Bearclaw Valley By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

Fraser went slightly cross-eyed, staring down the bridge of his rather-long proboscis. Aye, he mumbled, feeling incredibly embarrassed. A place of wolves. But how was he to tell this fearsome devil that he was not familiar with places of wolves? Of places of anything but masters and servants, of friends?

He had never been treated this way. Not a single moment of his life had been spent in this kind of terror.

Ye did? the deerhound asked somewhat incredulously, feeling the tip of his tail sting as if in answer. He sucked in a deep breath and cast it aside—if the wolf said he had, then he had. It was not "easy" to Fraser by any means. . .but he supposed he could be more badly hurt. If not dead.

Yes, he could be dead.

I'm sorry, sir, he repeated, looking contrite. It willna happen again. B-but. . .I am verra tired, aye? Can I—Can I stay here, rest for a while? I will be your servant, sir. Whatever ye need me to do, I will do it. Until the time came to go home—but his bones were much too weary to make that meandering journey now.