“We Are not keeping that thing,” Mace scoffed, his scarred arms crossing over his chest as he shifted his weight to his left leg.

You had found a dog in some ruins, the poor thing bloodied but alive. You immediately turned to Mace with pleading eyes, and he immediately shot you down.

“We don’t have the food for it, nor the time to properly care for it.” He tried to use logic on you, but what has is that against stubbornness?

“Don’t name it. If you make it you’ll get attached.”