dogs of war, Page 2
Copyright, Mary Mannon Reeves
Rolf's breath wisped ragged against her arm, then ended. The dog keened over the roar of resuming battle and gave her one last look. The red dog, Rolf's dog, warmed with Rolf's bright blue eyes, vanished.
She stumbled back to the line. Real curs moved in, snapping at each other over the rights to return Rolf's body to the Mother Earth in their own way. His soul had already been taken care of, carried to Hel's embrace by her shaggy pet.
A cold nose pushed against her palm, nudging her out of her pain. Camp dog, reminding her of unfinished business. She absently stroked the long, narrow muzzle that was no longer repugnant, that was strangely familiar. Glancing down at its sand-colored hide, she smiled faintly, then shook her head, remembering where she was and why. Sword in hand, she charged away from Rolf's body and into the melee, a warrior's howl bursting from her throat.
The dog trotted after her, an odd, deep chested creature with a pinched-in waist and short, silky pelt. It was as alien to this land as the dark woman it followed, and just as eager to go home.
