Chapter Three: With Friends Like These

            “What’cha doin’ there?” A youthful voice asked. Garret stopped, sighing deeply and looking up at the much-too-cheery mutt standing over him. It was Misha, the one he’d given his food to a week or so ago. What does he want? Garret wondered. The two had exchanged maybe three words since then, and the Akita was completely fine with that. He kept to himself by design, having friends made it too easy to lose them. He looked at the half smiling mutt shifting nervously on the spot, before looking back down at himself. Isn’t it obvious? He thought. The slave group had no work today, and they were all milling about in the encampment courtyard, just trying to make the day pass so they could eat and sleep again. Some of the furs spent their time gambling, using sticks and rocks in place of money. Garret had never really gotten into that, but he knew that many of the furs in this place used shiny rocks or trinkets in exchange for goods and services. Extra food, or help with another fur who was bothering someone, that sort of thing. Some of the others spent their day off alone, praying to a God, or maybe many Gods, he wasn’t quite sure. A few just stared off into the distance, day dreaming of better times. Garrett had secluded himself into a corner under some shade, and was using a sharp rock he’d found a few weeks back to slowly file down the nails on his feet. He was sitting with his back to the wall wearing only his filthy trousers, his left foot in one paw and his sharpish stone in the other.

            “What does it look like I’m doing?” He mumbled eventually, turning back to his task. “I’m dealing with troublesome claws.” He ran the rock against his second nail, grinding just a fraction of the long claw off. This wasn’t a very effective method of trimming nails, but it was the only one he had. Garrett had hoped that answering the kid’s question would send him away, but the mutt seemed to think that it was an invitation, and he sat down carefully next to the cranky Akita, staring intently at the foot.

            “How come?” Misha asked. Garrett turned and looked at him. Again thinking to himself it was obvious. Why was the kid bothering him like this? “I never really do that, and my feet are fine.” He added after a second, an expectant look on his face. Garrett stammered over his words, still confused.

            “Uh, well…I don’t like when they get long like this.” He said, now feeling ridiculous and put on the spot. “They scrape against the ground as I walk. It’s…unpleasant.” He grimaced. It’d probably be better to just curse at the pup and frighten him off, but that felt unfair. Maybe he just wanted somebody to talk to. I’m terrible company though, surely he knows that. Garrett thought with a huff.

            “Oh I see, that makes sense I guess.” The pup replied. “Maybe I should do it too, although your nails look a lot tougher and bigger than mine.” He said, wiggling one of his feet for Garrett, who saw that he wasn’t wrong. The Akita had thick black nails, sleek and curved, perfect for gripping the ground when sprinting through a forest. Not so good for city streets however, where everything underfoot was stone, gravel or wood. He shrugged.

            “Do what you want.” He said, filing at his claw again, shedding another sliver of nail off.

            “So…” Misha said hesitantly after a minute, rocking a little in his spot. “Do you uh, do you know what kind of kin you are Garrett?” He said in slightly quieter voice than before. Garrett couldn’t remember giving this youth his name, but Resh or one of the others probably would have if he’d asked. He had a young face, and in a better life he’d be the type of pup furs had trouble saying ‘no’ to. Garrett sighed again.

            “Yes.” He said slowly.

            “Uh…” Misha began. “Would you tell me which one?”

            “Akita. You don’t see much of our type in Aleya, so I’m used to the stares.” He admitted, still filing down his nail. “Cities don’t suit us very well I suppose.”

            “So you’re a predator Kin then? Like that new guy?” Misha asked with wide eyes. In the Tevarian Empire, Wolves were the supposed ‘highest born’ Kin. After that came all predator Kin, large-built canines that weren’t quite wolves but weren’t far from it. Foxes were next on the list, followed by pacifist Kin. Pacifists were defined as being a fur that belonged to the Empire racially, but were not useful for real hunting or war, despite the fact their genetic predispositions often leaned towards aggression or violence. Jackals were called by most a pacifist Kin, due to their scavenger nature and slim, weaker frames. After those came ‘Houndhearts’, a stupidly pretentious name that Garrett had always despised. If Resh were a full citizen of the city, he could be considered a Houndheart; a fur that whilst not a canine, still belonged to the Empire. After that were foreigners, and any kinds of reptilians. It was a complicated system sometimes, but often it didn’t really matter. After all, Bailey was a wolf, and he was down here too.

