A Truly 'Howling' Commando

|6| Goodbye Isn't the End

A quick little note from me that is unrelated to the story. I'm currently learning Irish Gaelic and have found a nickname for Steve. Leon croí. It means 'Lion heart' and I think it's pronounced like 'e-on' (long e like tree) and 'cree' with the 'ch' sounding like the ending of the Scottish pronunciation of loch.
Anyways, a lionheart or somebody who is lionhearted is someone with courage and who is willing to sacrifice themselves for somebody they care about. What do you guys think? Is Leon croí a good nickname for Steve?

Sorry for the interruption, and thanks for reading :3

-Trico
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——June, 1943——

The years went past and Bucky, Steve, and I got closer and closer. Both of them were able to easily hear the croon that appeared in my communicative growls, but it was still invisible to others' ears.

Bucky was sometimes sent off to fight on the front lines for the military starting in 1941, and each time I would accompany him. The idea of Buck bringing a canine with him was challenged at first, but then again I snuck on the boat anyways so their protests didn't really matter that much. After the first mission where I snuck in and did remarkably well at protecting Bucky and taking out enemies, I was welcomed in for as long as Barnes was in the military. I was even given honorary, no pun intended, dog tags with "Mallow" written on them, and "Sergeant James B. Barnes" on the back with his info.

I had grown over the years to my full height of 3'4", and a weight of 110 lbs. at 5 -almost 6- years of age. Being big and well muscled, while maintaining a lean and wiry body shape and strength. My legs had grown to be longer and thinner, my fur was long and thick, my muzzle and ears were sharp and long as well (except the case of my ears due to -well- the flops that took over half the ear), my tail was bushy and almost brushed against the floor by a few inches, and my senses were sharp as well. My of smell was sharp enough to track something at nearly 2 miles away, hearing allowed me to listen for something at 6-10 miles away (hearing movement of enemy soldiers was easy enough, especially when they're less than that distance), and keen eyesight that could detect the smallest movement and see well in the dark. As well as having 1" long canines, I was a fast and lethal asset on the battlefield and didn't wear armor as to not hinder my movement (although Bucky had been trying to get me to wear something as a precaution). Oddly enough, my markings and colorations changed. The browns and blacks from my German Shepherd heritage still showed, but the white had moved to being all over in the fur on my torso, chest, and jaw. The browns also lightened to be a gray cream color that became mixed throughout my pelt.

----10:30am----

After recently getting back from a mission, Bucky and I were taking a bit of time off. That of course meaning that he was sleeping in with waking up every few hours, and I was walking around the house and napping. Overall, we were simply relaxing and savoring the time we had before being shot at again.

I heard the gentle clinking of Bucky's dog tags and the rustling of blankets as he got up for real this time. A yawn escaped my jaws as I looked up from my comfortable position on the couch. I chuffed at Bucky as he came out of the bedroom, "Good morning.".

He turned his head to look at me before going to make coffee, "Morning Mallow. How long do you think this break will last?"

I looked thoughtfully at him as my head tilted. A single grunt was a clear enough answer. 'Not long enough... I wish we could take breaks more often, but at the same time I love the feeling of running freely on the battlefield. Or really just anywhere.' I longed for the feeling of wind in my fur and fresh dirt beneath my paws as I ran, fast and free. The smell of upturned dirt, sweat, and gunpowder as I protect Bucky and take out enemies silently.