Ned lets out a surprised 'oh!' and topples back, laughing at the wolf's enthusiasm. He's had Digby all these years, but of course, they haven't been able to touch. Somehow (who knows how animal senses work, anyway?) Digby always seemed to know that just as well as Ned. And they got by just fine. Ned takes him for walks, plays fetch with him, makes sure to put on gloves and long sleeves at least once a day to give him all the scratches and pats that his heart could desire. But face-licks are, of course, out of the question.

"You're in an awfully friendly mood aren't you?" he comments, wiping his face clean when the wolf has stopped licking it. He seems perfectly happy to continue the one-sided conversation. "I don't have any food for you, you know. Bless you." The wolf had sneezed again. "But you're welcome to stay as long as you like."

And then, because the wolf seems perfectly comfortable in his presence, Ned reaches forward to scratch behind its ears. All the while he keeps moving slowly, though he really doubts at this point that the animal will turn on him. No, this wolf is domestic. How, or why, he isn't sure, but Ned can tell the difference. He digs his fingers into the thick fur around its neck and gives it a quick but thorough doggy massage.

There is rather a lot of dog hair on his sleeves, and soon enough Ned sneezes. "You've got me doing it, too," he says, gently accusing, sighing and laying back on the moss, hands behind his head. He is less tense than Jesse has probably ever seen him, the way he can be when he's alone, or at least, away from other humans.