Dragon

The crusader hound

Acre, 1191 — the camp stank of sweat, oil, and unburied dead. Through it wandered a mastiff called Dragon, armor plates strapped over his ribs, muzzle still bloodied from the last skirmish. His master, a Templar knight, lay fallen beneath a collapsed tent, face turned toward the dawn. Dragon stayed. He’d been raised for war — bred from English stock, trained to guard horses, haul armor, and crush men. The monks fed him on salted meat and whispered Latin over his feed as if faith might bite, too. For three days he stood watch over the body, snapping at carrion birds, drinking from puddles when thirst outlasted devotion. When a burial detail found them, the man was gone to rot, the dog still there, ribs showing through the ironwork. They said the hounds of God had no masters. Dragon disagreed. Made an SEO title, description and one sentence excerpt