She swerved with a startled growl at the sudden appearance of a red figure, but it took only a moment to recognize that fucking amadán who hadn't wanted to go out in the rain. He wasn't getting any of her damn fish, either! She wondered if the voice was his fault, and he'd followed some faerie out here and gotten himself bewitched. Not her problem, either.

Valiantly sprinting with her trout, she leapt mossy logs and skidded down muddy banks, until the silhouette of her shelter appeared. The Cur didn't waste time looking over her shoulder, ears pinned with fear for whatever danger stalked them that she couldn't name.

The house had been abandoned, but its threshold offered her the safety of at least one night spent under its roof already, which was better than having no door against evil at all. She leapt at the sturdy wood, flinging it open with a rusty creak, and barely broke stride as she leapt out of the storm. Wet pawprints followed her over dusty floorboards.

Stashing her catch in the far corner, she crouched into the shadow there with bared teeth and bristled fur at any who might have followed.