Cullen ferrets out Camille whom he thinks is a boy child
While his master spoke with the little woman,
Cullen lay near them, his back resting comfortably against the wall. His great head lay on his crossed paws, his large dark eyes following the movement of the small female who’d first served his master. He quite liked her, Cullen did, she had a wellspring of life and light that shown in her freckled face. And she wasn’t afraid of him; in fact, he could sense that she liked him, too. She was drawing farther away from where he lay, and he raised his head to watch her. She’d gone to a door and was passing through it.
Cullen swung his grizzled head up at Benat. He was still talking to the older woman. And she had poured him another cup of ale. Benat could drink deep, he wondered if the woman knew that. It might be a long time before the conversation was done . . . or the woman lay sleeping on the table. Cullen curled his lips up in a smile. He’d seen that happen in other places they’d passed through.
He waited patiently, but Ginger did not reappear. With a low yawn, Cullen stretched out, and once again looked to Benat. He was still engaged in conversation. ‘Perhaps I should see where my friend has gone,’ thought Cullen. ‘My master is in no danger and there are some intriguing smells coming from the room where the little woman went.’ He inched along on his belly for a bit then stood and wove his way quietly toward the kitchen. There were any number of patrons who drew away from him when he passed, but they were quickly assured when he ignored them and passed by without a glance in their direction.
The door opened easily with a nudge from his nose. Cullen wedged the door open with his shoulders and stood looking round the kitchen, his tail wagging furiously at the wonderful aromas that assailed his appreciative nose. He slipped in, but all were busy at some tasks and ignored him. He sat down to wait patiently for Ginger to notice him.
There was a slight shuffling in one of the rooms . . . one where the door was slightly ajar. No one else seemed to notice. But to Cullen’s ears it was a furtive sound . . . something or someone was hiding . . . his hackles raised a bit and he padded silently toward the door. He nosed it open. It was a dark place with only the light from the kitchen poking a little ways into it. He could hear the rapid breathing of the hiding creature. Cullen moved his great body into the aisle between the shelves and sniffed along, his nose bringing him closer to the object of his search.
There, plastered against the wall between two shelves was a very small boy clinging for dear life onto a bag. Cullen brought his grey face very close to the child and took a great whiff of him. Fear! The scent was almost overpowering. He licked the lad, trying to reassure him. But the child crumpled down to the floor with a squeal.
Gently as he could, Cullen grabbed the little fellow by his collar and brought him out to the kitchen, like a little puppy carried in his generous maw. Those in the kitchen had turned at the squeal and now gathered near the dog, who dropped his bundle gently at Ginger’s feet.