rookie mistake

Castle Anvard

Tyren covers a small yawn as he slips into the kennels, making his way toward Elek’s usual corner. The wolfhound noses Tyren and sits in his usual dignified manner by the knight, and Tyren generally showers Elek with a good deal of attention.

Lanisen is in the back, sweeping out a pen occupied by a wolfhound. The pen’s door is swung shut and latched on the inside, preventing the dog inside from getting out and those outside from getting in while Lanisen cleans the enclosure.

Tyren lets out a quiet sigh as he continues to stroke, Elek, speaking in low tones to the hound.
Tyren mumbles, “Probably tired of me bothering you to ease my mind by now, eh?”, to Tyren.
Tyren mumbles “… tired … … bothering you … … my … … now, …”, to Tyren.

Lanisen glances toward the knight and his hound at the indistinct words. Seeing that he has not been addressed and presumably is not needed, he does not approach them and only continues his work in silence.

Elek simply responds to this by nosing Tyren’s face in what passes as an affectionate sort of manner for the wolfhound – nowhere near as emphatic as it would be for another hound, but then again, this /is/ Elek we’re talking about.

Lanisen leans the broom against the wall and gets down to the rather-less-pleasant task of scrubbing down the floor of the enclosure. The hound in the pen, likely made restless by the irritating odor of the cleaning solution, begins to pace. As a smaller dog meanders past them on its own business, the hound snarls a low warning.

Tyren gives a cursory glance in that direction at the sound, as does Elek. His brow quirks a little, in almost the same instant Elek cocks his head a degree.

Lanisen gives the hound a quiet order, and the growling subsides, though the hound continues to pace uneasily – in ever-decreasing circles, as Lanisen completes more of the scrubbing. It seems to be avoiding stepping on the newly washed floor, as Lanisen is avoiding getting his hands in the solution any more than necessary.

Tyren returns his attentions to Elek, again speaking in quiet tones.
Tyren mumbles “Not exactly a subsitute, but then again, I don’t expect you to be. Helps anyway.”, to Tyren.
Tyren mumbles “Not … … substitute, … … again, I don’t … … … … … anyway.”, to Tyren.

Lanisen finishes scrubbing, leaving a small space in front of the door dry. The hound crowds into it – which is no small feat, considering he’s a fairly large dog – and sticks his nose in front of the door. Lanisen says, “No, boy. Back. /Back/.” The hound whines, but backs away, stepping out of the dry space and onto the wet floor, taking ginger steps like a cat in snow. Lanisen picks up the broom and the bucket and awkwardly opens the door to make his way out. The hound sees his opportunity and bolts.

Elek lets out a loud bark at this, though he remains by Tyren. The look he gives, however, indicates that he very much wants to bark some sense into the hound at a much closer range.

Elek is not the only hound in the kennels to notice the wrongness of the situation, and soon the building is resounding with yammering. The escaped hound pauses, confused, angry, and /really/ not wanting to return to the clean-sharp smell of the scrubbed-out pen. It bolts for the door, and just /try/ to get in his way. Lanisen, behind him, calls out a sharp (ineffectual) order.

Tyren sighs, standing and deciding to make his own attempt at Restoring Order – by letting out a sharp whistle.

The whistle only really adds to the cacophony, as most of the hounds are too busy yelling at or tattling on the runaway to listen to authority themselves. A younger, overambitious deerhound plants itself in the escapee’s path: it is difficult to tell what happens next, except that there is a lot of snarling and chaos, punctuated by sharp, pained yelps.

Tyren frowns, apparently not in the mood to deal with something like this. He gives Elek a signal to stay where he is, feeling he would prefer not to add to the chaos further, and makes his way out of the corner he’s in. Catching Lanisen’s eye, he tilts his head toward the hounds. As he’s still moving, it is rather apparent he intends to assist in a somewhat more hands-on manner.

Lanisen’s attention is fully on the grappling hounds. He sprints after the previously-penned wolfhound and drops to his knees, skidding the last two feet or so, and fairly tackles the dog, wrapping his arms around the hound’s middle and attempting to drag him off the slenderer deerhound. “Tohol, /NO/!”

Tyren approaches the hounds himself, helping Lanisen to muscle the rather large wolfhound off the other, accompanied with various grunts and such. Once the deerhound has enough room to wiggle out from under and does so, he nods toward it. “I can hold this one back. See to that one.”

The wolfhound, startled, cornered, and angry, whirls on the most immediate threat with a snarling get-out-of-my-space-NOW bark. There is a sound of ripping fabric, a yell of pain, and Lanisen topples away from the hound, staring down in shock at the ribbons left of his tunic sleeve – which are rapidly turning crimson.

Tyren grimaces as he catches sight of this, doing his best to keep a hold on the wolfhound. “You all right?”

Lanisen is pale with pain, but he nods shortly and lunges for the wolfhound again, this time keeping a tight hold around its neck. He strokes the shaggy fur with his free hand, speaking in soothing (if shaky) tones until the big dog stops fighting.

Tyren keeps his hold on the hound’s midsection, firm and solid. As the hound stops fighting, he releases his grip slightly so as not to be uncomfortable on the hound – but still dictating just who’s got who here. He frowns again, looking over Lanisen’s arm.

Lanisen barely looks at it, still calming the wolfhound with voice and touch. “C’mon… ‘s all right, Tohol. Good boy. ‘S all right.” He glances at Tyren. “We gotta get him back in a pen, sir.”

Tyren nods a bit, merely replying, “Indeed.” He releases his grip on the hound – for the most part, as he keeps a hand on Tohol. He gestures towards an empty pen nearby.

Lanisen stands with some difficulty, as he’s still got an arm around the hound’s neck, and begins to guide Tohol toward the pen indicated. The dog goes without fuss.

Tyren, once the hound is back in the pen, turns toward Lanisen. “Best get that arm some attention. Sooner the better, after all.”

Lanisen says dismissively, “It’s fine.” He studies the wolfhound for a moment, expressionless, then turns away, searching for the deerhound. “Where’d the other one go? Is he all right?”

Tyren claps a hand on Lanisen’s shoulder – the firm grip making it clear he is /not/ in a mood to be argued with. “At the very least that needs to be cleaned. I’m far too well aware of what can result when a wound isn’t properly cared for.” He nods toward the deerhound. “Over there. Seems to be, though a bit of attending to afterward probably wouldn’t hurt. Let Kirby handle that.”

Lanisen squirms out from under Tyren’s grip without really listening, jogging off to see to the deerhound.


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