From, Blood’s History: Dogs
I have a great fondness for dogs. Because of my own longevity, I rarely keep them. Their lives are far too short, the heartache too great when I must say goodbye to them.
On occasion, I do welcome one into my home, and once, shortly before the end of the 19th century, I took in an entire pack.
They arrived from Gods’ Hollow, although I do not know from what world or what time they might have originated from. I do know they came into Cross for a purpose, and I did my best to help them carry out their task.
For nearly twenty years, we hunted the damned together. Lycanthropes of various strains – wolves, bears, boars, etc. – often plague Cross, though rarely all at once. The dogs had followed several different breeds through a gate, traveled through Gods’ Hollow and arrived in Cross hot on the heels of their prey.
The nature of lycanthropy, the way in which it travels via the blood and saliva, means the disease can spread quickly. Especially in a community as small as Cross.
The first few years was spent confining the infected to Cross and preventing it from spilling over the border. By the end, we were hunting them down where they hid during the lull between moons.
I have, of course, outlived all the dogs. Even their pups. I cherish the memories of our time together. I think of the dogs often, when I sit and gaze upon the stuffed heads of the lycanthropes we slew together.
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