"Werewolf metabolism is a lovely thing, once it fucking remembers to kick in," Wells says. He crouches down to have a look at the puppies from closer to eye level. "Hallo, you two."

He can't shift his form outside of the full moon- it's not part of his curse- but he can at least smell a little more right to a dog's nose, so he concentrates on that a little bit before giving a small whurf noise of greeting.