Bentley was out having fun.
Nobody had told the dog that he was no longer a puppy, anymore. As a big, shaggy hound he had no idea there were expectations of certain behavior. If he'd known, he might have laughed and shrugged it off. He was, at the moment, splashing contentedly through the shallows of a Pisces pool: lifting each paw as high as it would go and then slapping it down, his tongue lolling and the corners of his mouth hiked high.
Once or twice, he barked excitedly at the water droplets flashing up into the air, sparkling like diamonds--they were pretty, and Bentley was happy.
He'd actually come here looking for carvings, hoping to find some old writing to decipher somewhere--but now he'd forgotten all about that in favor of splishy-splashing across the rock.
A playful idea occurred to him, then, and one little flash of magicka later, Bentley's paws were also squeaking. It was... really, more like honking: like a little bike horn repeatedly squeezed every time a paw came down.
He barked again, overjoyed at the silliness of it all, and began to prance about with a series of honks and splashes.
@Sonata