Looking over at the growl more than Mel's words, Rachel frowns. Because really, it's not that ugly of a dog. Just a fluffy little Pomeranian, hardly the sort of danger she'd faced here before.

Then it opens its mouth.

In three sections. Sharp, snake-like tongue slithering out and a tripod-muzzle filled with razor teeth.

Growling and pacing slowly toward them.

"Something that used to be a dog," Rachel replies, low-voiced as she keeps walking forward. Just enough to get in front of Mel, stand between her and this thing.

Mel has an axe. But Rachel can heal from just about anything.

Still. This is hardly the sort of danger she expected, even with the fluffy thing drooling on the rock floor.