Tracy
*It started innocent enough. If she couldn't **Get** Yerba mate consistently up here in Sweden, then maybe Luna could grow it in the greenhouse? It took her a while to reach out to the right people about the project, but eventually she got the go-ahead to add a small mate plant she had acquired to the greenhouse garden.*

*Setting the flower pot down, she settled down right next to an open spot on the greenhouse and begin to dig down into the soil, making an opening as to where she could install the plant. Once the hole was finished, she unpotted the plant and placed it down upon the soil, beginning to cover it up so it didn't seem like there was just a hole for no reason within the greenhouse dirt.*

*However, just as she was doing so, a scent caught her on her sharpened senses. 'Was that... Catnip? Sure smelled like it anyways but.. Just where was it?' She thought, her head turned around like the telescope extension of a submarine, charting the unknown waters (or known foliage in this case) of the greenhouse trying to identify the origin of the scent.*

*While her eyes glanced over the signs, she couldn't find any labelled for catnip, which was strange. It was driving her nuts, not due to the scent itself, but more due to the matter that she just couldn't find the darn thing! She supposed there was one thing she could do but... It was a bit risky.*

*Moments later, Luna had transformed from your average looking trans girl, into a large, wolf-like hound with thick, nested black hair that made it resemble a street dog that had not been properly taken care of in a long long while. With the enhanced scent tracking capabilities of its new form, it quickly found the catnip spot, and while it may not have been a cat, catnip still soothes and calms dogs.*

*It laid out right besides the catnip patch, and its worries about the mate plant and fitting in at camp seemed to fade away as it curled up besides the foliage for a much needed nap.*
Katherine
Owen probably wasn't supposed to have taken up as much of the garden as he had, but over the nearly a year since he'd taken note of the surprisingly good dirt, his various flowers and vegetables had crawled like wildfire beyond his corner. Seasonal vegetables, herbs, little red flowers, mostly all going to be soup one day. *Exquisite*.

The redhead knelt down to his plot and folded a chive into his mouth, humming something absentmindedly—it was around the season for his *70s Prog Playlist No. 3*, he thought. His earbuds blocked out most of the sounds from anywhere behind him, a head start on his soup trance, but past the crackle of the old recording, something in the crisp air shifted. The smell of something animal nagged at him; callused hands wiped dirt onto his stitched-back-together pants with a growing urgency as the source padded past him.

He had planted the catnip with the intention of presenting it to the strays in town, but any pang of irritation melted into the coat of the black dog, thick and wiry and not-*Quite*-wild. Owen had grown his way with cats, but the huff of a tired dog pulled on a long-folded heartstring.

"*Noswaith dda, gyfaill*," He murmured, quiet, incredulous. Concern of how a dog had even gotten in was forgotten silt on the bottom of his mind, when he carefully crawled around it to look at its face; round, downturned doe eyes pored over it, not daring to blink. 

"*Sweet beast...* Are you nice?"

It looked so tired, sleep crusting its eyes, leaves still stuck to its damp nose, exhausted enough to doze off not a few feet from a strange human—was it sick?

Tentatively, and with great care not to startle it too badly, a freckled hand pressed a spot on its flank dappled by fading sunlight; far enough, he hoped, from its jaws. Silence.
Tracy
*As Owen's calloused fingers grazed against the wild dog's matted, thick coat of black fur, he would notice spots of it felt almost yarn-like. The creature, seemingly startled but not in any position to move, stood tense, its eyes snapping open into a clear position of stress.*

*For a moment, it laid there frozen within its own fear, though of course Luna's mind raced in anxious circles. She **Could** Just sit there, and allow the stranger to continue petting and stroking her canine form, but that could be such a long while! And what if he brought her up to camp staff? And what if they told him it was a student??? **What then?!***

*The other option did not appeal to her much either. She was **Just** Starting to fit in now, as much of a freak as she was. But what if someone saw her as this? She could hardly picture a worse fate, while she could turn back and apologize immediately.. Would people here ever see her the same?*

*She'd been through so much back home. People could barely stand her there as she was, surely they wouldn't do so here if she tricked them like that. But then again, she wasn't privy to many other choices.*

*Maybe she could just... Turn back and profusely apologize! Yeah! That'd do it!*

*So, after several moments of the dog staying still like a deer in headlights, it quickly stood and leaped away, and where it landed, was a young girl instead.*

*However, at the very moment Luna looked back at Owen trying to conjure up a response within the depths of her mind, the words would simply not leave her open mouth.* "I- uh- ehmm- I'm n-not a dog!!" *She announced. Fuck.*
Katherine
An undignified yelp sprang from Owen, about two octaves higher than his low, sweet dog-befriending voice. Hand clapped over his racing heart and chocolate-and-honey eyes blown to the size of dinner plates, he looked worse for wear than the dog-girl, which he hoped might make him look as genuinely apologetic as he was harebrained.

"*Ah!* Of c-c-course you're n*N*-not!"

He spluttered, finding his shears that he had flung a metre or so from where he was seated. The boy swore, a sound mostly spat from the back of his throat, rapidly tapping his knuckles against each other. Those, and the hand that had been on her flank a moment ago, glowed a deep, venous red, but he seemed to make no note of it.

"I—I'm ss-so-*Sorry*, I wasn't using m-my, my head, of course you-you're..." He trailed, flushing a mortified shade of pink under his quick smattering of freckles. "I... *Ffyc*, n-not using my head, I haven't pet-dog-since ss-since—uh, still-still not an, um, a-an excuse."

Through his stammering, an accent curled his words, making every spirited sentence sound like an incredulous sort of a question. Pausing for a moment, Owen breathed so deeply that it was a little comical before loosing a crackling little spout of nervous laughter. He shook his head of loose auburn hair out, letting his hands flap outward and flush out the last of the shock. *Slow down, slow down, let it—just—*Out.

"I-I don't go around just petting people usually, swear it, I d-I don't!"

He offered her a lopsided grin, doing his level best not to dissolve down into the earth.