The hound that he could touch. The only thing “ALIVE” in his reach. The movement of the hound only was matched by the wind. The wind Death was certain was trying to spy on him as it carried his looming messages to those around. By the scent of him, the sound of him (or lack thereof)… what a deceitful wind. Death didn’t like it. There were times he thought it was funny, but right now he had taken himself out of the mood by paying attention to the few things he had to him.
Pup would have had his tongue lolling out of his mouth if he had had a tongue.
“You probably wish I gave you one of those, don’t you?” Death reached inside of Pup’s mouth, wrapping his fingers around a tooth and pretending to wiggle it.
The rest of the hound’s body thrashed, though his face remained still. Death scratched at the roof of his mouth, causing a shiver to run up Pup’s spine – something that was obvious when no flesh concealed the bone. Death blew a breath into his mouth and pulled back in time for the hound to sneeze.
“You don’t have anything that would allow you to do that, you weirdo,” he told his hound.
Death was done here and there was always more to do, but sometimes he couldn’t be bothered to be prompt. Not when he knew the inevitable. He would keep doing as he wished, but in his own way. He moved on from this battlefield to the next bunch of dying that he would save from their twisted torment.