would do it to their handlers, the people in the videos knelt down on the ground, the wolves pushing into them over and over. It was some kind of show of trust between them, something the wolves would do when they were comfortable with the handlers.

Was Soap comfortable with you?

Soap had not scented you like that, he had cuddled in close, keeping you warm on cold nights, keeping you company through long lonely days. But he hadn't rubbed up against you like this, not like you had seen in the videos. At the time you had watched them you hadn't even considered you would want that, or that you could be jealous of wolves just being wolves and scenting each other.

"So, how long is your guest staying with us?" you ask Soap, not expecting an answer.

They do stop scenting each other, Soap looking up at you the way you have grown used to since he appeared in that clearing. Maybe you wouldn't be dying this morning.

You fed the wolves eggs and scraps from Simon before taking refuge in your room. The other wolf had growled as he ate, the sound so similar to Soap with the delivery driver that it had you chugging down your coffee before scurrying off to your room. Now you were freshly showered and staring at the pile of laundry that you needed to stop ignoring.

Instead of tackling that particular issue you grab the jumper you had worn to Simon's the night before and decide you can't ignore your problems any longer.

The wolves are curled up on the worn rug in the living room, their chest rising and falling in time, eyes closed. In the morning light you could see more of the others coat, the warm mahogany undertones, the dark tips of his ears.

Does he have a sweet tooth like Soap?

Does he have a stupid name like Soap? Maybe something like loofa?

You smile to yourself as you build a fire in the empty hearth. The wolves don't seem to mind the noise, the most you get from them is the twitch of an ear. The fire roars to life, the warmth bleeding into your skin as you stay close to the hearth, your knees pressing against the cold floor, the discomfort not outweighing the warm glow.

You should text Simon, thank him again for dinner. You wonder if he will ask to see you again and if you should say yes. You aren't sure you want to date, it hadn't been top of mind when you made the move out here and before moving it had been months since your last disastrous date. What would you even have to offer in a relationship?

Even though you know you need to do laundry, the sofa is calling your name and when you finally drag yourself off the floor its to hunker down on the sofa.

"Maybe I should ask him out this time," you say to yourself, the sound of your voice rousing the two snoozing wolves.

Soap leaps to his feet, sniffing dramatically first in the air and then the floor around the two of them. His tail is wagging, ears swiveling as he noses along the floor until he comes to a stop at the sofa, blue eyes wide as they look up at you.

The other wolf lifts his head and blink slowly before dropping it back down on the floor.

"Smell something you like?" you ask Soap.

He doesn't answer, instead he launches himself up onto the couch. For the second time today you lose your breath beneath the paws of a wolf.

"Oi, fuck, Soap you're too heavy!"

You try to push the wolf off of you, squirming as he digs his nose into the collar of the jumper, over your chest, into your armpits which somehow feels the most invasive. He drops onto his side, wiggling his body and rubbing the side of his face against you.

This was not what you had imagined this morning when you had pictured being scent marked by your wolfy roommate. He's pinning you to the sofa and there is not much you can do but accept it.

When he does simmer down he is pressing in close to your side between you and the back of the sofa, on his back so that his feet are up in the air, head flopped over so that he is tucked beneath your chin. You decide to accept your fate.

You have just enough room to pull your phone out from beneath you and using your left hand you open to your text app and send Simon a simple thank you before you can talk yourself out of it.

The phone rings not a moment later.

"Hello?"

"You busy?" Simon asks, just a brusque over the phone as he was in person.

"No, just taking it easy this morning. You?"

"Workin', got an order t'fill."

Soap shifts, pressing his head closer to your phone. On the floor the other wolf's ears perk up.

"Oh, I hope I didn't keep you up too late."

Your right arm is falling asleep beneath Soap and the left is starting to cramp from the angle you have the phone. You tap in to speakerphone and drop it down on your chest.

"Don't worry yer pretty little 'ead about it, wanted you 'ere last night."

You don't have a chance to linger on the butterflies in your stomach, or the way that from any other man that line would have given you the ick, because Soap gives a happy yip right into your ear, renewing his wiggling. He knocks the phone off, its falls to the floor with a clatter. You quickly follow it, Soap finally pressing enough of his body weight into you that slipping off the sofa is the only escape.

"Get off," you cry, shoving at the wolf who follows you onto the floor, rolling around like the two of you are play fighting.

You can hear Simon's voice, calling your name and asking if you are alright. Finally you are able to push the wolf off, scrambling to grab the phone when he makes a lunge for it.

"Hey, hi, sorry, my—" you trail off, scooting away from Soap and holding him back with your foot against his chest, his tail wagging hard enough to shake his whole body. "Dog, was acting up."

Simon laughs, "you free t'night?"

"Tonight?"

You were free, you were always free. That was pathetic right? If you say yes will he think you're pathetic?

"I am."

"Wanna do dinner again? I can come over and meet your dog."

You frown. You don't have an issue having him over, you have more than enough food in your fridge, plenty of fresh meat that you were certain he was undercharging you for, and it wasn't like the cottage wasn't clean. You had another theory that even though he hasn't said anything, Simon knows about Soap. Why else was he giving you the scraps? If you were right then he knows that you are feeding the wolf.

Or, him and John were gossips and talking about you.

Did John know about the date?

Was it even a date? Was it a date if he came over to the cottage tonight?

And more importantly, why did you care if John knew?

"Okay, yeah, you can come over. Just tell me when to expect you."

Werewolves in the city live just like humans. They don't have a pack (except their family), they can have different ranks (Alpha, Beta, Gamma etc) but they don't cause any hierarchy whatsoever. Two Alphas can work together and they won't clash, because they evolved to fit in.

Werewolves in the countryside, however, still follow the pack culture, but not as strictly as in the past. Most packs are still family oriented, with maybe a village elder who is the wisest Alpha and their family being at the top of the leadership board.

