“I’m sure he’s shared the impulse, at times.” Kurenai had recovered, too, leaning back with her arms crossed over her breasts. “Summons do have the convenient ability to return to their home dimension when they’re in danger, though. Or is that possible for you, from here?”

Pakkun kicked off Raidou’s arm and floated over to Kurenai. He rolled onto his back in front of her, paws steaming gently in the air. “I’ll tell you for a belly rub.”

“Mm. And if I have more questions?” She unfolded one arm, crimson nails just grazing Pakkun’s wet fur. His front paws quivered. “Your Old Ones’ history, for instance.”

The little pug studied her with shameless bright eyes. “I’m prepared to negotiate.”

“No need to negotiate; just start talking.” She lowered her hand and rubbed Pakkun’s belly with a little more enthusiasm than her cool tone implied. Raidou couldn’t really blame her. Even with Pakkun’s old man whiskey-voice and regrettable personality, he was unbearably cute.

One of Pakkun’s hind legs briefly drummed the air. He made a snorting, squashed-face sound of delight and went boneless under Kurenai’s ministrations. He seemed to have forgotten their deal, until she made to withdraw her hand.

“I can’t get home from here without a gate, same as you,” he said hastily, answering the original question. “The kid didn’t summon me here. There’s no jutsu to break.”

Genma made an interested sound. “The tanuki kits were able to sneak from one dimension to the other by a shortcut. I think we went through a lizard dimension, and possibly a tortoise one. It was orange. But I was concussed at the time, so my memory isn’t necessarily reliable.”

With her free hand, Kurenai tapped a single finger against her lips thoughtfully. "So even tanuki children can cross dimensions at will, but dogs can only transit through a jutsu gateway. Except for the Old Ones, who can create their own." She looked down at Pakkun. "But you're clearly closer to the tanuki than you are to our world's dogs, even if Saishou and Iori seem closer related to the Inuzuka's ninken. Where did you come from?"

Pakkun blinked at her. “Me personally, or all of us?”

“Start with the Old Ones. And then explain why you can talk, while Saishou doesn’t.”

The dark furry wrinkles that served Pakkun in place of eyebrows creased more deeply. He licked his snout. “We don’t know where the Old Ones came from. Wherever gods are born, I guess. They showed up first, anyway, and wolves followed. Dogs came later.”

“How much later?” Genma asked.

Pakkun gave a furry little shrug. “Do we look like we write shit down? Just later. A long time ago.” He kicked his back legs until he fetched up against the arm Kurenai held across her chest, and propped his head against her elbow. “I can talk because I’m smart.”

Kurenai scratched him under the chin, clearly amused. “And Kin isn’t?”

Pakkun snorted. “The girl who spends half her time following Tousaki around like a pet? Yeah, she’s a genius.”

Genma gave him a significant side-eye. “Kin’s still a puppy. Or at least she acts like one. But Saishou’s full grown, and doesn’t talk either.”

Pakkun returned an irritated look. “Saishou’s still young by our standards. Look, most of us learn eventually, when we’re older. All the surviving elders speak, when they want to, which isn’t often. You think it’s easy figuring out how to mimic your mouth-flaps with this face?” He lolled his long tongue out. “The kid speaks our language anyway, so it’s not like Saishou needs it. I learned young because I wanted to.” A little tinge of pride colored his voice. “The kid taught me.”

For the challenge? Raidou wondered.

“How old are you, exactly?” he asked slowly.

Pakkun sniffed. “Forty-six.”

Kurenai blinked, hand pausing for just a moment before she resumed scratching Pakkun’s miniature barrel-chest. Raidou readjusted his brain to account for Pakkun being twice his own age.

Genma volunteered, “Hideki, the youngest tanuki I was with, was in his sixties. He acted like he was closer to seven or eight, in human terms. Do you count years the same way we do?”

That tiny fluffy kit had been sixty? What about the angry little almost-teenager who’d kicked Raidou’s shin? Three hundred?