Clive feels his shoulder threaten to leave its socket as Torgal pulls, and he staggers forward a few steps to not get yanked on his face. Fortunately it’s Jill, and the leash is just a formality. He lets go, Torgal surging on ahead to meet her, Clive following slower, hands going to his pockets.
When he finally reaches her, he just says: “Apparently dogs here need to be tied.”
"Good boy, good boy," Jill says, smiling as she leans down to give Torgal a good rub. Doing that, it's impossible to miss the collar and lead, and she looks up at Clive, confused before forcing her face into a more neutral expression.
“When I was fined for having an unleashed dog,” he replies, dryly. Up close, her joy at seeing Torgal feels underpinned by something darker. “Be careful. He’s not quite accustomed to it, so he pulls.”
Ha. Jill presses her face into the thick fur of Torgal's neck, hugging him just in case there's a look of satisfaction in her eyes. Petty, but harmless.
"How unfortunate." Sure.
"He and I will manage," Jill continues, but she has a very vivid image of herself being dragged down the street by Torgal. She'll make sure she holds the lead with her sword hand.
"He and I will manage. There's no other choice," she says simply, fixing Clive with an unimpressed look. She's not giving up her time with Torgal, and she's not going to only walk with him with Clive around.
Torgal's a good boy. He's gentle when he must be.
Of course, Jill is also still very aware that sometimes Torgal doesn't realize his own strength.
“I’m not suggesting there’s another choice,” he says. His voice is patient but a subtle annoyance flits over his face. “I’m just warning you that it’s been a challenge.”
"Yes, well, what hasn't been?" She retorts before she can stop herself. Her eyes pinch shut and she sighs. Shouldn't have said that, really, but she's not going to apologize.
"We'll get out of your hair. I'll bring him back this time next week."
As she turns to go, she expects Torgal to do what he did the first time. At least now, when he plants his paws down to look between her and Clive when she begins to walk away, she can give his leash a gentle tug.
"Come, Torgal. Let's go."
He doesn't budge, looking to Clive with pricked ears, waiting for him to follow, too.
Her frustration surprises him. He’s known it lived in her, obviously, but he’s yet to grow used to her pulling it on him like a knife.
“Jill, don’t…” he says, cross, but he cuts himself short. If she wants to turn on her heel, it’s her prerogative to. He just tacks on: “Go, boy. Go with Jill.”
The command from Clive has Torgal's ears and tail lowering a hair, but he slowly begins to walk with Jill. Desperately, she hopes Torgal gets used to this in a few more exchanges. Her heart can't take it.
"Good boy," Jill says to him, forcing herself to keep watching the hound at her side rather than look back to see if Clive's watching them go.
It's so miserable, treating one another like strangers, that her gut churns.
Jill makes it home without incident and though Clive had also warned her about the pacing, having to endure it for the rest of the day and into the night nearly drives her mad. Torgal claws at the door to go out, and then simply sits at the bottom of the apartment complex before Jill manages to get him to go inside. He goes from room to room, restless, whining. As much as she loves Torgal, by the time the sun rises the next day, she sorely considers turning him into a coat. She's barely slept.
"Torgal, please," she murmurs, an arm draped over her eyes as she tries to get some sleep.
By noon, she manages a few hours and decides to take herself and Torgal out for a stroll and to buy them both something to eat. Maybe he does just need to burn off all that energy. The poor thing has no idea what's expected of him on leash, but he does at least stay close to Jill as they walk.
Until he catches a whiff of Clive and takes off, leash pulling so hard that it lands Jill on her hands and knees on the concrete with a cry of surprise.
It is, admittedly, a very peaceful night without Torgal, if a lonely one. That Torgal is slowly driving Jill insane doesn’t even occur to him; after all, he’s always loved Jill best, ever since she carted him around in her arms as a pup. Surely, he wouldn’t do the same to her.
He sleeps until early afternoon and pulls on proper trousers and a pullover to nip out for something to eat. He finds it four or five blocks over, and is eating a corn dog as he walks when he hears a familiar cry and a bark.
The wolf happily bounds up to one master, then turns around in palpable confusion when the other isn't close behind him. Torgal springs back to Jill with another bark. He's there when Jill reaches a hand out, gripping his back as she pulls herself to her feet. Her knees ache and her palms sting in their gloves.
"You've no idea how big you are, do you?" Jill breathes out, giving him a pat as he wines apologetically. She's not mad. Clive really wasn't kidding and...
His heart stops when he sees her, and he's moved several steps in her direction with his hands out to help her up before he even realizes it. It's of no help; she's already getting up by time he gets close, and then he has to back off a step again, useless to her.
What a terribly loaded question. Jill just looks at him and pretends he did not ask.
"I see what you meant about the pulling," she says, brushing off her knees, knowing her skin is scraped beneath her clothing. She decides to keep her gaze on Torgal, who cautiously wags his tail, both his people in the same place again.
He has some thought to reach for her hands anyway, to inspect them for damage. Worse, he has the thought that he'd love to kiss them, cover up the hurt with something else. He can do neither.