This can cause the city vs countryside werewolves to view each other negatively. The city wolves think the countryside wolves are too stuck up on traditions, unintelligent even, and the countryside ones think the city wolves are not werewolf enough to follow their "true instincts". They see them essentially as wannabe humans.

Werewolf mates are no longer soulmates. In fact, most of the city werewolves think "mates" are just beings who are the most biologically compatible with them, and the pull makes it stronger.

The reason this changed is that werewolves were susceptible to humans in the past. If their mate got killed, it would've been easier for the werewolf population to die. So, to survive, many had to adapt and choose a partner rather than rely on fate.

Because werewolves have stronger senses, they notice hormones and scent much more than a human would. This makes attraction deeper than a humans attraction, but they can still hold back.

The wolves inside werewolves evolved as well. The majority of them are pretty smart and can think within the same intellectual frame as the man side can.

In fact, when facing a mate, they might go over the logistics together with the human side and choose whether their mate is truly compatible with them.

This sometimes causes the wolf side to clash with the man side. For example, when Ghosts traumatic event happened, the man side wanted to coop up and hide. But his wolf became aggressive and too stubborn, causing him to take revenge.

Multiple werewolves need to compromise with their wolf if they're not attuned to them. The intelligent werewolves manage to cooperate and use their wolf side like an extra brain, making decision making all the more powerful. But the ones who are insecure, face trauma, or simply don't possess the same intelligence between both parties, often clash and end up needing help from specialized therapists who deal with this.

Oftentimes, werewolves are taught how to negotiate between the man and the wolf side at school. Werewolves have their own education system where they need to learn how to fight off some instincts and how to create harmony between man and wolf. Science and art subjects are the same as humans, though, and those classes are mixed.

In this world, many mates are actually not considered fully compatible. They can be the perfect mate for bearing a pup, but that doesn't mean they're psychologically compatible. Most werewolves actually develop standards and unrealistic expectations about who their mate might be, causing them to feel disappointment when they find out it's not someone they expected.

This is why Ghost and Price as werewolves would likely end up rejecting their mate if they deemed them incompatible or too weak. Them as humans were already pragmatic. Them being werewolves only amplifies that, but now add extra unrealistic standards only some werewolves can match, and almost no humans.

Rejection is common amongst city wolves. But the countryside frowns on rejecting mates. They're more traditional, and rejecting a mate without any plausible reasons (such as abusive behaviors) can get you socially outcasted.

Silver is not a life or death threat in the modern day. Werewolves have evolved to not burn from it. If anything, silver is so common in the military it would make no sense for the Werewolf CoD men to join if it posed a problem.

Most often, silver causes a mild allergic reaction. And for those whose symptoms are more severe, there is usually medicine prepared.

Werewolves in the military use dogtags carved from wood. The strings are leather.

The military also has tons of werewolves working for them. The soldiers are segregated as they require different training from the humans. The physical strength difference is huge between the two species, and this causes them to sometimes look down on each other.

Most intelligence workers are actually Omegas. Since historically Omegas have been looked down for being on the weaker side, and majority female, lots of them developed hyper intelligence to fight off the hierarchy and patriarchy.

Laswell is a classic Omega who developed hyper intelligence.

However, modern wolves, same as humans, can be fucking stupid sometimes.

Some wolves don't bother becoming educated and rely on instincts to survive. They are ego driven and think the world is their oyster, which gets them in trouble.

The laws for werewolves and humans are different. Werewolves who commit crimes face punishment from both species, humans and other werewolves, while humans only need to be judged by humans. This is a system developed because werewolves would often not allow humans in court to defend themselves if they've been done injustice.

Alas, it is an old system, and it needs change.

Some Omegas are not intelligent. Some of them are meek and shy, and feel insecure. Usually they come from the countryside where traditional roles are still preserved and they are treated as weaklings. This social conditioning doesn't allow those Omegas to develop their intelligence properly.

Rank also doesn't matter when it comes to strength. In modern times, you can be a any rank and easily take down an Alpha if you train hard enough and are smarter.

For example, even though Keegan is a Beta, his wolf is smart enough to take down an Alpha who isn't military trained nor as intelligent as him.

Rank has nothing to do with intelligence. The brains of a wolf depend entirely on their ego and genetic component. So, some Gammas might be much smarter than the Alphas in the room.

This is all I can think of right now. I will keep updating this as my Werewolf AU continues building!

"A handful. Although, John has been here for years."

"Oh? Hasn't gone native though, has he?"

"Ha, he's a Brit through and through. But god, I think he's been here almost twenty years now."

You look up, curious. Soap seems to have picked up on it now, sitting close to your seat, close enough that he can rest his head in your lap.

“Not really my story, but he’s been a godsend. Offered me a place to stay when I was going through a tough patch. I live on the farm.”

“Oh, what’s that like? Does he have a lot of animals?”

“Sure does, they’re not really my thing. Grew up in London, was a proper city boy before I came out here.”

“Sure, sure, but what animals does he have? Do you get to see them?”

Kyle couldn’t avoid the animals even if he tried, much to his chagrin, but if tales of the animals were enough to cast away the melancholy then Kyle was happy to regale you with tales from the farm.

Your smile returns as he talks about one particularly pushy goat that John named Diablo. The beastie would try to fight anyone who stood still long enough, including Simon who had on more than one occasion threatened to butcher him. At the end of the day though, Diablo was protective of the other animals. John respects that.

Kyle doesn’t miss the way your fingers card through Soap’s fur as he talks. He doesn't miss the ease you have with the wolf. He knows John wouldn’t have left Soap here when he first came if John thought either of you were in any immediate danger, but Soap was still dangerous. Kyle couldn’t be sure how he had gotten the injury on his leg, but Kyle has been there before, lost to instincts while his other half, the other part of himself tries to heal, to mend flesh and bone that would have taken weeks or months for a human to heal.

