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The two foot smelled irked. Jorje could tell by the smell of two foots' skin what they felt inside.
Two foot smell was one of the things dogs liked best about two foots, even if they didn't know it. It had lots of salt and that tasted good.
Jorje crawled closer. This stranger did not smell eermy, just irked. Maybe the river daughter knew him. Maybe this was a good two foot for Jorje. Maybe not, but he had to find out. Two foot looked at him again.
"Dog can stay."
Jorje perked up his ears. The voice had been gravelly and growly. It reminded him of ma when she'd had much of puppy play and was irked by it but not so much that she wanted to bite him away. He rose a little on his paws and, bent low; 'grovelling' he'd heard his master say. That sharpedge moved jerky and angry, and Jorje was scared of it, but he inched closer, sniffing all the time.
When he was close enough he stretched out his snout as far as he could and sniffed at the twofoot's knee, ready to bolt if the twofoot struck.
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