The afternoon breeze blows through his matted fur. Its merely a respite from the heat thats so intent on taking him down. His stomach growls. When was the last time I ate? Sam ponders to himself. Perhaps I should have taken that left turn at albuquerque. 

Samwise stands almost 3 feet tall. His shaggy fur is matted and stained from the trail he's been wandering for the past 2 days. Normally his golden fur glows in the sun, but it's been so long since he's bathed that it's hard to tell where the dirt and grime ends and Sam begins. 

A few miles on and the heat becomes unbearable. Sam takes a rest in the shade of a rock formation. 

While he rests his aching paws he wonders if he'll ever find his way out of this blasted hellscape. How did I even get myself into this fine mess? He pulls the brim of his hat down over his eyes. Perhaps I'll just rest these for a while too, he sighs to himself. 

Moments later, movement! Sams ears are erect. He sees a figure in the distance approaching. Sams sheckles are rising. A deep growl begins growing I his chest. Whoever this is, is messing with the wrong dog. 

It had been a rough night, followed by a few hours of broken sleep come dawn. The attack had left Wendell and his travelling companion on edge. A plague of attack spiders that stood at knee height were not something he wanted to experience again in a hurry. The land was sick, just as the caravan of people escaping Bohar had warned them. If he were smarter, perhaps he would have heeded their advice and turned back for the coast. Instead, Wendell found himself exploring the plains, venturing away from the woodlands that fringed the coast to trek out in the open.

The heat of the day was enough to see him seek shade, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as the Harena desert. That had been insufferable. Yet, faced with the option, Wendell was quite sure he would prefer the task of hunting down giant spiders over returning to the nothingness of the hotlands.

He slashed at the dry tall grass as he walked across the plains, not sure what he was looking for. The woman driving the caravan a few days before had told them that the earth had opened up and death moved among them. Funny, he thought, the spiders that had attacked him and Kes’tral last night were anything but dead, well, not until they had finished smashing in the heads of every last one of them, that was.

Tired, the man sheathed his long sword and continued on through the grasslands. He noticed a large rock up ahead that would provide a little shade from the afternoon sun. It would also double as a suitable look out, giving him the added height, he hoped, to survey the endless sea of grass in search of something worth eating.

As Wendell moved closer to the rock, he was stopped by a low growl, warning enough to see his hand find the hilt of his blade. He knew there were wolves out here on the plains, but even lone wolves weren’t usually brave enough to face off against the unknown.

After rounding the rock at a distance, Wendell caught sight of the creature that had growled at him. He paused, releasing his blade so that it slumped at his hip within the leather bindings of its sheath.

“Hello,” he said, holding his hands out. How else was he meant to communicate to a dog that he meant it no harm? “Hey, boy!” He called, changing the pitch of his voice. Didn’t dogs like excitement? “You look lost.” Wendell realised how matted and dirty the animal’s fur was, which caused him to think that this dog might not be as tame as one might hope.

He backed away slowly, giving the dog a little room. Did he have anything to share? A piece of jerky in his pack perhaps. Wendell slipped his bag off his shoulder and dug around inside for the small morsel of dehydrated meat. He crouched low, lower even than the dog stood at three foot tall, presenting the jerky to him.

“You hungry, boy?”

In the south. One. No, two. They're moving closer. Stupid mut. You're not in any condition to fight. You hope a show of force will convince any would be ambushers to think again. No chance. They're moving closer. Stand your ground. Grit your teeth. Get ready to defend yourself. He's bending down. Fumbling with his bag. A chain? I'm no one's pet. Nows my chance. Go for the kill. 

Bacon? 

BACON. 

The growling ceases and Samwise lunges forward. Its gone in seconds. He almost takes the hand the fed him in the heat of the moment. It tastes like bacon too. It takes all of his strength to only lick the sweaty digits that delivered such glorious sustenance. 

After a moment Sam regains his composure. He straightens his shoulders and tilts his head backwards, making sure this new friend can see his grateful puppy dog eyes from under his wizards hat. Odd, Sam thinks to himself. Such a long way from the ocean for this old pirate to be, but Sam is thankful none the less. 

The pudgy swashbuckler leans in towards my head. I back away instinctively. Its my hat. Find your own. But he catches my ear. I move to react but I feel something I haven't felt in a very long time. Scratching. Behind my ear. I'm paralysed in shock. Who is this human. I wag my tail relentlessly. 

The lunge put the pirate on edge, he almost fell back, wobbling in his crouched position only to realise the stray was going for the food rather than him. The way the animal scoffed the food without chewing was kind of humorous. Wendell dared to reach up under the brim of the dog’s hat to scratch behind the animal’s ear. Who in the world would put a hat on a dog, he wondered, someone he clearly needed to meet.

“There we go,” he said, “no so bad, huh?”

Wendell lowered his hand and got to his feet. Feeding a stray was fine and all, but it didn’t get him any closer to feeding himself. He needed to continue checking and setting the snare traps he had left about the place. The pirate’s hope was that he had caught another rabbit as he had the evening before. This seemed to be the time of day to find them.

Bag lifted onto his shoulder once more, the man stepped up onto the edge of the rock and scaled it until he was at the top, able to look out over the plains. What would Kes’tral say if he went back to camp empty handed? No doubt she would be smug.

“Well, boy, there really is nothing out here but grass, grass and more grass,” he said, before jumping down from the rock.

Wendell made his way back towards the coast then, moving in a large arch, off to check more of his traps. He looked back at the dog and paused. “Come on, boy. We might find a juicy rabbit to share, yet.”

He wondered then if the dog had witnessed any of the strange things going on within the plains, giant spiders and shadow monster crawling up from cracks in the earth. “You won’t want to stay here, it’s not a good time to be alone out here.” It was strange to talk to a dog, he knew, but there seemed nothing normal about finding a dog in a wizards hat.