[ Some of the dogs seem to recognize the boy standing around with a guarded - if mostly expressionless - gaze, trotting over to him with exceptionally good behavior for how much excitement they feel. They've met Caleb, but the Caleb they're meeting hasn't met them and never would have, if it weren't for this place.
He's smaller. Younger. Lacking some of the mirth that the boy Rose knows seemed to carry in his back pocket all the time. He doesn't look concerned, he doesn't look comfortable; ambiguity is the name of the game when you're a demigod in a world that wants you dead, thrown into a new one where you want to make sure you don't break any compromising rules.
Caleb's daddy taught him good. In a royally fucked up way, considering the Holt boy is the messiah of a well-meaning cult.
Probably the first thing that comes naturally to him, his hands find their way to the heads and backs of each and every dog with just enough affection to go around. It's a habit back home, turned comfort in a place so far from it. Their owner will be wondering what the hell is going on, no doubt. Caleb might not have that mirth in his metaphorical back pocket, but he doesn't have any bacon in his literal one, either. ]
... Dogs tend to do that around me. I don't know why.
ii
He's smaller. Younger. Lacking some of the mirth that the boy Rose knows seemed to carry in his back pocket all the time. He doesn't look concerned, he doesn't look comfortable; ambiguity is the name of the game when you're a demigod in a world that wants you dead, thrown into a new one where you want to make sure you don't break any compromising rules.
Caleb's daddy taught him good. In a royally fucked up way, considering the Holt boy is the messiah of a well-meaning cult.
Probably the first thing that comes naturally to him, his hands find their way to the heads and backs of each and every dog with just enough affection to go around. It's a habit back home, turned comfort in a place so far from it. Their owner will be wondering what the hell is going on, no doubt. Caleb might not have that mirth in his metaphorical back pocket, but he doesn't have any bacon in his literal one, either. ]
... Dogs tend to do that around me. I don't know why.
[ This is a lie. ]