A curse and a blessing.

Kyle does worry that Soap hasn’t seemed to shift back yet, but its hard to say if that because he’s stuck, still at the whims of instinct or if he’s content with the lapdog life he has found for himself. Kyle gets it, there was a time when he first came out here when he considered the merits of just letting go, letting nature take over. But Kyle had never been a quitter.

“Do you think — I mean, obviously I know he’s someone else’s — do you think you’ll take Soap with you?”

“Take Soap?” he asks.

“I know you said he’s not yours but he does belong somewhere doesn’t he?”

Ah, so this was why you were upset. He couldn’t say for sure how long Soap had been here, but Kyle knew from experience how alluring his attention was, how good the affection from that blue eyed wolf could feel.

“I suppose I could take him, but he would probably end up back here. He’s got a mind of his own. Not really your average wolf.”

Kyle wonders if you are anything like you aunt, on a very surface level you are. The kindness you have shown Soap was enough of a sign. A normal person would have run for the hills if they had stumbled upon a wolf. Your willful ignorance was as charming as it was concerning. What other kinds of danger would you run head first towards with no one around to help you, to guide you.

To protect you.

“So he likes being here?” you ask, smiling down at the wolf.

“I mean, if your baking is anything to go by this is better than what he was eating elsewhere,” Kyle says, taking a bite of the shortbread he had nicked from the plate you had set on the table. It’s buttery and sweet, and would have made your aunt proud.

“It’s good?” you ask with a smile. “I’ve only had Soap as a judge and he’s not very discerning when it comes to what he will and will not eat. As long as it’s not the kibble,” you finish with a laugh.

Kyle chokes down a laugh, when Soap was back to himself Kyle was not going to let him live it down that you had tried to feed him kibble like a proper dog. Seems even lost to his instincts he still had some taste. Certainly had taste in roommates.

“It’s proper shortbread. I’d come back in a heartbeat if you were offering up tea and shortbread. Actually, if you’re not busy this afternoon, I could show you how to make a fire in the fireplace and we could have a cuppa while we wait to see if everything is all set? Would hate to set it up and then find out in an hour or two that your place is full of smoke.”

“Could that happen?” you ask, eyes wide.

“It shouldn’t but I would hate for this to be the time I missed something.”

“Of course,” you nod along like that makes complete sense. “Oh, and what do I owe you? I tried to look it up online, but it was so hard to get a cost without requesting a quote.”

“Nothing for you, love. A friend of Soap’s is a friend of mine. A cuppa and another piece of this shortbread is payment enough.”

You bluster, mouth opening and closing as you struggle with a comeback, a retort to what is clearly too good of a deal.

“So you never want to leave the fire unattended, but the firescreen will do a lot of the work of making sure the fire stays where it's meant to be.”

You nod along, watching intently as Kyle stacks the kindling first and then the larger pieces. You could easily buy a starter, but Kyle feels better knowing you have a basic understanding of how to do it from scratch.

“You have a fire extinguisher?”

“Uh, let me check.”

You get up. Kyle can hear you rummaging around the space under the sink, a place Kyle knows your aunt used as a catch all.

“Get your hairy arse over here,” he whispers to Soap.

After begging for his own piece of shortbread Soap had curled up on the rug, watching Kyle and you build the fire.

He looks up at Kyle’s voice, lifting his head from the floor and blinking slowly.

“Now!”

Soap drags himself up, padding across the floor as petulantly as a wolf could, plopping down next to where Kyle is sitting.

Kyle wastes no time scruffing the wolf and pulling him in close.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Soap whines, the sound caught low in his throat, blue eyes boring into Kyle as he holds him.

"You left and you didn't come back. I was worried about you, and what? You were here? Playing house?"

Kyle can't keep the hurt from his voice. Now that he knows that Soap hadn't been off on a jaunt, visiting family or causing his normal kind of mischief Kyle felt guilty he hadn't looked for the werewolf more, hadn't pushed the issue, had been the last to learn that his packmate was shacking up with the first friendly face he had found.

It was typical of an injured wolf to go somewhere they felt safe, to instinctively search out comfort and maybe some part of Soap still found the grounds around this place to be a safe place, or maybe it was completely random that he had crossed paths with you.

It hurt to think that Soap hadn't searched him out, that Soap hadn't after all this time found Kyle. But the animal-like way Soap looked back at him, the easy submission to Kyle, it was enough evidence that Soap was still lost in there, not yet fully in control.

It was easy to understand why you would tolerate him. As wolves go, or dogs, he probably seemed like the smartest, bestest boy.

Kyle freed him, his fingers feeling stiff from the hold. It wasn't often that either of them exerted dominance over the other. It was more than just the physical grasp of the fur at the back of Soap's neck, it was something more primal between the two of them. Something that Kyle very rarely exercised, not when he owed so much to Soap.

"So how much of an issue is it if this thing is like ancient, ancient?"

You haven't noticed their new positions, face pinched as you read over the safety warning on what is truly a relic of days gone by.

"I might have one in the truck, I can check when I leave, if not John has some back at the farm."

You look up, clearly about to argue against that, Kyle gets the keen impression being helped in this way makes you uncomfortable, but then you spot Soap at his side, Kyle's fingers scratching at the soft spots behind his ears.

"Oh my god, are you being such a good boy and helping?"

Kyle doesn't miss the way Soap's tail wags harder as you walk closer, his whole body shaking as you drop down to your knees, depositing the fire extinguisher and pulling the wolf in for a hug.

Kyle tries to focus on the task at hand, building the fire, showing you what to do, how to do it on your own. He even tries to focus on the hurt from earlier, but all he can feel is that niggling of jealousy creeping up his spine as you press in close to Soap.

And when you smile over the wolf at him, nodding along at his explanation, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing under the surface? Kyle can't decide who it is he is more jealous of. You and the fact that Soap found safety and care from you. Or Soap, who has been clearly spoiled by your attention.

