[Sweet, he thinks idly, glancing up for just one moment. Astarion plays at being the callous, cruel figure, hedonistic in his vices and terribly mean in his ways, but it takes so little to see past that. How easy would it have been for him to slaughter this creature? Surely most would. It's an animal, after all, and not many in Thedas have time for sentiment when life is hard enough as it is. No one would have thought twice if he'd followed his mission to the letter.

And yet still, he had pitied her. He had brought her home, and oh, yes, he protested, but he hadn't done all he could, Fenris wagers. The wolf leaps upon him, bracing herself on his shoulders and licking enthusiastically at his face— he's grateful for it, truly. He knows he has the stupidest sort of expression on right now, big eyes and besotted smile, and it won't do for Astarion to see either of them. But oh, doesn't his heart just ache with affection right now . . .]

She will not. She just wants for attention, that's all— down, [he adds sternly, and grips the scruff of her neck, trying to wrestle her into lying across his lap. He's semi-successful; the wolf pants up at him, her tail wagging fiercely, thrumming with barely held energy. His fingers scrub over her belly, and that seems to be compromise enough.]

Come here. Sit next to me and greet her properly. Have you named her yet?