Hawke, much more sure of his own dog - he grew up with the beast, after all - lets his eyes drift up to Anders, noting the protective tension. He misses when Diesel's tongue flops out again, ostensibly licking his chops, but lightly swiping the kitten's paw in the process. His gaze, partially cross-eyed, remains on the kitten, but he still doesn't surge up to greet her or bowl her over, the way he might with another dog.

"I told you he was a big softie," Hawke murmurs, his voice low and soothing, almost a rumble in his chest, when he comments to Anders. The same way he might speak to a skittish animal, really.