Post by devilinthedetails on Feb 13, 2022 0:32:04 GMT 10
Title: A Good Home
Summary: Wyldon and Owen discuss finding a good home for the runt of Wyldon's latest elkhound litter.
Rating: PG-13 for references to Jump's death.
Warnings: References to death and mourning.
Author's Note: Something of a prequel to earlier single sentence stories I've written about Kel getting a new puppy after Jump's death. Not that I want to spoiler too much...
A Good Home
The door to the room of the kennels where Wyldon’s newest litter of elkhound pups scampered and played swung open as Owen entered. Owen and Margarry had rode in from Jesslaw to attend the birth of the elkhound litter. Of coure they had. Both of them were dog and horse people. Few facts brought him more satisfaction.
Pepper, proud patriarch of the cavorting puppies, demonstrated from where they had inherited their overblown enthusiasm by leaping onto Owen. Licking eagerly at Owen’s face. Nipping lightly at his ears.
“Well, someone’s happy to see me.” Owen grinned and scratched behind Pepper’s ear. A hard-to-itch spot where dogs always enjoyed being petted.
“He wouldn’t jump all over you if you told him ‘no’ firmy,” Wyldon grunted as he did whenever Pepper tackled Owen by way of greeting. Like all of Wyldon’s dogs, Pepper had been well-trained to behave so Wyldon was inclined to blame any lapses in discipline on Owen’s utter lack of decorum and sense of propriety.
“I don’t mind him jumping on me, sir.” Owen’s grin only grew as he patted Pepper on the head. In response, Pepper’s tail wagged with enough force to power a windmill.
“Hellion,” snorted Wyldon.
Owen ignored this commentary, and, disentangling himself from Pepper, crossed over to the corner where the smallest puppy, the runt of the litter, lay curled in on herself. Her body looked so frail and vulnerable that many would have expected her to die in the next couple of days, but Wyldon suspected her spirit and desire for life was strong. She would survive, Wyldon believed in his bones, and he had a good home for her in mind.
“Jump died.” Owen settled the runt of the litter on his lap and began gently stroking her belly.
“I know.” Wyldon remembered the misshapen, scrappy stray lounging beside him as he watched the pages train. Recalled how the determined little dog had followed the entire company of pages on their yearly camping trip, sleeping tucked against Wyldon for warmth. Had not forgotten hand-feeding the scamp strips of crisp bacon at breakfast. One of the great tragedies of life, he thought, was that dogs didn’t live as long as their people. Not that he was Jump’s person. Jump’s person had been Kel. Wyldon had seen that clearly when he witnessed how devoted he was to her after her maid had been kidnapped. But just because he hadn’t been Jump’s person didn’t mean he couldn’t mourn in his own way the loss of that scrappy bundle of fur and teeth. “I was sorry to hear it.”
“It might be good for Kel to have another dog to care for and to keep her company, my lord,” commented Owen. Not being subtle but likely imagining that he was. The imagination did have a tendency toward delusion and self-flattery, after all.
“Perhaps,” Wyldon agreed neutrally. Face and tone impassive.
“It can be hard to find a good home for the runt of the litter, can’t it?” Owen was plainly trying to approach from another angle.
“Sometimes.” Wyldon shrugged. Almost indifferently. “This runt of the litter is earmarked for one knight in particular.”
“Oh.” Confusion and disappointment showed in equal measure in the gray clouds of Owen’s eyes. “Most knights don’t want the runt of the litter.”
“Most don’t.” Wyldon nodded gravely, concealing his inner amusement. “This knight has always had peculiar tastes, however, and takes the vows to protect the small very seriously indeed.”
Hope flickered like a candle across Owen’s face, and Wyldon allowed his granite face to crack into a slight smile as he finished in a smugly reflective fashion, “Yes, I think Lady Knight Keladry will be well-matched with our runt of the litter here.”
“You knew what I was asking from the beginning, didn’t you?” Owen burst out. Accusation rising in his tone, he added, “And you kept me floundering awkwardly on!”
“Of course I knew what you were asking from the beginning. You have all the subtlety of an ax to the neck.” Wyldon chuckled at the indignation coloring Owen’s face. He clapped the young man on the shoulder to make up for the fun he’d had at his son-in-law’s expense. “Your concern for your friend’s welfare does do you credit, though.”
Whatever else might be said about him, Owen of Jesslaw was loyal as a dog to his chosen pack, and Wyldon couldn’t conceive of a much higher compliment than that. Not that he planned to tell Owen that. He didn’t want the young knight getting a swelled head. Praise was meant to be sparing and almost grudgingly given. It wasn’t meant to be scattered like pearls among pigs.
