"Why is there a horse in the kitchen?"

Vincent glanced up from the stove, his eyes sparkling like sunlight on water. Though he schooled his face into an expression of innocent confusion, his knowing smile still slipped through. "What do you mean?" he asked. Then, as if noticing the furry creature for the first time, he pointed a sauce-coated spoon at the middle of the room. "Oh, you mean Chewie?"

Rayleigh frowned back at him from the doorway. "Chewie? What kind of name is that?"

"Chewbacca, from Star Wars," Vincent replied, dumbstruck. "The Wookiee? Traveled with Han Solo on the Millennium Falcon, and-"

The woman lifted her hand, cutting him off mid nerd-out. "Okay, but all this Earth nonsense still hasn't told me why there's a horse in the kitchen." Aware he was being discussed, the "horse" gave a low bark of greeting, his massive tail slapping the floor cheerfully. Rayleigh winced.

"It isn't a horse, Ray. It's a dog."

The mousy woman eyed the beast suspiciously. "I've seen smaller horses," came her sharp retort. The canine truly was massive, his enormous frame spread lazily across the tile. It was impossible to tell how tall he was, but Rayleigh would have been surprised if he weighed less than two hundred pounds. Needless to say, he was larger than she was.

The scholar ignored the comment, blazing ahead with the introductions. "Ray, Chewie. Chewie, Ray." He grinned, dropping all pretense of innocence. "I found him outside, and brought him in."

The words would not form, and Rayleigh's mouth moved without sound as she struggled to comprehend her friend's explanation. Then, finally, "You found an animal wandering the cursed Red Forest, and you thought it would be a good idea to bring it inside?"

Vincent's shrug said it was the most reasonable action to take. "I thought he was cool."

She threw up her hands, exasperated. "Fine," she cried, turning away from them both. "Do not let your horse come anywhere near me."

That was the last she saw of the dog, until he padded into her workshop an hour later. She was working off her frustration, perched precariously on a step ladder while bent over a massive metal husk. It would be a piece of an airship, someday. Sooner than later, she surmised, if Vince kept bring home strays. Distracted by the thought, her wrench slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground. With a string of curses, Rayleigh assessed how to ease back down the ladder without losing her place in her work. She nearly tumbled off it entirely when she felt the rough, hairy hide press against her leg. His head came up to her hip, even as she stood atop the steps. Surprise snapped to anger, and she moved to order the beast away.

Then she noticed the glimmer of silver in his mouth.

"Er, thanks," the woman muttered, hesitantly easing the wrench from the dog's mouth. They stood in silence then, each watching the other, waiting for some sort of sign. And much to Rayleigh's surprise, the silence was oddly companionable.

"Okay," she conceded, "but I'm not going to call you Chewie."