[color=007236][center]Lob[/center][/color]
[center][b][color=007236]Location:[/color][/b] The Road
[b][color=007236]Interacting With:[/color][/b] Sona[/center]

Lob watched and waited as all others passed under him. He was looming over the caravan like a gargoyle on the gate until he was certain that all had passed. For the first length of the trip he walked along the back, making sure no one was going to fall behind. Ever since he was a child, he was too big for a riding dog so he simply learned to run as fast as the dogs.

There was a momentary twinge as the thoughts came back and so did his scar given headache he absently clawed at. The line itself was years old and the pucker was only apparent when he frowned his whole brow forward. He remembered the fight, it was a good fight, he remembered the blow to his head, later he woke with no other waking with him. He had buried all his family that day. What used to be a dislike to gnolls became an irrational rage over the years as he made every gnoll the gnolls from that tribe.

His headache got worse and was putting him in a bad mood. But as Dog licked his hand, sensing his unease, it brought him back to the now and his headache softened, if even just a little. Looking ahead, he saw the ladysong feeding the birds and waited for her to finish before galloping up beside her. The way he called to her might have been mistaken for the barking of a dog, and the fact he wasn't using her name. If the calling to her wasn't obvious, he'd paw at her with his hand as he loped on all fours beside her to try and get her attention.

[color=007236]Bard, bard-bard, baarrd...[/color]


Once he got her attention, he's come up to his two-legger stride and reach under his hellhound skin and pull out the blanket from before. Thank the gods that Lob had washed and the skins had been scrubbed clean while in custody so that the newly made poncho didn't reek of lob or the giant skunk he rolled in 3 days ago.


[color=007236]"Pelt you. Pelt warm. Pelt good."[/color]