@travelsbybroom
It had only been a matter of time, really, before Arthur did something stupid when he wasn't quite feeling himself. Though he could be thankful at least, that when the dog had jumped on him in bed as one of his terrors encroached, he'd only tried to wrestle him to the ground and hit him, instead of reaching to the dagger that had made its way back onto his bedside table. He'd come out of it with a terrified bite mark in his arm and a cautious dog. But after few strokes and tearful apology, Splodge seemed mostly fine, besides a faint limp to his front paw. The guilt and the worry, however, had Arthur up the rest of the night, waiting until the very moment the phone lines opened in the morning to book in an appointment with a vet.
He pulled the dog cautiously into the room, offering a gentle stroke to his head in an attempt to calm both their nerves, his other hand gripping tightly to the lead. “He-” Arthur started, pausing a moment as gazed down at his pet. He didn't want to lie, nor tell the truth in fear of the consequences. “I think he may be hurt.”
@travelsbybroom