Look Bronson is a good dog. A great dog. The best dog. Or maybe Asher will never forget that bloodied sack of skin and bones he lifted out of a pit and nursed back to health on the road between jobs until Bronson muscled up and started to play, flopping on Asher as if they’d known each other all their lives.

“Nice to let yourself off the leash isn’t it?” Because the last thing Asher is going to do is discourage the love of a fight and getting to let it all out. “Ash warriors do it all the time, plenty of soldiers go to war with their mabari and the royalty still have kennels. And if a hold has a beast that can fight, like say a bear, it’ll join them in raids and battles, s’probably just more a Fereldan thing than anywhere else.”

Blowing a sigh out through his teeth, he looks up to where the wolves came from then to the sky before he cocks his head to listen to the wind. “Following the tracks is the best bet if there’s a party but as soon as the snow falls again we’ll lose them, a hound would be able to keep following but we have no idea how unpredictable they’ll be given the conditions here. I don’t go for traps, they’re nothing but cruel, so it’d be trying to get close enough to see it then to pen them in; someone up top, archers, mages maybe, warriors and rogues without bows down below on either side to flank if we can and a couple to draw them out.”