By the time you are showing Kyle out the sun is already starting its slow descent in the western sky. You're wrapped in a shawl as you stand in the open front door, forcing a plate of shortbread into his hands.

"Please, take this, share it with John. The two of you have been more than helpful."

You don't really give him a choice but to accept the offered plate. He holds it awkwardly in one hand, the bag of tools in the other.

Soap is there as well, sitting by your feet and looking up at him with those blue eyes. Unnaturally blue. The kind of blue that doesn't exist in nature. The kind of eyes that come from being born unnatural.

By the time Kyle is back in his truck, he's given you his number, agreed to a proper meal to pay him next time you need him, and promised to return with a proper fire extinguisher. Based on the weather forecast it won't be long before you need to call him to check the roof, if he remembers correctly that had been on his laundry list of projects for your aunt.

John's arrival had brought with it another bone chilling gust. It was getting harder to convince yourself that living in the Highlands was for you, it felt like you would never be warm again and the winter hadn't even properly set in yet.

Would it be pushing your luck to ask John? He might know someone who could help, someone who could take a look at the chimney. A handyman? At the same time, John struck you as the type of man who could do it all, a real jack of all trades. You wouldn't know unless you asked.

"Hey Mal, what's John drink?"

The old man stopped wiping the glass in his hand, brows raised in shock.

"Farmer John?"

"Got more John's around here?"

"Aye, havnae seen the lad in a while, always been a bit of a wild one. But John," Mal looks over his shoulder to where John has settled in, his jacket gone but the grey wool beanie still pulled down on his head. "Whiskey, neat, nae the cheap stuff. Got yer eyes on 'im?"

You could have laughed, John was attractive in that rugged, distinguished way. Older, experienced, mature. You weren't sure that he would even be interested in you if that was the point of this jester.

"Nothing like that, just thanking him for helping me out."

"Is that what ye're callin' it nowadays?" Mal asks with a laugh, reaching behind him for a bottle of amber liquor. "Ah'll 'elp ye out, take this to 'im."

Mal pours a generous glass of whiskey, placing it on the bar in front of you. You take the glass, leaving your laptop and jacket behind, you'll be back and you might not know everyone had the bar by name but you do know them by sight. Its easy to trust them to not rob you blind while you try and not make a fool of yourself while you ask John for more help.

Its hard not to feel like every eye is on you as you make your way to where John sits. You know they aren't, its mostly regulars who are here to escape their own misery with no energy for you and yours.

John does notice you. He was just starting to rise from his seat when he sees you, his lip quirks, noticing the glass in your hand before he settles back down into the leather booth.

"Alright?"

"Hiya, John. Got this for you, a thanks for helping out with Soap."

"Ta." He takes the glass, taking a sip before placing it down on the table. "Sit for a mo'?"

You slide into the far side of the booth, the spot that you have seen the butcher in, his face always a shadow from this angle. John always sat on the side of the booth that gave him a view of the whole pub.

"Got a question for me?" he asks before you have a chance to gather your thoughts.

"Er, yeah, I was wondering if you knew someone who could look at my chimney."

He takes another sip of the whiskey.

"I know someone who might be able to 'elp. Ya still 'ave that wolf hangin' about?"

Your eyes widen, darting around the pub worrying that someone might have overheard the question. Its your fear that someone less understanding will realize the dog you mentioned wasn't a dog at all. You still worried about the delivery driver reporting you.

"Don't worry, I think everyone 'ere has seen a wolf or two in their time living 'ere."

You frown, "the internet says that there aren't wolves in Scotland."

"Aye, you believe everything you read on the internet?"

Asshole.

"So are you going to tell me who can help with the chimney or not?"

"Got y'r phone? I'll give ya 'is number."

You didn't expect John's friend to text you back immediately that night. The man, Kyle, agreed to stop by the next day even though you had insisted it wasn't that urgent. That had been a lie, even with Soap cuddled into your side you had woke with cold toes and a cold nose. By the time Kyle was knocking on your door you were bundled up in an oversized jumper with a shawl thrown over your shoulders.

Soap had slipped out the back earlier that morning, a blessing because you weren't sure how he would have reacted to you having a guest.

You hadn't known what to expect from Kyle. Another older man like John? What you really hadn't expected was to open the door to one of the most striking men you had ever seen. He was younger than John, a ball cap pulled down over short cropped hair, eyes a rich brown. He's in a worn pair of jeans and a bomber, a tool box set on the ground next to him.

"Kyle?" you asked, hoping desperately that he was the man who had agreed to help with your chimney.

"Aye."

You gave him your name before ushering him into the cottage.

"It's pure baltic in here, love," he said, setting down the toolbox next to the chimney.

"Yeah, there were some space heaters when I moved in, but they aren't really that great."

Kyle looked to the corner of the room where the ancient space heater sat, cold and unplugged.

"Probably for the best, I actually did some work for your aunt, told her last year she needed new heaters."

"You knew my aunt?"

"Yeah, did odd jobs for her. She was a real firecracker, right until the end. I'm sorry for your loss."

You look away, gaze set on the empty fireplace.

"You probably knew her better than me, it had been years since I saw her last. I was a kid then and my dad wasn't really that close with her."

"Families can be like that," he says it like someone who knows what that's like. "Let's take a look at the chimney."

You watch Kyle as he works, stripping out of his jacket after working up a sweat from traveling in and out of the cottage. You follow him, insisting on spotting him when he climbs up the ladder he had brought with him, heart pounding in your chest as he climbs over the slopes of the roof. He explains what he is doing at each step, you nod along as if the explanations make sense. You had never been the most handy with this kind of stuff, in your apartment you had relied on your landlord to fix the worst of your problems.

It was nice, though, to feel like you are helping, even if the most you are doing is passing him tools from his box or hovering around the bottom of the ladder.

