You do as ordered. "You taste like marshmallows," you murmur; kiss him again just to make sure. And again because he's tousled and sleepy, and once more because you're happy. Then you plonk your head down on the pillow, beaming up at him, and stretch lazily. "Today's been a really good day."
You mumble something agreeable but indistinct and try to wag a tail you don't currently have. You've the beginnings of a headache, but not so much you have to do anything about it. Curling against his side , you nudge and wiggle until he's got his arms around you. Humans do this, it's the only thing humans are good for, probably, twining together like this just to enjoy the electrical sweetness of skin contact. You huff once or twice, contentedly, and go to sleep.
You can collect your clothes tomorrow, you decide. And if they vanish or get ruined, well, this is worth a lot of clothes. You move only as much as necessary to drag the wool blanket over you. He gives an insistent little wriggle at the absence of one of your arms, settles contentedly once you've returned it to its proper place around him. He fits perfectly under your chin, and his hair smells like home-at-last and all's-well, and other things that shouldn't be smells but somehow are. Sleep comes easily, and without nightmares for once.
You have a vague sense of being woken up around dawn by Bel wanting to go places and do things. You put bite at his hands when he tries to involve you in them, then burrow under all the blankets and the mattress and go back to sleep, tail tucked forbiddingly over your nose. When you wake up it's noon, you've a splitting headache, and you need water very badly. You stumble out of the tent, licking your chops unhappily, and moan when the sun claws into your eyes. You shuffle groggily to where a bowl of water has been put out, drain it, then lie down heavily on your side in the dust to make a series of piteous noises, just in case anyone is around to feel sorry for you. (he's mostly got a dehydration hangover, and is a theatrical whiner about being sick.)
You return from a joyful morning of bouldering, hands covered with chalk dust and shins lightly scraped up, to find Erskin playing Dead Fish next to the empty water pan. He whines at you. You smile and shake your head; you left him a note and the water jug, but of course he didn't go human to read it or refill the water. You pour him another bowl and kiss his forehead. "I know what will cheer you up," you propose. "Bratwurst totally counts as sandwiches if you put it in a bun."
"Aww, izzums an invalid? Izzums too weak to move? Poor darling, are you dying?" Even though you're mocking him, you stroke his cheek with your hand just where you'd nuzzle it with your face if you were in fur. "Drink more water, and I'll grill up the antidote." You had a cold breakfast, so you have to build a fire from scratch. Fortunately, bratwurst is not a fussy recipe; make it hot enough to sizzle, and it's good. "Oh man, I'm so hungry," you groan when the smell begins to hit you.
You have enjoyed spitefully playing sick while the cooking has been going on. Now you give your best, wobbliest, most quavering little howl, and drag yourself to his side on just your forelegs. You give a theatrical collapse, your chin landing incidentally on his knee, and go "eeeh," very softly and tragically.
"Oh, bravo, I'm nominating you for an Oscar." You anoint the first brat with mustard and solicitously feed it to him.
Well if an oscar involves getting fed bratwurst in small pre-separated bits you are all for it. Your tail thumps like mad as you accept each one, then lick his fingers clean. What a nice person. What a nice day. Life is good.
The next one, you eat yourself. He gives you puppy eyes, and you stick out your tongue at him. "I've been climbing all morning, I'm hungry too. Look, there's still like seven in the package, nobody's gonna starve." You tangle your fingers in his neck fur, which he appreciates almost as much as bratwurst. "After we eat, come up to the climbing area with me, you can see why rock-climbing-the-sport is different from traveling through mountains."
You huff a tolerant agreement and steal a raw bratwurst to eat while you wait for the next few to cook. After a lot of sausage, mustard, and water you stretch out and go dig up your collar and a bright yellow bandanna, then bring them over to him to put them on you.
"I just had the most hilarious thought," you say as you fix him up. "What if I go return that couple's flashlight, and introduce myself as Sirius?"
Yes, that's about the kind of thing a new pup would find clever and amusing, a big funny baffle-the-humans-by-letting-on-you're-werewolf prank. Also amusing: a rash of tabloid interviews, and an uptick in exciteable lunatics running out to shoot any sufficiently large canine full of lead and silver. You stand and give him a cold, warning stare.
"They won't think I'm a werewolf," you explain, "they'll think I'm an animagus. They'll think Harry Potter is real." He continues to glare. You sigh. "I didn't really want to do it, I just thought you'd laugh."
You break the stare and sit back down when he seems suitably abashed, then nose his side forgivingly. It's a stupid thing to do, but the impulse is a common one. Stealth-- and the importance therof-- has to be learned. Ha, he seems to have read you clearly enough that he resents being considered-- talked to-- as an ignorant puppy. Well, he can go show off on rocks for you. You'll pretend to be impressed and everything.
You run into the couple on the trail, as it happens, and you do a great job of greeting them as a total stranger while Princess on her knotted-together lead babbles about how you look different and it's creepy. You're not nearly as charming as Erskin is, even when you're trying, and you don't try very hard; soft-spoken, polite, and reserved are about the best you can do with most strangers.
You accept pats from the nice couple, say hello to Princess, then after they've all left you lean against Bel for a few paces, nosing his hand approvingly. He's shy! You had no idea. It's adorable. You feel extremely protective. "You're very good," you assure him. "That was well done."
