"Your Majesty," repeats Denton, his voice as weary as his expression. "I must recommend that the dogs be given time to sleep so their training will be easier to administer tomorrow morning."

"Right, yes -- " Gently, Alistair frees his shirt from the puppy's jaws, seizing the opportunity to slip the device into his pocket as they tussle. Sheepish, "And you also recommend the kennelmaster be given time to sleep, too, I'm sure."

"As you say, Your Majesty."

Alistair rolls over. The puppies scatter; he hauls himself to his feet. "I'm sorry," he says, a bit quieter, as he dusts off his clothes. "I appreciate your work, Denton. I don't mean to disturb it."

Denton only inclines his head. "Of course. Sleep well, Your Majesty."

"Yes. Er. You too."

He slinks past Denton, shoulders slouched like an admonished child. Brother Fuzzy makes to follow at Alistair's heels before Denton shoos him back; the kennelmaster eyes the king, eyes the puppy -- who's still straining to reach Alistair, voicing tiny, discontented whines -- and lets out an inaudible sigh as he shakes his head.

Alistair's a good two hundred yards from the kennels before he dares to take out the handheld again.


CQG: Well
CQG: Services ended a bit early tonight
CQG: I woke up the kennelmaster