By the end of it you are both covered in soot, a light layer of it settled around the hearth. You offer to make Kyle a bite for lunch, reluctant to lose his company.

"After we eat I can show you how to make a proper fire."

You are stacking the sandwiches when you hear the familiar sound of scratching at the back door. Both of you turn to the door, Kyle with a look of confusion, you with a look of surprise.

"You expecting someone?" Kyle asks, gaze glued to the back door.

"Erm, not exactly. Are you scared of dogs? Or allergic?"

"Dogs?"

"Yeah, I have a dog, sorta, he's big, but he's really a sweetheart."

Soap's whinging now, as if he can sense you are doing something fun without him. You hadn't fed him this morning, demanding to leave with the rising sun. Sometimes it feels like he has a sixth sense for when you are making yourself food.

"Do you mind?" you ask, pointing at the door.

Kyle shakes his head.

You cross the kitchen in only a few steps. Nervous, but hopeful that this will be as successful as John's visit and nothing like the delivery driver.

"Kyle, meet Soap."

You open the door, stepping out of the way so that Soap can bound into the kitchen as he often does with an exuberance that reminds you of a puppy.

"Oh shit!"

You worry that you've made a mistake, that the wolfy nature of your dog is too much for him. But then Kyle drops down to his knees, arms open wide as Soap bounds past you barrelling into Kyle, tail wagging madly as he licks at the man's face.

You watch in shock what looks like a heartfelt reunion, Kyle laughing as Soap pushes at him until Kyle is toppled over. This is somehow better and worse than Soap's reaction to John, You consider for the first time since Soap appeared that he might actually truly belong to someone, that someone out there had been missing him and that they would take him away from you.

The loneliness looms on the horizon, a threat that feels more and more likely as Kyle's fingers dig into Soap's thick fur.

After what feels like forever, but was probably only moments dragged out by your inner turmoil, Kyle pushes Soap away enough to sit up.

"Old friends?" you ask, pulling at a loose string on the hem of the shawl.

"You could say that, is this where he has been hiding out?"

"Guess so. Is he yours?"

Kyle laughs, its the same as before but now it feels like there is this chasm between the two of you. He's going to take Soap, he's going to take your first friend that you have made since coming here.

"I wouldn't say that. Soap goes where he wants, stays where he wants."

"He was hurt when he found me, cut on his leg. Do you know what happened?"

Kyle doesn't strike you as the type to let his injured dog wander off, but then you aren't really sure you understand anything that is happening right now.

"No," he murmurs, hand running down Soap's sides until his fingers stop over the spot with the healed wound. There's a scar there now, a patch where the fur hasn't quite started to grow back. "Don't know how to stay out of trouble do you?" he asks, pulling the wolf into a hug. "You helped him?"

"The best I could, cleaned the wound and fed him. Wasn't really sure what to do. I've never had a dog before."

"Not much of a dog, eh?"

"Yeah," you murmur, standing off to the side, the chasm between you, the wolf and the man who knows him continuing to grow.

"He's been good for you? Nothing weird, nothing you need help with?"

Soap twists around so that he can see you, tail wagging against the ground, tongue flopping from the side of his mouth, blue eyes looking at you with what can only be described as glee.

Weird? Good for you?

How did you tell this man you just met that you had never been more scared in your life the first time you met the wolf, that you thought for sure you were going to die alone in the woods and that only yesterday you had had another taste of that fear.

And how did you tell him about how Soap told you his name, the way he responded to you like he actually understood what you were saying. How did you explain that far too human gaze?

"He's been good?" you say.

"Not very confident in that response, love?"

You shrug, looking down at your feet because if you look at the man and the wolf you can't ignore how at ease they both look. Soap probably wouldn't growl at him, would probably listen when Kyle told him no. Soap would have never gotten hurt with Kyle.

"He's a menace, you can say it."

You look up, schooling your features but its not enough to hide everything you are feeling because Kyle's gaze softens.

"He's not bad," you try to defend him.

"He is. He's a mess, a menace and stinky. And that's at the best of times."

You force a smile.

"Did you, did you want a tea?"

"I wouldn't say no."

You busy yourself with the tea, trying to fight down the feeling of despair and impending loss. Why would Soap stay with you when there was someone here who knew him, who clearly loved him based on the way Kyle leaned into the wolf's space fearlessly.

God, you were so stupid to have not considered what would happen when Soap was better, consider that one day he might not return, that maybe there was someone out there missing him?

You would have to be fine, this would be fine. You hadn't planned for Soap, for companionship in any form. You could handle this, handle being alone again. You could bundle up on the sofa with a roaring fire and that would be fine. Could even curl up and sleep there, falling asleep to the sound of a dying fire.

You would have to be fine.

"Take a seat, Kyle. Eat your sandwich, tea will be done in a 'mo."

In addition to the childlocks you had ordered a bunch of gardening supplies to hopefully help you get the back yard under control. There wasn't much you could do this year in terms of the plants, fall was fully upon you if the chill in the air was anything to go by. You were a bit worried about the safety of the couple of ancient looking electric heaters you had found around the cottage tucked into corners but had decided that was a problem for another day.

You planned instead to take advantage of the little bit of sun poking out from behind the clouds.

Soap must have had the same idea because the wolf had been gone overnight, returning in the morning to scratch at the back door that you could no longer keep open because of the draft. Other than a few twigs and leaves stuck to his fur he seemed fine. He had followed you out to the little garden after breakfast, lazying about on a sunny patch of grass. Content to just eye you occasionally as if you would disappear.

You busy yourself with clearing out the most egregious of the weeds that have taken over the garden, trying to identify any of the plants that may come back in the spring. It wasn't easy work and before long you were shedding your over shirt, a fine layer of sweat clinging to your skin.

"You wanna help?" you asked Soap, leaning heavily on a rake.