            “That new guy is a wolf, through and through. We are not the same. But…yes, you’re right. I am.” Garrett finally admitted, slight contempt in his voice. Misha’s eyes went wide and his mouth made a small ‘o’ shape. Before he was property, Misha would have been a pacifist Kin, since he couldn’t trace his lineage to any one family.

            “So there are more of you?” He asked, sounding a lot like a child. The Akita grimaced, but then smiled a little.

            “There’s no more of me exactly, I’m the one and only. But Akita’s? Sure. Up farther North, where it’s colder.” He chuckled, just slightly under his breath. Damn kid, so damned likeable. He thought. Misha paused, and Garrett could sense that he wanted to ask about how Garrett had ended up here…but you didn’t talk about things like that. Slaves rarely had the time or inclination to consider their past lives. It didn’t matter anymore, and to ask was just…just wrong.

            “I see.” The mutt opted for. So he wasn’t completely backwards then. Garrett returned to his nails, and the two furs sat in silence for some time. Misha was just looking around, and Garrett felt the pup lean on him ever-so-slightly. He didn’t mind really. In this world, they didn’t get much physical affection. Sometimes, the rougher slaves would take what ‘affection’ they wanted from the weaker ones, but there was nothing comforting about that; the fact it happened at all made Garrett’s blood boil. A little shoulder contact however was nothing to snap at.

            “How old are you?” The Akita stopped; he was surprised to hear the words come out of his own mouth. He was supposed to stay quiet, not invite yet more discussion. Otherwise it would just happen again, what always happened. He’d end up counting this pup as a friend, and then something terrible would happen and he’d be gone, or dead. Garrett wasn’t allowed to have friends.

            “I’m…I’m seventeen.” Misha answered, and Garrett winced. He was so young. He was new to the dock crew, but judging by the mark on his back, he’d been a slave for some time. “Why?” He asked. Garrett shrugged.

            “No reason.” He replied, going back to his nail.

            “How old are you?” Misha asked. Damn it, now he’d started a conversation.

            “I’m twenty-six.” He replied stoically, shaving another fraction of his nail off. This time, Misha couldn’t help himself.

            “And how long have you…” He trailed off, and Garrett shook his head.

            “No, Misha.” He said softly, redoubling his efforts and making a concentrated attempt to see only his foot and nothing else. He didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to even imagine there was any other kind of life out there. To be a slave was everything now. They went quiet again, but the whole time Garrett could feel the mutt shifting nervously. His breathing had grown shallower, and he was just…moving a lot. Out the corner of his eye, the Akita could see paws fidgeting. He heard the kid swallow audibly.

            “Can I uh…ask you a, ah…a kinda weird question?” Misha said finally, sounding nervous now. Garrett thought about it, groaning internally. He didn’t really have any reason to say no to the pup, and he was curious what was considered a ‘weird question’.

            “As long as it’s not about before, then fine.” He relented, not looking up from the work on his nails.

            “Uh, okay. It’s not. I mean…I’ve been…here, for a while now, right?” Garrett knew that Misha didn’t mean here as in this crew, he meant in this life. “And…and well before…”

            “Pup…” Garrett began, but Misha cut him off.

            “No, no that’s not what it’s about. I just have to give…history.” He quickly explained. Garrett rolled his eyes.

            “Fine. Go on.”

            “Well, you see, before…I had a girl, y’know? She liked me well enough an’ I liked her.” Oh. Garrett saw where this was going. “But since being here I mean…there are no…no, ah…females.” He whispered the last word, and with a quick glance Garrett could see he was blushing furiously. Stupid kid, spit it out already. He thought.

            “Yes. There are no female slaves in the Tevarian Empire, what of it?” He said dryly, playing dumb for his own amusement.

            “Well.” The kid said shyly, looking very young all of a sudden. “How do you all…ah, y’know….” He trailed off, his ears drooping as he looked away. Garrett smiled, almost genuinely, dropping his rock and sitting back up against the wall. He looked at the nervous mutt, seeing a seventeen year old. He remembered when he was that age. He was so scared  all the time, always worried about the next day. Now he didn’t care. Now…it didn’t matter.

            “Pup.” He said slowly, leaning in close. “You use your paw, and for Allgod’s sake, try to be quiet.” He said it with a slight grin, waving his right paw in front of the mutt’s eyes.

            “But…but I thought that was…” Misha began to protest, and Garrett could sense his trepidation.

