HR, 18

Harlequin explained who Homeless Tony was and his quest for more alcohol.

"Ahhhhhh," Hubert boomed; "the drunkard... The Pack's always been worried about him, but he keeps to himself. Mostly. Hmmmmmm."

Harlequin was beginning to like Hubert more and more. Of all the creatures he'd met so far, the sad-looking basset hound was the most thoughtful and the most willing to share information. Yet, he was still a mystery, and Harlequin was not absolutely sure of him, or the "Pack."

They went back into the field and stopped over Homeless Tony's prone figure; his side rose and fell lightly in sleep. A few pokes and shouts from Harlequin did not wake him. Hubert brought up his paw to stay a more forceful blow.

"Best to let him lie, you know..."

"I don't!" Harlequin protested. "Why?"

"He's got to sleep it off. Just like my old master. Wake them up and they can be frightful fierce."

Harlequin was fascinated. He forgot about Homeless Tony for the moment, and unleashed the questions that had been building up in him for some time:

"You had a human master? Tell me: what are they like? And what's this Pack you mention? And why is Attila so important?"

A laugh started somewhere beneath Hubert's great folds of fur and chuckled it's way out. It was a strange sight: his morose demeanor brightened by laughter.

"Indeed, you are a strange creature. Are you sure you're interested? It's a bit of a sad story."

Harlequin nodded vigorously and made himself comfortable in the grass. Hubert cast his giant eyes about, gathering his thoughts. His eyes came to a rest on the oblivious Homeless Tony. His momentary cheer drifted away as he sighed and began.