He looked up at you, mouth opening in a wide yawn before he flopped over on his side, rolling until his stomach was on display. You rolled your eyes. That wasn't going to work on you this time. Sure, a big bad wolf rolling over and asking for belly rubs had worked over and over, but you were dirty, sweaty and if you stopped now you knew there was a very high chance you wouldn’t get all the cleaning done.

"Later, Mama's got work to do."

Soap let out an impatient huff, flopping back over and stretching out in the patch of sun. You wondered how often was too often to wash a dog. You knew that when he left he was getting up to shenanigans in the woods, probably hunting, at minimum rolling around interesting scents. But it was easier to ignore that when you weren't seeing him do it. There was no way you wouldn't be thinking about how dirty he is tonight when he climbed into bed.

It was your form of an apology for the incident. You let him sleep with you, no more whinging at your door, sad puppy dog eyes waiting for you in the morning and Soap radiated heat like a furnace, so it was a win even if you question how hygienic it was to sleep with a wild animal.

You didn't even touch on the fact that it was dangerous. John had pretty much alluded to that during his visit. But if you pushed that line of thinking out of your head you were much happier with this new version of your life.

After his initial displeasure, Soap seemed happy enough to laze about while you worked. There was far more to do than you had expected once you started pulling away the weeds, debris and dead things. But you needed an idea of what you were working with, you could spend the cold winter nights planning for the spring.

You weren't sure when you had decided you would be staying, you had already reached out to the estate solicitor to see what your options were. The will from your aunt was not particularly straightforward or conventional, and you had gotten the impression the solicitor wanted to be done with it. The whole thing was very confusing, but why shouldn't you get the cottage if you were willing to live here?

That probably wasn't enough to actually stake your claim on it, but it was worth a try.

You looked over at Soap. What would someone else in the family have done if they had been approached by the wolf? You could not imagine your own father or mother helping him, nor any of your aunts and uncles. Certainly not your cousins, the ones your age who had already started getting married and having a brood of children of their own.

The family get-togethers had become more and more of a reminder in recent years that it didn't matter how much you had accomplished at work or how much of a nest egg you had in savings because you hadn't found a partner, hadn't started a family. You had lived in a city with almost 10 million other people and had never felt more alone.

You didn't feel that way here. It might have been the constant presence of Soap, the wolf becoming a fixture in your day to day. Or it might have been the fresh air, the open skies, the lack of urgency.

It was refreshing.

There were of course people. People like Mal at the pub, the other regulars like John, the butcher, the woman at the grocer. There were families, and friends, and people who gave you warm smiles when they saw you now even if many of them didn't approach.

Other than John, no one had come to visit you, the only other people who ever visited the cottage were delivery people, like the one you were currently waiting for.

And when you finally heard the sound of a car driving down the gravel road towards the cottage you were more than ready for a break.

From his spot on the ground Soap's head popped up, ears raised, twitching as he listened.

You didn't have a reason to worry about his reaction, you had received other deliveries before, John had come into the cottage, but you saw the shift in Soap's demeanor as he climbed to his feet. His snout was scrunched up, tail stiff, his hackles raised. None of that puppy-like energy that you had gotten used to.

"Hey buddy, you good?"

His ear twitched when you spoke but he didn't turn towards you, head locked on the side of the cottage, the overgrown walkway would take him directly to the front drive where the unsuspecting delivery person would be.

"Don't-" you started, the words dying in your throat when Soap took off at a pace you had not seen from him. "Oh fuck!"

You take off after him, feet skidding over the debris on the side of the cottage, branches grabbing at your skin and pulling on your clothes. The run isn't long enough for you to consider what might meet you at the other end of the cottage. Your one consuming thought, is that there will be a bloodbath, that Soap had finally snapped and the delivery person was going to be his first victim.

"Soap!" his name was on your tongue before you could think. A man in a neon vest was staring wide eyed at the wolf, his body pressed up on the hood of his delivery truck.

You don't know what to do. Soap is still creeping forward, each step closer to the scared delivery man. You've gotten other deliveries and he had never reacted like this, the last one had come to the front door and Soap had barely lifted his head from the spot where he was snoozing on the ground.

You had to distract Soap, had do something, if he attacks this man it will be your fault.

"Soap!" you try again to no avail.

Desperate to stop his progression you dart forward, grabbing at the thick scruff of fur on the back of his neck, your fingers not nearly strong enough to properly scruff him, but its enough to distract him.

The man scrambles as soon as the wolf's gaze is off of him, the box he was delivering discarded on the side of the gravel drive as he clambers into the driver’s side door.

Soap turns towards you, face still twisted into a snarl, hackles raised. He's close enough that it wouldn't take much for him to lash out, for those dripping canines to crunch down on skin and bone like you were nothing.

"D'ye want me tae call someone!" the man yells from the truck, window rolled down just enough for his voice to reach you.

You stare down at Soap, not daring to break eye contact, almost mesmerized by the uncanny shade of blue.

"No, go! Just go!" you cry out to him, voice hoarse, heart thundering in your chest.

When the truck engine starts up Soap turns away but doesn't make another move towards the truck.

You take a few steps back, the space doing nothing for your nerves or the tears that sting in the corners of your eyes.

For a moment, time stands still. Soap looks up at you, all of that raw power and potential for violence on full display. Then he blinks. And blinks again. And like the sun peaking through the clouds on a gray day the snarl melts away, his muscles loosen and the hair along his back lays flat and his tail gives a half-hearted wag.

"Soap?" you repeat his name again because you aren't sure what to say. Sometimes its like he understands you perfectly, his reactions not even just that of a domesticated animal, but so so human.

He blinks up at you, tongue lolling out of his mouth the way he does, tail full on wagging now. It's like nothing had ever happened. He trots over and smells the box, circling it a few times before disappearing into the treeline.