            “It’s fine. I promise you.” He assured the furiously blushing mutt. He hesitated. “Some of the others have an…understanding I guess, with other males. I’m not so sure about that though; I’ve always thought it was…” He searched for the correct word. “Odd.” Misha made a face.

            “Oh gee.” He said, seeming to think it over. Garrett looked around; deciding that he’d had enough of the young company for one day. He spotted Bailey across the other side of the courtyard, sitting on a bench with Resh and chatting amicably. The young wolf had perked up a bit since starting a few days ago, but Garrett knew that he still cried at night. For what it was, the wolf put on a brave face, braver than he’d expected from a spoiled rich kid. He’d also taken to the new name well enough, and now anyone who spoke to him called him by it. A friend his own age might be good for him. It’d also get Misha off of Garrett’s back.

            “Alright.” The Akita said, slapping a paw onto the mutt’s thigh and climbing slowly to his feet. His joints and muscles-still sore from yesterday’s work-ached in protest as he did so. “Come on, with me now.” He ordered, walking off without waiting for the mutt. He heard Misha scramble to his feet, scurrying along behind him.

            “Are you taking me to the…” He asked, concern showing through in his voice. Garrett scowled, resisting the urge to just growl at the pup.

            “No.” He cut him off. “Enough about that. Just shut up.” He snapped. Garrett didn’t allow himself to have friends, to get close to others, but he wasn’t a monster. He tried his best not to be cruel, he just preferred it if they kept away. He liked this kid, and that was a problem. From across the courtyard, one of Randor’s guards eyed the two off, a paw resting on the baton at his side. They always got antsy when the slaves wandered around too much, but so long as they were relatively quiet there wouldn’t be a problem. Remember where you are. Remember who you are. Garrett scolded himself, already feeling annoyed that he let himself get caught up in conversation, annoyed he let his guard down.

            Garrett stopped in front of the bench where Resh and Bailey sat, the two furs pausing their muted conversation and glancing up at him. He hadn’t spoken with the Timberwolf since that one time a few days ago, when he’d bandaged his fresh burns. The lordling blinked stupidly at him, and Resh raised an eyebrow, a comical effect on the old bear.

            “…Garrett?” Bailey asked, and the Akita realised he should probably say something. He coughed awkwardly, looking away.

            “Resh…why don’t you uh, come with me for a bit? I wanna ask you something.” The bear gave him a strange look, but then shrugged and stood up, bidding Bailey goodbye. The lordling had such light in his eyes; it hurt Garrett to look at. He knew it’d be beaten, whipped or otherwise stolen from the boy, but for now…he was almost hopeful. Damn idiot. He chided silently.

            “How are you doing Garrett?” Bailey asked, tilting his head and eyeing the Akita eagerly, his tail wagging ever so slightly. Garrett ignored him, turning to Misha. He cursed to himself, how did furs form friendships? He couldn’t remember anymore. Was there a way to get these two to like each other naturally? It’d make everything so much easier. Misha could stop striking up random conversation, and Bailey could quit trying to catch his eye every blasted time he passed the kid. It happened a lot, the younger slaves got some help when they first started out, and latched onto the helpful fur like a parasite. Garrett had done…cruel things in the past, to get them to stop idolising him. This way seemed more humane in the short term. It was better for everyone if they just stayed away from him. He knew that if he ignored them from the very start there wouldn’t even be a problem to begin with, but…that whimpering, those youthful eyes…it always ate at him. Especially in the younger ones.

            “Misha, I want to talk with Resh now.” He said firmly, hoping the kids couldn’t hear the awkwardness in his voice. “You can bother Bailey instead for a bit.” He said, ham-fisting it but not caring. It was blunt and overt, but so was their life. Misha uncomfortably glanced at the wolf, shifting on the spot like a shy child at a playdate. They probably hadn’t even said two words to each other yet. Garrett again rolled his eyes, lifting a paw and placing it on Misha’s shoulder, pressing down firmly. The pup sat abruptly, stifling a yelp. “Sit, and stay.” He growled.

            When he removed the paw, Misha stayed. Without another word, the Akita turned and walked away, past the staring bear, who turned to follow. The two crossed the courtyard, leaning against a wall under some shade to talk.

            “So…what is it you want? You don’t normally want anything.” Resh complained gruffly, scratching under his chin. Garrett shrugged, looking back towards the two furs sitting on the bench uncomfortably.

