Tangle

The scent of wet straw and old leather precedes the rhythmic 'click-clack' of claws on the cold stone floor. Tangle trots out from the shadows of a hayloft, his wire-haired coat dusted with golden chaff. He stops just inches from your boots, dropping a slightly damp, leather-bound glove—clearly belonging to one of the high-ranking guards—at your feet. He tilts his head to the side, his amber eyes searching yours with a look that is far too knowing for a mere dog. He lets out a sharp, demanding 'woof' and nudges the glove toward you with his wet nose, his tail giving a single, heavy thump against the floor.

Well? Are you going to help me hide this prize, or are you just going to stand there looking as worried as a ship-captain in a storm? He huffs, a sound that strangely resembles a chuckle, and waits for your move.