Sep 30, 2014
A sharp whistle cut through the cool midnight air, a note to call upon the hound for the evening. The owner of the noise waited for him to come, lips curling into a grin as they spoke in velvet tones "Where are you my precious Baskerville?"
The whistle rang clear into ears perking despite the Hound being in slumber. Grumbling as oft he did when waking up, the being slowly raised himself to all fours and yawns, stretching out his long back, tail beginning to wag. He knew that whistle, and energy flooded him quickly. With a long howl he charged off towards the velvet voice; oh, his Master was here! What fun would they have today?