            “I don’t. I just needed to offload the mutt onto someone. With any luck those two might get on and stop annoying me.” He explained. “What were you two talking about, anyway?” He asked. Resh understood how it was, and Garrett didn’t feel any kind of pull to shun the bear. This one got it. No friends. But sometimes…they could talk. Often the two would go months without exchanging a single word, only to strike up a short conversation one day, before returning to months of silence. Garrett liked the bear, sure, but not enough to worry about what happened to him. It was a good arrangement.

            “Nothing really. Just…I don’t know, whatever he wanted to. I think he just needed somebody to listen to him for a bit.” The bear said, sighing and sitting back on a bench that was built into the wall. Garrett remained standing, keeping an eye on the pups, more out of curiosity than anything else. What the hell are they doing? He wondered.

            “Did he talk about before?” The Akita asked, but the bear shook his head.

            “No, actually. I thought that was all he’d talk about. How much better he’d had it, how unfair this was…That’s normally what the new ones want to talk about.” Resh sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes in the shade. “He was asking about you though.” Garrett snapped his head back, looking at the bear.

            “Oh? And what does he want to know about me?” He asked.

            “Just this and that. Who you are, why you helped him, why you’re so quiet all the time.” The bear explained in a lower voice, as if he were settling in to take a nap.

            “Stupid puppy.” Garrett muttered under his breath. “What did you tell him?” Resh shrugged.

            “To ask you. Said if you wanted him to know, you’d tell him.” The bear answered, and Garrett groaned, his ears flattening against his head.

            “Don’t…encourage them Resh.” The bear ignored his plea.

            “What did…what’s his name again?”

            “Misha.”

            “Right. What did Misha want to talk about?” Resh asked, and Garrett snorted in amusement.

            “Girls.” Resh scoffed at that, as if the idea was ridiculous. It was easy for the long timers in here like Garrett and Resh to forget that females even existed. Sex, and Allgod forbid romance was so off their radar, it barely occurred to them anymore. They spent so much time working and surviving there was no energy left to fantasise about courtship, or families…the future.

            Garrett stopped, glancing over to Resh, who seemed to be napping. He had a cub. Somewhere. He’d been two when Resh was made a slave, would probably be about Misha’s age now. Maybe he does think about family. He thought, wishing he hadn’t.  

            “Garrett.” The bear said, opening his eyes slightly and meeting the Akita’s gaze. “Why don’t you help them anymore?” Garrett’s mouth dropped, where had that come from? He grit his teeth, feeling the fur on the back of his neck stand up. He looked away.

            “I do.” He said, more defensively than he intended. “I gave the mutt food, and the lordling bandages.” He spat. Resh sighed.

            “That’s not what I meant.”

            “Don’t Resh.”

            “You used to look after them more. Used to stop Turin when he beat them. The other day, when…when Misha was being whipped, why didn’t you…” Garrett cut him off.

            “Resh, don’t.” He spoke harshly, turning back and glaring at the bear, who seemed to shrink under his stare. He did what he could, and the bear knew it. Sure, years ago he’d been more naïve. Years ago, he’d been friends with the pups. The new slaves. He’d cared for their burns, helped ease the work…stopped Turin when the filthy mongrel went too far.

            But that was a long time ago. Things were…different now. This place had slowly sucked the life out of him, and then it had the cruelty to demand more. He watched too many of the ones he tried to help die one way or another. He’d seen too many sold off to someone even worse, like the Akkedisians. Those cold-blooded, packless bastards were even harder on their slaves than the Tevarians. How dare Resh ask him a question like that? Especially when he too had been such a coward on that same day Misha was punished. Garrett felt quiet, cold anger stab into his stomach like knives.

            He had to survive somehow, damn them. He deserved that much.

            Bailey didn’t move as the new fur sat down next to him. Damn, what had Garrett called him? Meera? No, that was a feminine name. Bailey kicked himself for not listening properly to the older Akita. He blushed, looking away and feeling like he was sinking into the floor. The guy was some kind of mutt, a mixture of random Kin that made up a canine, somehow. With a start, Bailey realised he’d almost never had a normal conversation with someone like that. Not even the servants in the castle had been mutts, just lowborn pacifist Kin. He felt a knob of guilt weigh down his chest. Stupid rich pup. He thought.

            “So…” The new guy said, both paws sitting awkwardly in his lap, fidgeting slowly. “You’re real new huh?” He asked. Bailey nodded.

