Wildfire Riders

("FOUR" - crossed out)TWO Puppies - mixed breed - 3/4 Deerhound, 1/4 Worg? ("Three females and one male."-crossed out) Two females. Mother is also adoptable.

All dark grey, with varying degrees of white spots. Healthy, 12 weeks old, socialized and weaned.

Contact Aelflaed Larsdottir by Stormwind Post.

((Willing to help with UBRS runs if you need to get your worg puppy to have this pet for real!))




^ this one is Phileas', with the white ear and splotch on her chest. The female runt of the litter. Also too cute for words.

I'm willing to bet Elyle wants one. ((IRL)).

Do want.

Just have to get the resident dog to agree. (IRL, he says no friggin way).

((If you think Philly isn't keeping the runt of the litter, you're crazy, Aely. He's always got a bit of a thing for the underdog, as it were. ))

Yva read the advertisement and dropped her head onto the desk.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Her eyes betrayed her, spilling to the living room where That Bloody Man was reading by the fire. WIth a deep sigh, another thunk of head meeting desk, and a mutter, she began to write.

((Full grown Deerhound, size reference, for Yvas - http://www.eikica.dk/data/images/news/eikica%20028.jpg - this is a purebreed, so make her a little more solid to account for the worg in her, and add white patches as your imagination permits))

Aely opened the door to the apartment with a practiced nudge of her knee, managing to keep the two dogs and four exuberant puppies inside and squeeze through herself without tripping or letting loose a flood of fur and feet and ears up the stairs into Mrs. Cross' kitchen.

She knelt down to greet them all, trying valiantly to keep from being knocked over, and then set about the enormous task of feeding that many hungry mouths with the mixture of rice, beef, egg, and assorted other foods she'd been making every few days. It looked rather unappetizing, but all six of them loved it, snarfing it down with the kind of relish that said nothing of the meal they'd had this morning.

She looked around the apartment, noting that someone had tried to chew up one of her plate boots again - thank the Light they were nearly indestructible and Phileas had been keeping his leathers well out of sight - and that one of the table legs was going to need replacing before they moved out. Mrs Cross had been extremely gracious about the sudden menagerie downstairs, but it was definitely time for the puppies to move out into real homes.

All, she thought, except for the little one. The "runt" with the purple ribbon collar (if you could call a puppy that size "runtish") had taken a liking to Phileas and he was loath to let her go. Besides, they were all so amazingly cute, it was hard not to want to keep ALL of them, let alone just the one.

At least until she had to change the pile of newspapers in the corner.

No, it was a good thing that Yva was coming to pick up the one male puppy of the group. He'd be a great pet, and would probably never grow out of wanting to be a lap dog, even when he got to be the size of a small pony.

When Phileas returned later that evening, he found her asleep on the floor amidst the remnants of an epic game of tug-of-war, with three of the puppies curled up around her and the one littlest one sprawled out across her chest.