Gwyllion swallowed and crept towards Raefindan and the beast he held. The dog can’t hurt me…the strange red haired man is holding it… She held out her hand. The dog snuffed it. His nose was wet: disgustingly wet. Then his red tongue flicked out and he began to lick her fingers. She cringed, and pulled her hand away.
“Why did you do that?” Raefindan asked. His voice was soft, comforting, gentle.
“His tongue is slimy,” Gwyllion said. She was going to say that the dogs licked their food, but realized that wasn’t quite true. The dog was friendly. But that friendliness could be a mask covering malevolent purposes. She narrowed her eyes and frowned at the dog.
“Pet him,” Raefindan urged. “He won’t hurt you.”
Won’t? “Won’t,” she repeated slowly.
Raefindan blushed, and said, “He will not hurt you.”
Gwyllion nodded and stuck out her hand again. With one careful finger, she scratched his head. She smiled. It was a nice dog, she supposed. Besides, what harm could one fang do? "Jorge," she whispered.
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