It is half past midnight when Loghain returns to the Crown and Lion inn--and he isn't alone. There's a great sack of... something... slung over his shoulders, or at the very least, that's what it looks like. Shouldering his way past the late night drinkers and gamblers--and whomever of his team happens to be awake and downstairs at this hour--Loghain heaves himself and whatever it is he's carrying up the stairs and into his room, where he gingerly lowers the sack down to the ground close to the fireplace.

It becomes immediately clear that the sack is not a sack at all, but a dense blanket. Wrapped up inside of it is a wounded dog that looks to be as much wolf as mabari; it's thick, grey scruff is matted with blood, and teeth mark lacerations are plainly clear in other places on its body. The intelligent animal seems to realize that it is no longer in danger, however, and so lays still on the rug as Loghain rummages through his saddle back in search of salves and ointments.

"There we are, my girl," comes the low, reassuring timbre of his voice. The female mabari mutt watches him cautiously, too winded and exhausted to be curious or defensive over what he's doing. At last she just closes her eyes and lets out a winded whine.