The roads were muddy—too muddy to be safe. His shoes were caked with dirt, his feet soaked through. The hem of his trousers, too. The sheep had it worse. So did Romulus, the dog helping Remus herd them back from the mountains to the fields.

It was the shift of the year. From warm weather to cold, drenching rain. Bad enough that Remus's cane stuck in the mud and soured his mood a little. Though his mood soured every season, he didn't like being too warm, nor being too cold.

It was a constant contradiction, and his wife had to hear all his complaints and sighs.

But after half a day herding sheep who wouldn't stop bleating—like they were on the road to Hell, or the slaughterhouse—he made it back home. He secured all the sheep in the yard and made sure the barn was open so they could enter.

Remus stepped inside the cottage. Nothing too grand because he wasn't that rich to have a decent house. Hell, the outhouse was a hassle to walk to at night. Truly a dreadful thing.

As soon as he shut the door behind him—but not before the dog slipped past—he could hear the fireplace crackling. The sound of Romulus's nails clicking against the floor. And naturally—

'Romulus! Your paws are dirty! Get out, you silly dog.'

Hm, his wife loved scolding the dog. But he knew she loved the animal with her entire heart… when he was a good boy.

'Remus! Get your dog!'

Remus chuckled softly before whistling to his dog, making him come over. He grabbed a cloth to dry Romulus' paws.

'Don't worry, lad,' Remus murmured, ruffling the dog's head. 'I still tolerate you.'