The trip from City Centre to the West Side would’ve been faster slipping through the underground, but Nyrun couldn’t risk smelling of the Mischief when the pack was already suspicious of anything on two legs. The rats wouldn’t dare hinder her from crossing through their territory after the last time they picked a fight—they had given her an extremely wide berth since, even though Tuor had made her apologize for eating the instigator. Opting for the path of least dramatics, she stuck to the surface through the neutral zone between the Western Pack and the Colony on the East Side, along Church Way. The cobblestone street leading to the cemetery shared by all of the churches that line it happened to be the most scenic route in Melitown, and it made for a nice morning walk, albeit already warmer than it ought to be so early in the day. Normally, at this hour, she’d have expected to pass joggers or some elderly aunties and uncles on their morning walk, but the heat had ended most voluntary exertions from nearly all of the locals, but especially the Obvious.
She picks her way through the graves towards the denser growth of trees to a small opening in the stone wall that could be mistaken for an outlet for a long-gone creek. It’s the perfect size for a large dog, but Nyrun’s gangly height won’t suffer it. She reaches for the most promising stones and hoists herself up faster than even the cemetery’s resident corvids, imps, and visitants registered. Noting the large paw prints in the worn dirt of those who have similarly chosen not to squeeze their oversized bodies through, she launches herself over the wall, effortlessly kicking off to the well-used patch next to the Pack’s entryway.
Before she finished straightening her bag and combing her fingers through her hair, the dry brush rustled and parted, revealing several dogs assessing her with varying degrees of interest. The largest, a mastiff with a richly brindled coat, tilted her head and sniffed the air.
“Hi! I’ve come from Tuor’s to post a job,” she announced, offering a bow without breaking eye contact with the mastiff. Polite, firm, and showing no fear.
A short black puff with ears like a bat steps forward, “You’re the one off’d the rat king, yeah?”
She looked skyward as if trying to remember. “Ah. He was a king?”
A pink tongue flopped out of the puff’s wide grin. “Not sure about her scent but she seems cool.”
Nyrun smiled back, her teeth not going unnoticed. A shepherd mix bristled before the mastiff leaned in saying, “Leader’s worked with her before. She’s not a stranger.”
“I brought something for the posting fee,” Nyrun pats her bag.
“Come along,” says the mastiff. The dogs spread out and wait for her to get within a few paces before surrounding her in a diamond formation, herding her up the hillside path leading to an opening curtained by the small falls of the Ottarstedt Creek. (Known in Ottarstedt as the Melitown Creek.) Once inside the Western Pack’s den, she’d hoped the surrounding stone would provide some relief but it was still humid. Several dogs had flattened themselves to the slightly cooler floor along the natural corridors of the cavern, energy sapped by the heat. This was not the usual bustling vibe of the Pack’s home; many of them more suited to colder, snowier regions. Nyrun’s determination to return the Bee Queen’s favor grew.
A bellow echoes from down below, deep and rumbling. The dogs flanking Nyrun slow and change course to head down towards it. “Taking a detour, Child of Tour; Leader wants to see you,” the Mastiff explained.
Nyrun follows along, and lets her sight spread outward so she can inventory the quiet dogs who’d crept out behind them to investigate the stranger. Very few weanlings, some scrawny adolescent pups, and a whole lot of noticeable ribs among the adult canines. The heat was certainly taking its toll on their food sources. She thinks about the nightbeasts and their daylight counterparts who would have even less than the bees to gather in garden plots, fields, and deeper in the wilds. The thought of a now-rarely seen plump rabbit makes her mouth water, a change which the dogs notice immediately, stiffening around her. Snap out of it, numskull, she chastises herself. They’re already afraid of you.
At the bottom of the path in the depths of the cavern, the Blue Hound, a cross of a wolfhound and a dane but larger than any, stood, a massive wall of silvery and spotted blue wiry fur and nods, “Tour’s Hand, thank you for your assistance yesterday. I’m surprised to see you again so soon, but pleased to do so as I was going to send a messenger with a gift to the Lady this afternoon as thanks.”
Nyrun cringes internally, still unsure how much information to offer up to the general assemblage of anxious dogs. “Would it be possible to discuss a few matters in private, Leader Blue?” Several of the surrounding dogs turn to glare at her for the suggestion.
“At ease, children,” Blue rumbles, but keeps her ears relaxed, which settles the pack considerably. “Something is amiss then?” she asks Nyrun, stepping towards an arch in the cavern wall. “Come with me. I’ll make a connection so we are free from the excellent ears of my family.”
“Thank you kindly,” Nyrun says, clasping her hands together and bowing her head as she’d been taught before following the Blue Hound into the smaller chamber, that was deeper than she’d expected and furnished with a nest of hay and hides – opulent in a Pack way, and lit like the main cavern by an overhead opening lined strategically with fragmented mirrors to reflect the outdoor light.
Once comfortably settled, the Blue Hound nods toward Nyrun’s hand, which she obligingly offers palm-up. The sensation of her cold nose was surprising but the tingling of the connection opening kept her from dwelling on this further, lest it transfer.
“Did something go sideways after we parted? A new development? Unexpected consequence?” the hound asks, the deep growl of her voice replaced by a gentle grumble, more nervous, than Nyrun had expected.
“Oh no, ma’am,” Nyrun assures. “I wanted to ask how many moons it’s been since you last saw Tuor? She’s been away more than twenty, and Kika and I have yet to receive any word.”
Blue’s prominent brow and ears rise. “She’s gone? And neither you nor the Kikimora know why or where?”
“Unfortunately so, I’m afraid.”
“But you’ve both been handling things in her absence?”
“Yes ma’am, and that’s another reason I’m here,” Nyrun fidgets a bit and then straightens up. “I’ve been worried about the heat and spoke to the Hive’s Queen. She’s agreed to end the collection early which should spur the end of Summer.”
Blue nods, “Yes, that would likely help. She wanted something in return though?”
Nyrun returns the nod, “Indeed, she did, ask a favor.”
“Oh child, what did you promise?”
“I said I’d deliver a message to a mouse.”
The hound’s eyes widen. “And if you can’t find one? What will you do with the Hive against you?”
Nyrun tilts her head in the way the Pack is prone to do when they hear something strange. “I’m going to find a mouse and deliver the message. Could do with a better nose to track down a lead though…”
“Oh,” she gruffs.
“I have the fee,” Nyrun pats her bag, “Can I post the job?”
“A nose, hmm? Well, I suppose you’ve got plenty of eyes.”
Nyrun blinks her visible set, their pine tar sheen not reflecting her surprise otherwise. “Well, yes. Vision I can manage. A scenthound’s help would be greatly appreciated.”
Blue inhales deeply in Nyrun’s direction and looked up at the cavern’s ceiling in contemplation before exhaling and returning her attention to her unusual guest. “I have a proposition, Tuor’s Hand. I will send an emissary–a fine nose–with you on a mission of my own. I don’t like the idea of Lady Tuor not being here, and I would like her absence investigated. If you will aid my appointee in this search, they will assist you in yours. Deal?”
Nyrun’s full, unguarded smile escapes at this stroke of luck, and the Blue Hound, all two hundred pounds of her, can not contain her shudder. She is relieved thinking it had gone unnoticed. Nyrun is relieved she’d at least hidden the small stab of hurt that it had sent to her core.