"He's terrible even when he's in good spirits," he remarks, and he drops to one knee at Torgal's side to pet him, as if that might break the tension. Force Jill to look at him, if only for a second. "Aren't you, boy?"
There's no chance of him helping her hurts when he's the greatest hurt of all.
Jill crosses her arms and looks elsewhere when Clive kneels. Her eyes drift up to the sky and she closes them for a moment, willing the stinging in her palms and knees to fade.
"I may have to admit defeat if he doesn't calm down soon."
"I wouldn't take him from you, Jill," he reminds her, continuing to watch her from just over Torgal's back. She's never been so reluctant to meet his eyes, and his brows knit in concern. For this, for all of it. "Would it be overstepping to suggest we walk him together?"
It's that or enlisting someone else, and he'll take his damn dog back before he suggests Dion.
Strange, how the suggestion both makes her stomach sink and her heart jump.
"I don't think that's a very wise idea, Clive," she says, still refusing to look at him as she scratches under Torgal's chin. The dog huffs, pleased to have the affection of them both, and Jill is sorry it won't last.
The furrow of his brow deepens, and he feels nothing but hurt for her, for them, for the pain he has caused. If he could wave it all away, he would, but if he had that ability, perhaps he could have found his courage and endured his woes to begin with.
“I know,” he says, quietly. “I’ll understand if it’s too much, but to me, walking Torgal together is a good place to start. You shouldn’t fear seeing me forever.”
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When he finally reaches her, he just says: “Apparently dogs here need to be tied.”
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"Really? How did you learn that?"
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"How unfortunate." Sure.
"He and I will manage," Jill continues, but she has a very vivid image of herself being dragged down the street by Torgal. She'll make sure she holds the lead with her sword hand.
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“Please,” he says. “You know how strong he is. It’s been a challenge even for me.”
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Torgal's a good boy. He's gentle when he must be.
Of course, Jill is also still very aware that sometimes Torgal doesn't realize his own strength.
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"We'll get out of your hair. I'll bring him back this time next week."
As she turns to go, she expects Torgal to do what he did the first time. At least now, when he plants his paws down to look between her and Clive when she begins to walk away, she can give his leash a gentle tug.
"Come, Torgal. Let's go."
He doesn't budge, looking to Clive with pricked ears, waiting for him to follow, too.
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“Jill, don’t…” he says, cross, but he cuts himself short. If she wants to turn on her heel, it’s her prerogative to. He just tacks on: “Go, boy. Go with Jill.”
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"Good boy," Jill says to him, forcing herself to keep watching the hound at her side rather than look back to see if Clive's watching them go.
It's so miserable, treating one another like strangers, that her gut churns.
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"Torgal, please," she murmurs, an arm draped over her eyes as she tries to get some sleep.
By noon, she manages a few hours and decides to take herself and Torgal out for a stroll and to buy them both something to eat. Maybe he does just need to burn off all that energy. The poor thing has no idea what's expected of him on leash, but he does at least stay close to Jill as they walk.
Until he catches a whiff of Clive and takes off, leash pulling so hard that it lands Jill on her hands and knees on the concrete with a cry of surprise.
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He sleeps until early afternoon and pulls on proper trousers and a pullover to nip out for something to eat. He finds it four or five blocks over, and is eating a corn dog as he walks when he hears a familiar cry and a bark.
“Torgal?”
Uh oh.
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"You've no idea how big you are, do you?" Jill breathes out, giving him a pat as he wines apologetically. She's not mad. Clive really wasn't kidding and...
There he is. Jill freezes.
Oh.
No wonder Torgal took off.
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"Are you alright?" he asks, with some concern.
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"I see what you meant about the pulling," she says, brushing off her knees, knowing her skin is scraped beneath her clothing. She decides to keep her gaze on Torgal, who cautiously wags his tail, both his people in the same place again.
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"He's terrible even when he's in good spirits," he remarks, and he drops to one knee at Torgal's side to pet him, as if that might break the tension. Force Jill to look at him, if only for a second. "Aren't you, boy?"
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Jill crosses her arms and looks elsewhere when Clive kneels. Her eyes drift up to the sky and she closes them for a moment, willing the stinging in her palms and knees to fade.
"I may have to admit defeat if he doesn't calm down soon."
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"What would you like me to do, in that case?"
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"I don't know." Very helpful. She sighs, kneeling herself, Torgal's cold wet nose sniffing her face. "He may need to stay with you after all."
Oh, but she doesn't want to lose him, too.
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It's that or enlisting someone else, and he'll take his damn dog back before he suggests Dion.
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"I don't think that's a very wise idea, Clive," she says, still refusing to look at him as she scratches under Torgal's chin. The dog huffs, pleased to have the affection of them both, and Jill is sorry it won't last.
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Surely he must know how much it hurts to be around him, now.
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“I know,” he says, quietly. “I’ll understand if it’s too much, but to me, walking Torgal together is a good place to start. You shouldn’t fear seeing me forever.”
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