It was massive. Eight feet at the shoulder, covered in scales that glowed like cooling lava. Its eyes burned with literal flames, and when it opened its mouth, she could see three rows of teeth designed for rending flesh from bones.
“Oh.” Her voice came out smaller than intended. “That’s… big.”
Two more followed, equally massive, equally terrifying. They arranged themselves in a hunting formation, heads low, flames dripping from their jaws to sizzle against the forest floor.
Marcus’s magic grew brighter. “When I say run…”
“Wait.” Hazel grabbed his arm, her attention caught by something off about the scene. “Look at the one on the left.”
“This is not the time for hellhound appreciation…”
“No, look.” She pointed at the smallest of the three, the smallest being relative when it still stood taller than a normal horse. “Its tail.”
Marcus followed her gaze, his defensive spell wavering. “Is it… wagging?”
The hellhound’s tail was indeed making tiny, hopeful movements. More half wag than full wag, like it wasn’t quite sure if it was allowed but couldn’t quite help itself.
“They’re still dogs,” she said, wonder creeping into her voice. “Massive, terrifying dogs from Hell, but…”
“Hazel, no.”
But she was already moving, hand going to her jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around something she’d grabbed on impulse from the cabin’s junk drawer that morning: a single tennis ball, left over from whoever had used this safe house before them.
“Don’t you dare…”
She threw the ball.
It arced through the air in a perfect trajectory, bright green against the autumn foliage. Three massive hellhound heads tracked its movement in perfect synchronization.
The youngest one broke first.
With a sound somewhere between a bark and a volcanic eruption, it bounded after the ball, all pretense of menace forgotten. Its tail, now wagging with enthusiasm, sent small trees flying.
The other two hellhounds watched their packmate with what could only be described as confusion. The largest tilted its massive head, flames dimming as it watched the youngest bound around like a puppy.
The young hellhound caught the ball and immediately incinerated it. Its tail drooped as it stared at the small pile of ash that had been its toy.
“Oh no,” Hazel said. “That’s so sad. Here…” She crouched by the ash pile, purple magic swirling around her fingers. The ash spiraled upward, reforming into a slightly charred but intact tennis ball. “Try being gentler?”
“Are you reconstituting fetch toys for a hellhound?” Marcus’s voice cracked slightly. His defensive magic still crackled around his hands, but he seemed to have forgotten what to do with it.
She tossed the reformed ball more softly this time. The young hellhound caught it with exaggerated care, holding it between teeth that could crush steel. Its tail wagged so hard its entire back end wiggled.
The middle hellhound took a step forward, whining low in its throat.
“You want to play too?” Hazel couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. “Marcus, give me your… do you have anything throwable?”
“I am not participating in…”
The largest hellhound padded forward and dropped something at Marcus’s feet. They both stared at it.
“Is that a tree branch?” Marcus asked faintly.
“I think it wants you to throw it.”
“This is insane.”
“They’re still dogs, you pompous ass. Look at them. They want to play.”
