"I'm not sure. Hold on," She turns her head and calls, "Here, boy. Come."
The dog, huge and black and eager as a puppy comes whisking over the fallen stone as lightly as if it were nothing more than a bright summer day. Shepard, operating more on a hope than on any notion of the dog's actual training, bends down and taps at the splintered beam under her feet.
"Here. Right here," The hound looks at her a moment, cocking his head first one way, and then the other, and finally puts its nose down where she's pointing, "You hear it? Smell something?"
The wagging tail slows to a stop, and the dog's ears seem to prick up. Shepard really doesn't know what that means, but she thinks maybe he's getting it. At the very least he looks more serious, now; on the job, again.
"Seek," She says, because she knows that command, and the hound obediently puts nose to the rubble. The soft wail comes again, a little fainter, but this time Shepard can actually see the dog recognize it. It moves off, picking through the mess, brushing close past Garrus. Then it stops and paws at the least-collapsed part of the house; a corner that is still partially intact, despite being completely piled-on with the crushed remnants of the better half of the roof.
The dog looks back at them and whines, then offers an uncertain, half-hearted bay of recognition. This? This was what you wanted?
"Good boy," Shepard says, for lack of a better option, then nods to Garrus: proceed, "Can you make out an angle to get under that? I'm gonna come around the back, look for better access."
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The dog, huge and black and eager as a puppy comes whisking over the fallen stone as lightly as if it were nothing more than a bright summer day. Shepard, operating more on a hope than on any notion of the dog's actual training, bends down and taps at the splintered beam under her feet.
"Here. Right here," The hound looks at her a moment, cocking his head first one way, and then the other, and finally puts its nose down where she's pointing, "You hear it? Smell something?"
The wagging tail slows to a stop, and the dog's ears seem to prick up. Shepard really doesn't know what that means, but she thinks maybe he's getting it. At the very least he looks more serious, now; on the job, again.
"Seek," She says, because she knows that command, and the hound obediently puts nose to the rubble. The soft wail comes again, a little fainter, but this time Shepard can actually see the dog recognize it. It moves off, picking through the mess, brushing close past Garrus. Then it stops and paws at the least-collapsed part of the house; a corner that is still partially intact, despite being completely piled-on with the crushed remnants of the better half of the roof.
The dog looks back at them and whines, then offers an uncertain, half-hearted bay of recognition. This? This was what you wanted?
"Good boy," Shepard says, for lack of a better option, then nods to Garrus: proceed, "Can you make out an angle to get under that? I'm gonna come around the back, look for better access."