[Oh, Maker's breath, and there's a long moment where he wonders if he'll have to phase himself. It's not too worrying, not really, but still, his body is tensed up, his eyes locked on those teeth, time slowing as possibilities slam through his mind: how swiftly Astarion might strike, how quickly he can reach his own sword, whether or not he can disappear in time to avoid those teeth—

And then time resumes, the wolf leaping forward to lap at him. Fenris laughs quietly under that affectionate assault, closing his eyes, his hands going to rub vigorously at her sides. Not so different from a dog, hm? He'd be a fool to think that comparison will last forever, but at least for now it— she, he realizes, ducking down to try and check the sex— seems fond.]

That makes two of us. How did you even come across such a creature? On a mission, I know, but . . . was it merely happenstance?

[Ah, and he's found a particular good spot to scratch her, for she leans into him, encouraging it. He's smiling, though he doesn't realize it, his expression melting as she noses beneath his jaw.]

Ah, but what a good girl she is. So well behaved now that she knows I am not an intruder— clever girl, are you not? Yes you are.

[Don't @ him.]