There was a ghost at Chien Hotel.

Or a flying piece of fabric, at least. Skoll had bundled along the hallway then watched in horror as the white cloth flew at him, surrounded with a gold aura of sunlight, and immediately he’d turned around and started running. This wasn’t out of fear so much as out of self preservation; even the bravest of wolves had to judge things from a distance sometimes.

But still, he was more than a little confused and freaked out as he stared at the white fabric, which had since then fallen to the floor. Blonde head cocked, he took a few steps forward and growled challengingly, daring the cloth to rise and chase him again. He’d tear it apart if it became a threat. He’d be brave like his daddy. But first he had to make sure that it was still undead.

The reality was, in fact, that an open window had sent a gust of wind to carry the cloth along—but from his short height, he wasn’t aware of any wind and therefore attributed the random movement to a ghost or something. Ghosts were white and flew around sometimes, right?

Skoll frowned and approached the fabric, prodding it then picking it up in his teeth. Pleased with his catch, he trotted smugly down the hall then paused when he saw something round on the floor at the edge of a room—a spool of thread that had dropped off a table or something. All he knew was that circle meant roll, and while it wasn’t a proper sphere like a ball, it would be more interesting even than this cloth in his mouth.

Quickly, not thinking of who the thread might belong to—as a couple of pack members worked with fabrics—he snatched up the spool then hurled it in the manner of a canine bowler down the hallway, scuttling after it. Of course, at this time the wind chose to pick up again, and soon he was gasping and trying to save his new toy from the evil cloth ghost.

The ghost caught up with him despite his vailiant efforts to save the spool. It caught up with him, and then it ate him. He yelped then snarled a high-pitched puppy snarl when it covered his face and tangled up in his legs, and he fell with a thump on the floor. Legs thrashing underneath the cloth, he was unaware of someone passing by until a voice calmly spoke to him—a grownup woman offering help.

“I do it!” Skoll howled from underneath the phantom. It wasn’t so much a fear of who was helping as much as the fact that he wanted to help himself. He was an independent and determined cub, able to find his way out of most situations he got himself in—and he wanted to keep that reputation at some level. After all, he was a Haskel, the son of the King. He could do this. He could beat this stupidface ghost!

Another thrash of his limbs, and the puppy found air. He pushed his nose under the cloth then managed to worm his way out of it. A triumphant grin brightened his green eyes before he looked up at the woman. She looked nice, with pretty curly red hair, and her scent told him that she was a pack member. Maybe she could be a friend.

“Thank you fer offerin’ ’elp,” the Prince said then with a little dip of his head, remembering his manners.

Then he turned and attacked the sheet of white cloth relentlessly, his puppy teeth biting in vain before he managed to tear it with a loud rip. The sound startled him and made him fall on his butt, gazing at the cloth before grinning haughtily at his undead enemy.

Clueless to the fact, of course, that he was destroying someone’s property.