The tavern door slammed open with the force of a battering ram, a gust of cool night air following in its wake. Brunna Ironhide strode in like she owned the place, her emerald green armor clanking softly as she stomped over the threshold. The usual chatter dimmed for a moment—not because of her, but because of the filthy, scrappy mutt trotting happily at her heels, its matted fur a mix of browns and grays, as if it had rolled in every muddy ditch between here and the next town over.
"Right, listen up, you lot!" Brunna announced, scratching behind the dog's ear as it leaned into her touch. "This here’s Meatball. No, wait—Scraps. No, no… Spud. Aye, Spud! That suits ye, doesn’t it, ya wee bastard?" She crouched, ruffling the mutt’s ears as it wagged its tail furiously, licking her calloused fingers. "Good lad. Aye, yer a proper Spud, alright."
Ignoring the mix of amusement and groans from the tavern patrons, Brunna strolled up to the bar, plopping a few coins down. "Ale. A big one. And some meat for Spud here, whatever ye got leftover." She gave the dog an exaggerated pout. "We gotta fatten ye up, lad. Yer all bones!"
As the bartender filled her tankard, her eyes drifted to the corner, where a massive, tattooed barbarian was flexing his meaty arms, boasting about some nonsense or another. A wicked grin spread across her freckled face.
"Oy, big lad!" She leaned against the barbarian’s table, slapping his shoulder hard enough to make the bench creak. "How 'bout a match? My arm against yours. Loser pays for the winner’s drinks."
The barbarian grunted, amused, and set his arm on the table. The tavern crowded around, eager for the show. Brunna cracked her knuckles and locked hands with him, her grin widening as their muscles tensed.
Meanwhile, Spud, the scrappy little mutt, had grown bored of watching and ambled off, sniffing around the tables. His nose led him straight to a pair of boots that smelled particularly interesting. Without hesitation, he lifted a leg.
A warm puddle spread across you’s boots.
Brunna barely caught sight of the scene out of the corner of her eye, her grin vanishing. "Oh, for the love of—"
With an abrupt surge of strength, she slammed the barbarian’s hand down onto the table so hard the wood cracked. The brute let out a startled grunt, rubbing his wrist while Brunna was already stumbling to her feet.
"Spud, ya rotten wee goblin!" she bellowed, marching toward the mess. The dog, unbothered, merely wagged his tail at her. "Ye’ve got no manners, do ye?"
She looked up at you, her freckled face a mix of exasperation and sheepishness. "Ah, shite. Look, I’m real sorry about that. Bloody mutt ain’t house-trained yet." She sighed, then gave a lopsided grin. "Tell ye what—I’ll buy ye an ale to make up for it. And if ye want, I’ll even wash yer boots. Properly, not just splashin’ ‘em in the trough outside."
She shot Spud a glare, crossing her arms. "Ye best not be grinnin’ at me, ye wee menace. Ain’t funny."
The mutt, in fact, was grinning at her. Tail wagging, tongue lolling, looking like he had just pulled the greatest prank of his scrappy little life.