Summary: Wyldon and Owen discuss finding a good home for the runt of Wyldon's latest elkhound litter.
Rating: PG-13 for references to Jump's death.
Warnings: References to death and mourning.
Author's Note: Something of a prequel to earlier single sentence stories I've written about Kel getting a new puppy after Jump's death. Not that I want to spoiler too much...
A Good Home
The door to the room of the kennels where Wyldon’s newest litter of elkhound pups scampered and played swung open as Owen entered. Owen and Margarry had rode in from Jesslaw to attend the birth of the elkhound litter. Of coure they had. Both of them were dog and horse people. Few facts brought him more satisfaction.
Pepper, proud patriarch of the cavorting puppies, demonstrated from where they had inherited their overblown enthusiasm by leaping onto Owen. Licking eagerly at Owen’s face. Nipping lightly at his ears.
“Well, someone’s happy to see me.” Owen grinned and scratched behind Pepper’s ear. A hard-to-itch spot where dogs always enjoyed being petted.
“He wouldn’t jump all over you if you told him ‘no’ firmy,” Wyldon grunted as he did whenever Pepper tackled Owen by way of greeting. Like all of Wyldon’s dogs, Pepper had been well-trained to behave so Wyldon was inclined to blame any lapses in discipline on Owen’s utter lack of decorum and sense of propriety.
“I don’t mind him jumping on me, sir.” Owen’s grin only grew as he patted Pepper on the head. In response, Pepper’s tail wagged with enough force to power a windmill.
“Hellion,” snorted Wyldon.
Owen ignored this commentary, and, disentangling himself from Pepper, crossed over to the corner where the smallest puppy, the runt of the litter, lay curled in on herself. Her body looked so frail and vulnerable that many would have expected her to die in the next couple of days, but Wyldon suspected her spirit and desire for life was strong. She would survive, Wyldon believed in his bones, and he had a good home for her in mind.
“Jump died.” Owen settled the runt of the litter on his lap and began gently stroking her belly.
“I know.” Wyldon remembered the misshapen, scrappy stray lounging beside him as he watched the pages train. Recalled how the determined little dog had followed the entire company of pages on their yearly camping trip, sleeping tucked against Wyldon for warmth. Had not forgotten hand-feeding the scamp strips of crisp bacon at breakfast. One of the great tragedies of life, he thought, was that dogs didn’t live as long as their people. Not that he was Jump’s person. Jump’s person had been Kel. Wyldon had seen that clearly when he witnessed how devoted he was to her after her maid had been kidnapped. But just because he hadn’t been Jump’s person didn’t mean he couldn’t mourn in his own way the loss of that scrappy bundle of fur and teeth. “I was sorry to hear it.”
“It might be good for Kel to have another dog to care for and to keep her company, my lord,” commented Owen. Not being subtle but likely imagining that he was. The imagination did have a tendency toward delusion and self-flattery, after all.
“Perhaps,” Wyldon agreed neutrally. Face and tone impassive.
“It can be hard to find a good home for the runt of the litter, can’t it?” Owen was plainly trying to approach from another angle.
“Sometimes.” Wyldon shrugged. Almost indifferently. “This runt of the litter is earmarked for one knight in particular.”
“Oh.” Confusion and disappointment showed in equal measure in the gray clouds of Owen’s eyes. “Most knights don’t want the runt of the litter.”
“Most don’t.” Wyldon nodded gravely, concealing his inner amusement. “This knight has always had peculiar tastes, however, and takes the vows to protect the small very seriously indeed.”
Hope flickered like a candle across Owen’s face, and Wyldon allowed his granite face to crack into a slight smile as he finished in a smugly reflective fashion, “Yes, I think Lady Knight Keladry will be well-matched with our runt of the litter here.”
“You knew what I was asking from the beginning, didn’t you?” Owen burst out. Accusation rising in his tone, he added, “And you kept me floundering awkwardly on!”
“Of course I knew what you were asking from the beginning. You have all the subtlety of an ax to the neck.” Wyldon chuckled at the indignation coloring Owen’s face. He clapped the young man on the shoulder to make up for the fun he’d had at his son-in-law’s expense. “Your concern for your friend’s welfare does do you credit, though.”
Whatever else might be said about him, Owen of Jesslaw was loyal as a dog to his chosen pack, and Wyldon couldn’t conceive of a much higher compliment than that. Not that he planned to tell Owen that. He didn’t want the young knight getting a swelled head. Praise was meant to be sparing and almost grudgingly given. It wasn’t meant to be scattered like pearls among pigs.