"Good girl."

Nick ruffled through Number One's stubbly fur. After wriggling beneath his touch, licking his fingers, the grey female placed her paws on his thigh, sniffing as if smelling the deer fat but not finding it. She neither yowled nor whined; she never did. Instead, she followed her nose, her weight shifting from one leg to the other. Then she halted and stared at Nick's pocket.

"Yes, very well."

Clicking his tongue, Nick fished out the crumbling lump of fat and leftover dough. He presented the treat flat on his hand. 

A crunch later, there was but a wet spot where the biscuit had been.

He narrowed his eyes to get a clearer view of the kennel. Against the heap of white and grey fur laid an all-white female who had plopped down onto the spotted male. Bear was wagging his tail, smacking the black blur that had to be Number Two. The black puppy seemed mesmerised, though Nick couldn't figure out what he was fascinated by.

"Aw-re," Number One said. She sounded muffled, her muzzle buried in the damp piece of cloth on his lap.

"You wanna go again?"

"Arf."

"Last time then."

Nick grabbed the pretend-rope and held it in front of him. The dull ache that had settled behind his eyelids a while ago pricked as the pup flashed before him. He squeezed the rope, which Number One saw as a challenge; she set her teeth and tugged as though she would get all the treats in his pocket as a reward. For the pup, this was but a game rewarded with fatty, salty treats, yet once she was sold to a miner, the memory of this exercise would help her to pull carts and save the occasional life.

A second pup brushed behind his back.

"Wroo!" Bear barked.

Nick let go of the cloth as he felt a furry head digging into his pocket. As Number One tumbled backwards, startled by the sudden events, Nick grasped the male by the scruff of his neck. Part of biscuit fell from the black blot's snout. Scrunch-scrunch—the other half was beyond saving.

"Bad dog!"

There came a lengthy petulant noise in reply.

Nick didn't care what explanation the pup had. "Stealing biscuits is not what good dogs do. If you wanted a treat, you should have worked for it, like your sister."

Number Two clawed at Nick.

"No."

"Wrowro." More writhing, and squirming, and moaning.

"Stop."

"Wro-wroo-wroo."

Nick placed his finger on his mouth, then kept it there until the pup stopped whining. 

In the background, Bear was having his paws full to keep Number Three and Number Five from chasing each other's tail in a panicked frenzy. Number One appeared as a grey oasis of serenity in a kennel of chaos.

Out of all the pups, Number Two had the most trouble being separated from Opal. The male refused to sleep unless he could lie down on Nick's head, gnawing on his hair; which usually resulted in the pup coughing up a slimy hairball in the middle of the night. Last night, even on Fiddler, who had stormed off and had since then refused to see him.

Nick placed the pup on his lap, rubbing his stomach and receiving thankful licks in return. He threw Number One a biscuit for good behaviour, which caused Two to pause for half a heartbeat, then softly nibble on the hand that had touched the deer fat.

"Sneaky dog." Nick tickled him lightly. "I should tell King River to sell you to Lana for more gold than you're worth. Then you'll get belly rubs and snacks, as much as you want." 

"Arrr?"

"Arf. You'll grow fat while she reads or talks to people who find themselves so important they have to report every fart to the royal family. But you know, the best part will be to get the food Seb doesn't wanna eat anymore when he gets into a fight with the King and storms off to go sulking on his windowsill."

"Njaa."

"Oh, it's true," Nick said. "And Queen Crystal will call you a furry blanket, but secretly she'll spoil you more than anyone else. She'll pretend to hate you—says you ruin the carpets and break the porcelain. But she's Ician too, and I've never met an Ician who isn't fond of Mountain Dogs."

"Njarf."

"You don't want it?"

"Nja."

"Alright, no selling to the Greenlanders then. You're a smart dog, after all. There are better things to do here in Ice." He chuckled as the pup squirmed loose. "And you won't grow as fat, only poofy when the days grow shorter and colder. There's no snow in Sundale—oh, no, the Winter Bear doesn't go that far south."

The puppy clambered up to his chest with little regard to the claws making small tears in Nick's shirt. Whatever he said, it wouldn't matter; Number Two dangled by his grip, determined to heave himself over Nick's shoulder to become a hat of fur and licks.

To help the pup, Nick slowly lay down. Unsharp nails pricked his lip, then his cheek. The male tossed and twisted, legs everywhere and nowhere at once, then flopped down.

"You're comfortable?" Nick asked as the gnawing began.

As the pup breathed something that sounded like an arf, a grey smudge squeezed under his arm: Number One. He should send her away, to assure she wouldn't bond to him, but he didn't have the heart. She was a big puppy, but she was still a pup.

His headache wasn't so bad as he lay there, one pup on his head and one by his side. So what if Fiddler didn't visit him tonight—he wasn't the one asking her to see him in the kennels and lie with him. She came to him, knowing that he would prioritise the puppies over her. That was why he slept here instead of in his chamber. If she wanted to sleep with him, it was in the same room as the dogs or not at all. Her loss.

He dozed off for a while; he couldn't tell how long. Ician Summers bathed in light, whether it was three in the afternoon or at the witch's hour. One was still snoring under his arm, and Two breathed in his ear. At least, the male wasn't snacking on his hair.

Nick gently lifted the pup from his head and placed him on his stomach. He stroked the creature before scooping him and Number One up.

"Yick?" Bear yipped.

"Yeah, I'm gonna check on Opal and Merry. Won't take long," Nick whispered. He put Two in Bear's neck, then laid One on top of her siblings; the way they slept when Opal was around.

