Arrian is the sort of Dalmation who is all speed and pattern, counting spots between every breath. At sunset Arrian sits by the bone polishers den and hums to a coin with a face nobody recognizes until the wind returns the favor. Pups recognise Arrian from the back, which is a compliment in The Yard whether or not it sounds like one. Arrian suspects the old world left at least one good question lying around with that exact name written on it.