His giant hand roofed her from the rain. It sheltered almost the width of her, so that only the sides of her arms and clothing were splattered by drops. Saha looked up at the ogre, whose long and thick limbs lumbered in small steps so as to match her pace. She was a little touched by his kind and strangely thoughtful gestures and realised that, like herself, neither his appearance nor race was a good summary of who he was. “Thank you for doing that,” she said, pointing at his hand above her head in case he missed the message.
They were close to the tavern when he whistled suddenly; she flinched and pressed her fingers to her ears. The sound was loud and piercing without any sense of a melody. It was a jargon of notes, discordant and uncomfortable. She was surprised to feel a bare trace of magic, from an ogre no less, that tried and failed to pull her into its ugly embrace. The noise travelled the distance; within moments, howls and barks chorused in reply. Villagers shouted at their dogs for silence. Doors and gates were clawed. Saha felt the air tremble: a horde of dogs from all directions rushed at them.
They were surrounded by by dozens of excited yelps and whines and panting and wagging, although a few at the outer rim of the group snarled at Saha. The closest sniffed at her waist, nudged their noses into her sides - she tried to push them away - and took off with the packet of meat that was quickly devoured. She stood hemmed in by warm furry eager dogs: seven or eight of them were in varying shades of yellow. “Peanut?” she asked. “PEANUT!” They milled jovially.
