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Archer stared out the window at flurries of snowflakes falling in the yard. “It’s really coming down out there.”
Shran didn’t even look up from the knife he was sharpening. “I suppose.”
“I bet it’s cold, too,” Archer said, shooting a pointed glance at his partner.
“Sure,” Shran agreed distractedly.
“Too bad for Porthos. He’s never liked the cold.”
“He’ll be fine.” Shran inspected his blade, then ran a finger over it and frowned. He reached for a small bottle of oil. “You’re the one who hates it.”
“You’re right.” Archer slowly reached across the table and slid the oil away from Shran. “Too bad there’s no one else who can walk him.”
Shran looked up and frowned. “What are you doing?”
“I just think it would be nice if there were someone who could take Porthos out.”
“Okay…” Shran’s antennae twitched. “Are you asking me to walk him for you?”
“I mean, I think it would be nice,” Archer hedged.
Shran frowned harder. “He’s your dog. Why would I walk him?”
“Because you’re from an ice planet and it’s not as cold for you,” Archer reasoned. “Besides, there’s an old Earth saying. What’s mine is yours.”
“Isn’t there also a saying about a dog being a human’s best friend?” Shran asked.
Archer grinned and shrugged. “Maybe?” he admitted. “But please, will you take him? I’ll warm you up when you get back.”
“You’ll warm me up, or you’ll warm us up?” Shran asked. “Because last time you said that, I ended up with a tail in my face.”
“Just you. Promise.” Archer smiled. “I’ll even finish cleaning your knives for you.”
Shran sighed and shook his head, then handed Archer his weapon. “Fine. But you owe me.”
Archer chuckled as Shran grabbed Porthos’ leash. “Add it to the count.”