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Arthur gawked at the animal from his kitchen window, watching as it limped down the sidewalk, blood droplets leaving a path behind it. The Brit dropped the dish he was cleaning as the canine collapsed on the edge of his driveway and ran out side.

"Oh, sweet Queen Elizabeth!" Arthur rushed to the injured animal's side and gasped. Its fur was matted and messy with mud and blood, deep gashes along its flank and cuts under its eye. Arthur gulped and leaned closer. The large animal's breath was labored and its eyes were tightly shut from the agony that clearly overcame his body. "Oh my goodness, you poor thing." Arthur knelt beside its head and stroked its bloody cheek. It whimpered and slightly opened its blue eye to look up at the Briton.

"What are you? Your much to large to be any dog as far as I know. No wolf is as large as you. Your shoulders must come up to mine at least. And with how big you are, what could have hurt you so terribly?" Arthur raised the dog's head and placed it in his lap. He then looked around, noticing no one out. He wasn't surprised, it was almost midnight. Arthur then looked back down at the dog. "Could you still stand? I'll help you inside, clean and patch up your wounds, make a place for you to rest."

The canine whined softly, but raised his head and trembled as it got to its unsteady feet.

Arthur hummed and stood. "I was right. You do come up to my shoulder." Arthur allowed the beast to lean on him, but not too much, and lead it up to his porch and in his house.

...