Blackfoot Forest City nights

There was no question of loyalty in Junkyard Dog's heart. She was never meant to be a leader, but she was perfectly suited to be a follower. And follow she had, right into the thick of danger. Not once had she questioned Dogmeat's wisdom, as that was how she preferred to act. Stealing was easy, comfortable. It had how she had once made her living, after there was no Man to feed her daily. Stealing from the wolves, though not wise, seemed to her the only logical course, and those that still held onto dreams of hunting and providing for themselves were foolish in her mind.

The sighthound revealed her intentions, unproductive yet innocent in Junkyard Dog's opinion, but at least the dog was doing her best.

"I will come," Junkyard Dog told her. There was no question there, just a statement. She would go, dogging the Saluki's path with diligence. Again, two were better than one, and though Junkyard Dog thought she was useless as a hunter, she might yet surprise herself.