3/13/2026, 3:34 AM
Bogart stared at her, silent and wide-eyed. Well... That was a mouthful. He'd never heard of such a name before.
"Sulukinak," he tried, working his tongue around each vowel carefully and with a great deal of patience, determined to commit it to memory properly. He waited for her to correct his pronunciation and when none came, he nodded. "S'pleasure to meet ya', Miss Sulukinak." Bogart shook his fur out then, releasing the tension that had built up beneath his skin and, with it, a thin sheet of snow that plumed out around him like a sort of glittering dust in the dawn light. When he looked back to her, she seemed contemplative. He felt for her, he did. Sick and hungry. This was the nature of being he had been trained to fix—to tend, to nurse, yet presently he only felt uncertain. How did he help in a land in which he didn't know the plants?
He lowered his head, offering a solemn nod. "Awful shame 'bout your friend," he said. "Reckon you're doin' good by 'em though if they're still kickin' in weather like this."
His muzzle twitched as she crept closer. He stood still as he could, certain that in her uncertainty she might flash her teeth or turn away if he so much as moved.
An offer.
An offer he hadn't imagined being presented with and therefore rendered him quiet for a moment as he considered it. While Bogart doubted his own abilities to... hunt, she proposed a fair alternative if he fumbled too horrendously. He could drag back just about any kill a wolf could take down. And, well, she had a friend in a bad way, didn't she? While he sported no vest nor collar nor title that designated him a rescue dog, what sort of integrity would he have if he denied a chance to help?
He supposed that was his answer.
"I'll hunt with ya'," he told her, softening the ends of each word with a quiet confidence only doggish determination could allow. "I've got ya' Miss Sulukinak."
With a tentative rumble of ardor, he lifted his great head, ears flopping and jowls shifting with the smack of his lips as he narrowed his eyes against the wind chill. "Your nose is better than mine by miles I reckon. You catch a trail of anything promisin'?" Bogart looked down at her before choosing to slowly close the distance between them, his steps drawn out enough to allow her room to recede if she so wished. "I caught wind of a doe a lil' ways back but I couldn't tell how old the tracks were."
"Sulukinak," he tried, working his tongue around each vowel carefully and with a great deal of patience, determined to commit it to memory properly. He waited for her to correct his pronunciation and when none came, he nodded. "S'pleasure to meet ya', Miss Sulukinak." Bogart shook his fur out then, releasing the tension that had built up beneath his skin and, with it, a thin sheet of snow that plumed out around him like a sort of glittering dust in the dawn light. When he looked back to her, she seemed contemplative. He felt for her, he did. Sick and hungry. This was the nature of being he had been trained to fix—to tend, to nurse, yet presently he only felt uncertain. How did he help in a land in which he didn't know the plants?
He lowered his head, offering a solemn nod. "Awful shame 'bout your friend," he said. "Reckon you're doin' good by 'em though if they're still kickin' in weather like this."
His muzzle twitched as she crept closer. He stood still as he could, certain that in her uncertainty she might flash her teeth or turn away if he so much as moved.
An offer.
An offer he hadn't imagined being presented with and therefore rendered him quiet for a moment as he considered it. While Bogart doubted his own abilities to... hunt, she proposed a fair alternative if he fumbled too horrendously. He could drag back just about any kill a wolf could take down. And, well, she had a friend in a bad way, didn't she? While he sported no vest nor collar nor title that designated him a rescue dog, what sort of integrity would he have if he denied a chance to help?
He supposed that was his answer.
"I'll hunt with ya'," he told her, softening the ends of each word with a quiet confidence only doggish determination could allow. "I've got ya' Miss Sulukinak."
With a tentative rumble of ardor, he lifted his great head, ears flopping and jowls shifting with the smack of his lips as he narrowed his eyes against the wind chill. "Your nose is better than mine by miles I reckon. You catch a trail of anything promisin'?" Bogart looked down at her before choosing to slowly close the distance between them, his steps drawn out enough to allow her room to recede if she so wished. "I caught wind of a doe a lil' ways back but I couldn't tell how old the tracks were."
