It had been nearly a week and no signs or smells of the prince were to be had. That first night, Scout had roamed the castle halls, his shaggy grey nose poking into all the corners as he searched desperately in all the hidey holes the prince had once used. He tracked every favorite spot, sought out all the scents that led to his room, and could not find the young man. Scout had slunk past the guards to investigate the prince’s bed and private chambers, but no scents of intruders or fear were detectable. All in all, his nose had failed him, as had his memory.<br/><br/>There had been blood. A fire. Screaming…he remembered those things well. There was chaos and tolling of bells, and his favorite human, the one he had spent nearly every waking hour beside for the last five years, was gone. There was no trace of him. No blood, no bone, no spite or piss. Not even a warm pile of vomit where he might have hurled his guts out. Nothing.<br/><br/>For a hectic day and a half, he searched every inch of the castle that his four paws and long-nosed mouth would take him, until he was kicked at by Regent Aeldredus’ men and had to flee for his life.<br/><br/>His ass<i>still</i>hurt where the crossbow bolt had grazed him.<br/><br/>Now, with two legs on the ground and a pipe between his lips, Scout no longer looked like the scroungy mutt who was chased from his home. No…<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fce%2F3e%2F10%2Fce3e10c702e4f8e24e5deb4b1c1c4613.jpg&amp;hash=171c588db76cf201bdd994d68de5bf35" href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ce/3e/10/ce3e10c702e4f8e24e5deb4b1c1c4613.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">he looked like a scroungy human</a>who was up to no good. Calf-length boots ended at the base of thin, algae green woolen pants. His shirt was left unlaced, revealing the flat of his chest behind a crisscross of leather straps. At his waist was belted a well-worn sword and dagger, decades out of stye. Across his back, an unstrung bow rested in a quiver of tufted arrows. And pulling the entire mish-mash of clothes together was a tattered, worn old cloak that might have once been red. Fingerless gloves covered his hands, and a few pieces of armor protected his arms and shoulder. If the hooded man was looking to start a new fashion trend he had better keep trying.<br/><br/>A satchel strung across his chest held the few other things he had to his name. Not much, really, but when you had lived in only your fur for half a decade you tended to not need a lot. And Will Riot did not need much, except a coal to light the end of his pipe.<br/><br/>He sucked through the stem, tasting the aroma of the moist, fermented leaves. From where he was leaning he could see the stables behind the Lion Inn. A small cat slinked into the barn doors, presumably for warmth. A few minutes later a gypsy woman, dressed in colorful garb came out. Horses he understood. People? Not so much, despite his years among them and as them. Will continued to watch the barn, assuming a rather pleased and spent night guard or some other fellow would come sauntering out of the barn soon, now that the woman had left. After a few moments he realized she had not been there for a rendezvous with anyone, and had probably just woken from a long nap.<br/><br/>Will’s scruff framed lips pulled at the thin bone stem, wishing it was a juicy knuckle bone and he was still sprawled out in front of the prince’s fireplace, gnawing happily while the prince plucked at his lute.<br/><br/>The good ‘ol days.<br/><br/>He turned his attention back to the inn, wiped off the pipe stem and stashing it away. He had seen the sign placed on the edge of town that morning. Unfortunately, that pesky, haughty<i>crow</i>had seen him see it.<br/><br/>He frowned to himself fuming silently.<i>“Draya thinks she is so much better than me. Just because she was a ‘gift’ to the king and queen. If anything, that makes her less! She’s just a trinket. A pretty, fluffy, black feathered trinket with no more value than a carnival mystic.” </i><br/><br/>He had almost not come to the meeting place, and as he watched people filter in and out, he nearly changed his mind. But this was the first sign of anyone looking for the prince, and rumors had it that the regent himself had ordained this group. Will never knew what to think of Aeldredus. On one hand, the regent was related to the king, so he smelled very much like him. On the other, Will found him a hard human to read. Was he really smiling at the dog because he liked animals? Or was he thinking that Scout’s grey-brown coat would make a nice rug?<br/><br/>Sliding his hood back with one hand, he pushed off the wall he had been leaning against.<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fc1%2F59%2Fac%2Fc159ac7e39ddc0e3a3e577d4d5bc2872.jpg&amp;hash=d752ae2e2d3b305f0ded2ca5ba01f3a6" href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c1/59/ac/c159ac7e39ddc0e3a3e577d4d5bc2872.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">His lean, long face</a>was framed with a short beard. Dark hair the length of his palm swept back, giving him a debonair look that was entirely unwarranted. Earnest brown eyes gazed out beneath thick brows, and a crease of worry crossed his forehead. It was nearly noon, and the inn was filling up quickly. He could always go in, meet the leaders of the pack (so to speak), and decide then if he wanted to tag along or not.<br/><br/>He pushed the thick wooden door open to step inside. Already the place was full, and a table near the center of the room boasted enough variety of persons around it to be ‘the one.’ The irony of meeting at high noon in the Lion’s Inn had not been lost on Will. High noon was when duels were called, and the Lion’s Inn? Well…the lion was the king, was it not?<br/><br/>Pausing in the doorway he scanned the room. Dwarves, elves, people tinged in magic, so many smells and colors and –<i>oh shit! Draya! –</i>he thought about backing out the way he had come. He would hear no end of it now. All fingers would point to him, blaming him for the prince’s disappearance. Maybe even the assassination of the king and queen!<br/><br/>He wanted to bolt, but he felt the air behind him shift as someone else opened the door, and instead he placed his hand, palm-flat, beside his face and turned to the left, hoping he had escaped that fowl-tempered woman’s notice, and headed for a small empty spot near the fireplace to make his decision.