You're shaken. You fingers can barely get a hold on the box as you drag it to the back yard, not bothering to unpack it. You simply sit down in the dirt, back against the outside of the cottage and watch the clouds pass overhead.

It feels like it takes hours before your heart rate returns to normal. By then you are curled up in bed, tucked away under dusty wool blankets you had found packed away in a closet. Its colder now, far colder than it had been while you were working in the garden earlier.

When you hear the sound of Soap's nails clacking on the floor you don't move. You left the door cracked, too afraid to risk his ire, too afraid to have to face him again when he came calling.

His weight is heavy when he jumps into the bed, nuzzling and rooting around until he's burrowed under the blankets with you. A chill still clings to his fur as he presses his body against yours. He must sense your discomfort, or feel the way your muscles are tense, body held as still as possible because he whines.

It is a pitiful sound, one that rumbled in his chest as he tried to push closer despite there already being no space between the two of you. As the chill left his coat, so too does it leave your body. Your muscles loosen despite yourself, the warmth that poured from Soap's body doing the work of both protecting you from the chill of the night as well as the fear that had lingered all afternoon. Your fingers find their way into his fur, holding him close, unable to understand the dichotomy of Soap from this afternoon with the Soap that has cuddled up next to you.

For the moment you focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the soft chuffs as he settled down, the warmth. Maybe Soap was too much for you to handle, maybe you should reach out to John again for help. He worked on a farm, he seemed knowledgeable enough, perhaps he had an answer to your problem. You just weren't sure what the problem was because as you laid in bed you couldn't imagine giving this up.

It was stupid.

And dangerous.

And it was a problem for tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. You would enjoy this first, the warmth and the comfort, and then you would deal with the danger.

Simon knew something, mentioned you after you came into the shop. But the man was a steel trap when it came to gossip and he had given nothing away.

You were pretty enough, if pencil pushers visiting from the city was your thing. John liked his women with meat on their bones, and dirt beneath their fingers. The kind of women who weren’t afraid to get dirty and could keep up with the lads. He had yet to see the quality of your hands.

You were nervous as you approached, fingers twisting around the tie from the hood of your jacket, some old thing that was well loved and borrowed.

You stopped just next to his spot at the bar, your intentions to talk clear, but the courage to say something seemed to escape you.

“John?”

He nodded.

“Hiya, Mal said I could talk to you about a dog?”

“A dog? Do I look like a vet?”

“N-no,” you stumble over your words, “I just, sorry, I wouldn’t have even bothered but Mal said,” you stop, looking over your shoulder at the old man behind the bar who is giving you a thumbs up.

John rolls his eyes, meddling old man was almost as bad as Mac.

“This was a mistake, I’m sorry, I’ll just-“ you turn to leave, John’s attention falling to the worn jacket, to the patch haphazardly sewn to the sleeve. The patch he recognizes.

“Stop,” he says the word without much thought, not even sure what he’s hoping to accomplish. “Where did you get the jacket?”

You looked down, fingers twisted around the frayed tied.

“Oh, um, I found it. It was my aunt’s.”

Aunt’s?

“I’m staying at her place, she, uh, passed away a few months ago. Maybe you knew her? It’s the little grey cottage.”

John knew it, had known it, well, years ago. It almost felt like a lifetime ago.

“I’m familiar.”

You stood, anxiety pouring off you, waiting.

Finally you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning at him.

“So can you help me or not.”

“Didn’t tell me what’s wrong with your dog, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, before launching into a story about your poorly trained dog and something about child locks. It didn’t matter to John, he knew the moment he saw that patch he would help you.

——

The cottage is both how he remembers it and not. John stands outside, frozen on the steps not prepared at all to enter the cottage he had visited in his youth. A time long forgotten, a bright moment in a life of monotony.

John wasn’t a coward, he walked up to the door and knocked, not much different than he had done so many times before, eagerly waiting for his mentor to let him. John had always been welcomed with a broad smile, the Scot pulling him into a bear like hug.

Tonight though, it was you pulling the door open, smiling at him with far more confidence than you had had at the pub.

His name was on your lips before you attention was drawn away, the yipping of whatever unruly beastie you had brought with you when you moved in.

Only, when you flung the door open the rest of the way it was no dog sat next to you, no willful overly zealous breed as he had assumed, the kind that needed a stern owner and a heavy hand.

No, it was no dog.

"You out of your bloody mind? That's no dog."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. There were far more incriminating thing he could have said about the sneaky bastard who was taking advantage of some city bird who didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

And when that mongrel dragged his gaze away from you, blue eyes going wide when he spots John he scurries to cower behind you like the coward he is.

“This is your dog?” he asks, because why on earth were you trying to pass a wolf, a werewolf for that matter, off as a dog.

“Yeah, this is Soap. He’s maybe not like your average dog, but he hurt his paw and he’s got a gnarly scar on his back leg, and I just, I thought someone else should take a look at him.”

"Scar on his back leg?" John asks, eyeing Soap because of course this mangy mutt figured out a way to get you to say his name without revealing what he really was.

"Yeah, had it when I found him," you reached down behind you, fingers digging into the fur behind his ears.

John frowned. It had been weeks since any of them had heard from Johnny, not an uncommon occurrence, it certainly hadn't been long enough for them to start worrying about him. And had they been worrying it would have been for nothing.

"So, would you like to come in? He's being a bit shy, but he's usually pretty chill."

You looked down, brows furrowed as you studied him. John could only imagine what he had been like since he showed up here.

"Aye, let's see if we can sort this out."

John was settled down on your couch, he supposed it was yours now, but in a past life it had been someone else's and he had sat on it many times before. He tried to keep the memories from creeping in, but it was hard to ignore when you can back to him with a steaming cuppa in a delicate piece of china he had held before.

He accepted it with a forced smile, taking a sip and sighing.

"PG Tips?"

"Yeah, I noticed the shop in town doesn't carry it. I've been saving them for special occasions. I figured a fellow Brit would appreciate it."

