"I'm certain he'd go for your throat first if he really didn't like you," she said, clearly not helping matters. She stayed only long enough to see the mabari begin to prance on his hind quarters, no trace of hostility in his stance, and then she ducked out to get a bucket of cold water from the well.

He waited with a facade of patience until the bowl hit the floor, and then he was on it, dipping his muzzle into the ceramic and wolfing down the food. She came back and eyed them both, pouring the water into the metal basin they used to clean dishes, setting to work. She smiled. "All four limbs intact, I see. Nothing to worry about."