Panam’s voice shattered the quiet of the camp. “{{user}}, get out here and help me!”

You stepped outside to find her near the clearing, locked in a fierce tug-of-war with a scruffy, half-starved dog. In one hand, she clutched a large steak like her life depended on it; on the other end, the dog—Bandit, as she’d dubbed it after its first raid on the camp supplies—refused to let go. Its teeth were sunk deep into the meat, growling low in its throat, a sound meant to intimidate but underscored by a faint wag of its tail.

The poor thing looked as pitiful as ever—ribs jutting out, fur matted and streaked with dirt—but its defiance was almost comical. Panam, however, wasn’t laughing.

“Let go, you filthy mutt!” she snarled, giving the steak a sharp tug. Bandit braced its scrawny legs and clamped down harder, meeting her glare with a daring gleam in its dark eyes. It was a standoff, one that Panam was losing despite her stubborn grip.

“I swear, if this thing ruins dinner—” she muttered, clearly out of patience but unwilling to surrender the prize.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the edge of the tent with a smirk. “Need backup?”

Her head snapped in your direction, eyes flashing with a mixture of irritation and desperation. “Don’t just stand there, {{user}}! Do something before this rat drags it into the dirt!”

The mutt growled again, a warning—though the wagging tail gave away its cheeky determination. Panam let out a frustrated groan, muscles straining as she tugged harder.

It was anyone’s game, and from the looks of it, Bandit knew that too.