John wanted to argue that this was not a special occasion, he was on the verge of lying to you for however long he was here about himself, about the dog sat at your feet, about type of town you had unwittingly found yourself in.

"Were you close with your aunt?"

You bit your lip as you gave it thought, "I wouldn't say that. My dad and her weren't close, I only remember her in snippets, holidays with my family back when the lot of us would get together for Boxing Day, all the cousins piled in to one house, the parents drinking mulled wine late into the night. She was there a few times but then she stopped coming. My dad never really talked about her after that, nothing nice at least."

John had heard versions of this, about the family, about the aunt. The woman that had MacMillan in a tizzy. The woman he dragged out here to the Highlands and then left behind when death came calling.

John didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to relive those memories.

"How did you end up here?"

"So you know she died, yeah?"

"Aye."

"The family didn't know what to do with the place, a bunch of fancy estate stuff blocking them from selling it off, so I offered to come out here. Take care of the place. I had never been to the Highlands, barely ever came up to Scotland, but it felt like the right thing to do."

"And the wolf?"

"Found him when I was trying to do a little memorial picnic not too far from here."

"Didn't anyone tell ye not to wander the woods alone?"

"No, they told me not to stay out after dark. And it was midday when this guy came lumbering out of the woods, bleeding and maybe a bit hungry? Do you think it's possible he's someone's pet? Do people keep wolfdogs up here?"

"Why do you think he's a pet?"

You looked down with misplaced fondness for what you thought was just an animal. Johnny rolled over onto his back, paws flopped forward, stomach on displace. You reached down, fearlessly rubbing your fingers through his thick fur.

"Doesn't really act like a wild animal does he?"

"Why don't you make us another cuppa, not the good stuff, and I'll give him a once over. It's just the front paw and the back leg?"

You nodded, pointing out the spots before giving Johnny another belly rub. Once John was alone with the wolf, Johnny was wiggling back onto his stomach and watching you leave with a clear look of apprehension.

"Come 'ere you numpty."

Johnny turned to John, ears laid flat against his head, reluctantly crossing the living room, clearly favoring one of his front paws, but not enough to worry John. Werewolves had remarkable healing, that shouldn't take that long to heal without intervention. John was more worried about the injury that had gotten the wolf in this mess.

Johnny stopped just out of reach, whining deep in his throat.

"Show me."

John kept his voice low as he directed the wolf, you clearly had your theories about the beast you had let enter your home, but he wasn't going to be the one to add to them.

The wound on Johnny's back leg was deep, healing well, and not something he should have gotten while out for a run of the mill jaunt in his wolf form. John had long ago solved Johnny's full moon issue, but there were still times that the werewolf wasn't in full control on his shifting, times where instincts were stronger than magic. Whatever had happened to him had him hiding out in a form that felt safe, in a place that felt safe.

You were likely in the wrong place at the wrong time and whatever had drawn Johnny to you had kept him here. He would shift back when he was ready. It wasn't the first time John had dealt with a werewolf or a shifter who got stuck after an injury, instincts driving them to protect themselves. It was likely that Johnny was barely aware of what he was even doing when he found you.

However, based on healed the wound was, he should be getting close to full control over himself.

When you returned you had a new steaming cup of tea, the bouquet not as delicate and well crafted as PG Tips, but it was warm against John's fingers.

"Why don't you have the fire going?" he asked once you were settled back down in the oversized armchair.

You looked wistfully at the empty hearth, "I've never lived in a house with a fireplace, I wouldn't know how to do it. Or if its safe? I don't think my aunt was really getting around too much in her final years here."

John fights down the discomfort he feels at knowing that was the case and that she was alone. He let his own hurt keep him away for years. Maybe this was penance, sitting across from a woman who looks nothing like her aunt, but is somehow wandering around the village in the woman's jacket, serving tea in her cups, and has her affinity for attracting trouble.

"You should be more careful bringing stray animals into your home."

You shrug, pulling your sweater in around you tighter, as if that will be enough to keep you warm once the winter has settled in.

"Well he's here now, but I pinky promise not to let any others," you teased, winking at him. "Whats the diagnosis, doc? Is he going to make it?" you asked the question while digging your toes into Johnny's thick fur.

"He's gonna be fine, limp should be gone in no time, the cut is healing up nicely. What have you been feeding him."

"I tried kibble," your exasperation has John laughing, because of course you tried to feed a werewolf dog food. "Stop it, obviously that didn't work, he's more likely to eat biscuits and shortbread but he'll eat steaks, sometimes I'll give him stew. I got a bunch of meat from the butcher. Do you know him?"

"The butcher?"

"Yeah, big guy, silent type? Wouldn't hurt him to smile or something to be a little less morose. But I guess I can't complain, he's been giving me a really good deal on the meat."

"Has he?"

"Yeah, oh and," you sit up a bit, looking at him across the living room as if this is completely normal, "what do I owe you?"

"Owe me?"

"Yeah," you wave a hand down at the wolf, "it means a lot just knowing he's not going to suffer or anything. I was worried I was going to have to figure out taking him to a vet."

"Don't worry about it, just doing the neighborly thing," he says while standing up from the love chair, mug deposited on a lace doily because you haven't made many changes since being here.

"We aren't even neighbors."

You followed him to the door, ignoring the wolf who was whining by your side.

"Got a feeling I'll be seeing more of ye around. Don't let him boss ye around and if he leaves don't take it personal, yeah? He might not act like it but he's a wild animal."

"So you're not going to tell me that I need to kick him out?"

"If I thought you could I would, looks like you're stuck with him for now."

You thanked him again, and waved him off, disappearing back into the cottage, probably to cuddle more with that idiot of a werewolf. John could refer you to someone to help with the chimney, maybe with some of other things around the cottage, but first John needed to see a butcher about a dog.