Arrow Lake There is a cat hovering in the men's bathroom at the radio station

The Gnargk'han chief expertly blocked Dragomir's blow, sending his battleaxes in wide arcs away from his center. Sharp-tipped spears flew toward his expose chest, but Drago was ready for it. In this reality he had a reedy body shaped by years of hunting in the great mushroom woods of his home town, and he had a whip-like readiness about him. He curved away from the spears, throwing his spine back and bending effortlessly at the knees so that they fell short of his vital organs.

Little baby wolf Dragomir, meanwhile, was mimicking these actions in the real world to the best of his abilities. From the assault of Aure's tickles, he stretched back his spine and curved into a little comma, pressing his toes insistently against the soft leather of his dam's nose. Hers was the bulwark against which he strained in his other reality; her words, soundless to him but for the rumbles of his ribs, were timed with the spear strikes from the commander of the enemy army.

He grappled with her for a time, bringing his toothless gums down on her whiskered lip in a fierce display of his particular propensity for biting.