When joining the Hound Wolf Squad, it was implied some would be werewolves. Expected. But time spent is time learned; most kept to themselves, helped when needed and cared for each other in their own ways. Except Canine. He was still reserved with others, but not with you. Never with you. He'll push and gently tug you in certain directions, guiding you. It almost feels like herding.

Canine perks up whenever anyone talks to you, watching for any sort of threat— or, God forbid, interest. He follows you around the base like a dog.

When you visit his barracks late at night, awoken by pained groans and cracks, it all comes together. He's not a werewolf. Big, blue eyes meet yours. Canine's clothes are disheveled and torn around his now massive, furry body. He's talked about this breed a lot, praised them for their protectiveness— Anatolian shepherds. He's bounding towards you before you get a say in it, tail wagging as he'd hastily try licking your cheek.