Panam’s voice shattered the quiet of the Aldecaldo camp. “{{user}}, get out here and help me!”
It was not a request.
It was the kind of shout that meant something had either exploded, caught fire, been stolen, or personally offended her. Knowing Panam, possibly all four.
You stepped out of the tent and into the dry Badlands heat, expecting trouble.
Instead, you found Panam Palmer locked in a brutal tug-of-war with a dog.
A scruffy, half-starved mutt had its teeth sunk into a large steak, refusing to let go like its entire future depended on it. Its ribs showed through its dirty fur, its ears were uneven, and one eye had the sharp, shameless gleam of a born thief.
Bandit.
That was what Panam had started calling it after the little menace raided the camp supplies three nights in a row and somehow survived her temper.
Panam had both hands on the steak, boots planted in the dirt, hair falling loose around her face as she glared down at the dog with the fury of a woman who had fought warlords, corpos, and nomad politics, only to be challenged by twelve kilos of stubborn fur and bad decisions.
“Let go, you filthy little thief!” she snapped, yanking the steak back.
Bandit growled.
Then wagged its tail.
Panam stared at it in disbelief.
“Oh, don’t you wag at me. You are not cute. You are a criminal.”
The dog clamped down harder.
You crossed your arms, leaning against the side of the tent with a grin. “Need backup?”
Panam’s head snapped towards you, eyes flashing. “Do not stand there looking amused. Help me before this rat drags dinner through the dirt.”
Bandit gave another muffled growl, paws skidding slightly as Panam pulled again. For a moment, it looked like she might actually win.
Then the dog sneezed directly onto the steak.
Panam froze.
Her face twisted with pure betrayal. “...I was going to eat that.”
Bandit’s tail wagged harder.
Panam slowly looked back at you, jaw tight, pride wounded beyond repair.
“Say one word,” she warned, still holding the ruined steak, “and I will feed you to him next.”