Grace
The pair of us ascended the stairs once again, this time with a black-and-white shadow in tow. The puppy’s nails clicked on the steps, and his tail beat at my skirts as he scampered ahead.
“He is going to need
a name,” Silas observed.
“You don’t approve of Whip?”
I asked.
“I believe in naming
things what you hope them to be: stalwart, faithful, brave.” He glanced over
his shoulder as he leaned on his cane at the top of the stair. “What do you hope him to be?”
“Valuable and
steady.”
“Valiant?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us call
him that.” He turned to the dog, who had sprawled untidily next to him on the
top step, tongue lolling. “What do you think,
Val?”
The dog lifted his head to regard his new master and sniffed the air.
As Silas worked his way past him and on down the corridor, Valiant
leapt to his feet and eagerly caught up, almost tripping Silas in his efforts
to stay close.
“That’ll do,” Silas
ordered the dog, using one of the commands he had been trying to teach the
newly recruited shepherds.
Although he had a moment of apparent confusion, the dog responded by
calming and giving Silas space to walk. Silas paused, watching the dog as he
settled his hindquarters on the floor. “He has been
trained. Perhaps his skill is just not proven.”
“Or just young and
exuberant,” I pointed out as I approached them.
The dog lifted his head and watched my movements with bright,
intelligent eyes.
“Perhaps.”
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