White footpaws tread lightly through the wet sand, padding at a brisk even pace. Jacquez Trouillefou was conducting a search, personally sniffing around to see if any of his mongrel companions had washed up nearby. It had taken him several days' walking to reach Ruri and company; perhaps some of his followers had chosen to walk even further. He stubbornly rejected the possibility that they had drowned in the storm. He had found no ragged bodies washed up in the seaweed; perhaps his dog pack had scattered to find their own fortunes. He would make their ears bleed if they thought he was dead!
Pouting unhappily, the collie-dog let his dark eyes wander from the ocean back to the shore. There! A figure was huddled on the sand, morosely tossing a stone into the deep blue sea. He did not smell familiar, but he was alone nonetheless. Jacquez's fringed ears flopped forward as he tilted his head, studying the odd apparel this male sported, before taking a deep breath. "Bonjour, étranger! Comment allez-vous?" he bellowed, caring not that the solitary boy was not a likely candidate to speak French. The stray dog had gone most of his life around others that did not speak French. It was just a habit he had of using the pretty words. It made him sound more worldly, more royal. Also, ladies seemed to like his accent.
Without waiting for an answer, the self-proclaimed king stomped the short distance, squatting down onto his haunches to see eye-to-eye. "Green! That is a pretty colour, monsieur. What are you doing here?" He pursed his lips, catching a delicate whiff of the strange youth's garments. "Aha! Have you any drink left over?
You are a wicked child, spicing yourself with good rum and not saving any for moi..." His expression drooped comically, one hand clutching at his lean chest as though his heart were breaking. He did miss his rum. It had been too many days without a decent drink.