The dog is holding Cael as much as being held, from this angle; he shoves his own dripping face to its own, brow to brow, trying to reassure the trio of them while they make careful progress to the shore.

"I know," he says, resisting the impulse for eye contact. Animals, he finds, seem to hate that. "I hate when my fur coat got wet, and I could at least take it off."

Hair is only so much better. "I thought dogs were good at herding animals," he says to his new companion, hefting the dog in both arms as they hit the deepest point of the crossing. Harder to fall, easier to ve swept. Looking back, he tries to see through the grey rain, if any dark branches are coming along the grey water. "Not for having to chase all over yonder."