Hey, it's Leo. I guess I’m writing this one, since his paws don’t exactly work on a keyboard. This is Orion. He’s an American Staffordshire Terrier, though most days he just functions as a ninety-pound, happy bulldozer.

When I first came up to Shale Mountain, I thought the isolation meant it would just be me and the trees. Then this blockhead found me. You’d think a werewolf wouldn’t need a dog, and technically, you’d be right. But he’s not here for protection. He’s here because he genuinely believes he’s my fierce backup when we patrol the ridge, and because Austin needs a snoring space heater on his feet when I'm out in the woods. To Orion, I’m not a monster or a sentinel. I’m just the guy who opens the kibble, wrestles him on the rug, and occasionally smells like wild game. He keeps this cabin from feeling too quiet.

I asked him if he had anything he wanted to add for the record. This is his official statement:

Whine. Sniff.
Snort.
Grrrrrr-ruff!

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