Outside the pup's kennel, all was quiet. His vision remained blurry, but he knew the place well enough to navigate without relying on sight. He walked to the last kennel, furthest away from the puppies to prevent them from smelling their mother when they were separated.

Through the bars, he caught brown glimpses of Merry pacing.

"Everything alright?" He waited for the female to come to him. She pushed her muzzle through the bars and sat down, which allowed him to scratch her head. 

Merry never spoke to him as the other mountain dogs did. She reserved that for her owner, Prince Ash. Her composure was reassuring. Unlike the first day of the experiment, when she had barked so loudly at Opal that Number Four had crawled under a bowl. The puppy had hid there all night, even long after the barking had stopped. Yesterday, the dogs had been quiet. Opal hadn't chased Number Four away when he had come for milk; she hadn't bathed him yet.

"I'm gonna come in," Nick said to Merry.

The stout brown female rose to all fours and moved out of the way as he slid the latch and entered the kennel. He gave Merry a deer fat biscuit, then proceeded to the passed out white heap of fur. On Opal's stomach, tucked under her paws, laid Number Four on his side, another sign of two happy dogs napping. His experiment was working.

Nick turned to Merry. The brown female had started pacing again. There was no use to keep her in here; Ash hadn't taken her out for a walk; something he forgot when he didn't take his dog out for hunting.

"Wanna get some fresh air?" He asked, holding the door half-open.

Merry dashed towards him and ducked under his arm to the central area. When she barked, he assumed she was confused because there were no bowls with food and water waiting for her. 

But after locking the kennel, he found her on the other side of the room, near the pump. She was jumping at a shadow in the shape of a curly-haired man.

"Get off me!" said a male voice. "I'm not here to steal your water, stupid dog."

"Leave him be, Merry. It's Curdle—you know him."

Merry stayed put.

"Thanks, Nick," the shade mumbled.

Prince Curdle was the King's youngest son and the runt of the Ician court. If it weren't for the King's mother, the Prince would long have been sent to the mines. His sisters and nieces used him for errands they were too lazy to do, while his brothers pretended he didn't exist unless they got a scolding from Queen Feline. The King's grandsons used Curdle as a hitting pole.

In the five years he had lived here, Nick had come to know Curdle as an oddball who always assumed others knew what he was talking about. A conversation with him could be a challenge but wasn't as impossible as the royals claimed.

Nick walked up to the side-door connecting the kennels to the dogs' outdoor obstacle playground where Merry could release the pent-up energy. Water splashed into a container.

"If you're not stealing water, then what are you doing?" He asked Curdle.

"Father asked me to collect samples from all over Bigtown." The water stopped running.

"Oh," Nick thought about what could be wrong. "Is there something in the water that might harm the dogs?"

He began to grunt, snort even as he laughed. "Not unless they're magicians." 

"Well, there are those who theorise that our ability to connect with certain animals stems from ancient nature magic that can be found across the Five Kingdoms, from the Scorian horses to the Ician Mountain Dogs. Poppycock and hogwash, if you ask me."

"Greenlanders think that, yeah," Curdle said. He took a sip from the container, then shuddered. "This one's bad. I don't need to run the test to know."

"What test? Can I still use the pump?"

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed," Curdle said to him. "Then again, you never went to the School. I think if you had, you would have tasted it before anyone else in Bigtown."

Nick ground his teeth, keeping the God of Wrath at bay. "Well, now you can be the one to inform me."

"Iron," Curdle said, as though that was obvious.

"Iron," Nick repeated. On warm days, he often drank from the pump but had always attributed the slight metallic taste to the brand new faucet. Now, he understood Curdle's remark about the magicians. "So, how did it get into the water?"

"Father thinks sabotage, but that's far-fetched. Bigtown's soil is littered with ore, including the wells. Draughts, natural corrosion—anything can cause a sudden spike of iron in our rivers."

"And blocks magician's powers," Nick said. The water magicians wouldn't fish as efficiently as before.

"They get sick too. Starts as blisters and itches, then they get muscle cramps and a terrible stomachache. If the iron doesn't get removed or filtered out, they risk losing their powers permanently. If they don't die, that is."

Nick raised an eye. "Do you know if there's a book on that topic?"

Curdle laughed. "Perhaps in Mage Tower. Though I doubt it—Silvermark has little iron. I doubt the matter has ever concerned the Grand Master."

"King Storm might."

"Might what?"

"Done research."

"I don't know." Curdle lifted his shoulders. "You should ask Pearl when she's back from her trip. But it would be better if you concern yourself with what happens in the south. Let them worry about their own issues—they have enough."

"Sure, of course. I apologise—it's my Greenlander nature to be curious."

Curdle didn't respond to that. He put a lid on the container, hastening to take his leave. By the door appeared Merry. She barked.

"The dog needs you." Curdle gesticulated.

"I'm aware. I choose to not give in to her whims, shows who's the master."

"Do you reckon that'll work for humans too?"

"Of course. I let Fiddler come to me instead of going to her. She's upset, but she'll see reason soon enough. Today or tomorrow, I expect her to come crawling back to me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Nick didn't know why the Prince said that. He didn't ask either.

Not that it mattered. A little while later, Fiddler entered the kennels filled to the brim with Lust and Greed. Mere heartbeats after taking off his shirt and unbuttoning his trousers, her scent enchanted him enough to take him to a higher place, a personal, intimate heaven where their limbs entwined and tongues tangled.

Life was good.