"Aradra, I don't know this pup of yours, but that doesn't sound like a good thing. What is he trying to tell you?" Chaucer says a bit tensely. As he waits for an answer, he slides his pack off his shoulders and to the ground below, puts a hand to his belt to ensure his wand is still in its pouch. He slides his bow off his shoulder and puts one end on the ground, and touches his quiver to ensure arrows present. Lastly, he feels for the intoxicating tendrils of magic in the pit of his stomach, ensuring that he is completely prepared for whatever might show up in that room.