            “Yeah. Only a few days, I think I got here on…Second Day? Maybe. I dunno.” He shook his head, just confused. The two sat quietly, and Bailey looked longingly over to Resh and Garrett, who were just chatting. Resh was nice; he’d been listening to the Timberwolf kindly, offering slight bits of advice about life as a slave. Bailey couldn’t help but feel he was whining too much, but the old bear didn’t seem to mind. He focused his eyes on Garrett. Did the Akita not like him? He’d just…ignored him before. What had he done wrong?

            “My name is Misha.” The mutt said quietly, and now Bailey found he was able to remember. Misha seemed nice enough, a soft voice, unthreatening posture. He’d sat down right next to Bailey, shoulder-to-shoulder, but that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. The warmth on his side was almost kinda nice.

            “I’m Alist…” He bit his lip. That was his old name, his dead one. He couldn’t be that fur anymore, at least not for a while. “I’m Bailey.” He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed when he said the name. For one, it was a child’s name, and two, it was a lowborn name. Nobody in the court would ever name their own pup Bailey, and it was difficult to stifle those old instincts.

            “Is that uh…short for anything?” Misha asked, looking anywhere else, obviously still unsure how best to behave. Alistair Bailey realised that he probably felt a little shunned, dumped onto the new guy like that while Garrett obviously had better things to do.

            “No…at least I don’t think so.” He replied after a second, shifting on the bench. He felt the flesh on his back stretch and crack, flakes of skin dropping away. He still had Garrett’s old bandages on, wrapped tight underneath a filthy shirt he’d found, but the brand was still trying to heal. Luckily it didn’t hurt anymore; in fact Bailey had found out last night that he couldn’t feel anything there. It was like touching someone else. Numb. Totally numb.

            Randor had literally burned out the feeling.

            “Oh, right.” Misha said quietly, staring down at his lap now. “I’m sort of new too. I mean, I’ve been…like this…” He held up his paws, gesturing at the manacles around each wrist. “For a year or two, but I mean…I only started on the docks a few weeks ago or somethin’.” Bailey felt the urge to wince at the use of somethin’. His tutors would have smacked his knuckles if he’d ever spoken like that as a pup.

            “Okay.” Bailey felt like he had to say something. “Um, how is it? Compared to where you were last?” He asked, unsure how the system worked. Did slaves get moved around for a reason? Why had Misha been put here? The mutt shrugged.

            “I dunno. The last place was easier. The master was lazy. But I got stupid, kept making mistakes. They told me that Turin would ah…fix me up.” He said, looking up and giving Bailey a kind of sad, half smile. “The furs here are nicer though. Resh and Garrett…” He trailed off.

            “What did they mean…fix you up?” Bailey asked, not sure he even really wanted the answer to that. He still hadn’t worked out exactly how the slave world worked. In the encampment, all the different crews mixed together. But as an unspoken rule, each crew seemed to keep to itself. A lot of the older slaves didn’t speak to anyone; they just milled about, slept and did their work. Some of the crews seemed to get yelled at more by the guards, some less. And Garrett…he’d gotten bandages…how did he do that? Were they allowed to have money? Where did they get it? Randor certainly didn’t pay them. He jumped as Misha slid forwards, turning away and looking back over his shoulder.

            “Turin’s one of the harshest masters this side of the city.” He said in a whisper, not wanting to be heard slandering their overlord. “His crews are always the best though. I guess they wanted me to learn not to make mistakes.” And with that, he lifted his own shirt up, holding the fabric up so that Bailey could see.

            “Oh…” Was all the wolf could manage, staring incredulously. The mutt’s fur was dark grey, mixed with brown and black splotches. His brand was probably a year or so old, but still clearly visible, since no fur had grown back where the burn had been placed. Across the boy’s back, Bailey could make out red, swollen wounds. Lots of them. He counted twelve angry welts, and he guessed they were made with a whip. What a cruel way to teach. He thought. Without realising what he was doing, Bailey reached a paw up and gently laid it onto Misha’s back. The mutt flinched a little but didn’t pull away, allowing his new friend to trace his fingers between the scars.

            “This is horrible. You don’t deserve that…” Bailey breathed, and Misha just grunted, looking away. Finally he pulled his paw back, allowing the mutt to put his shirt down and turn back. “Wh…why did he do that?”

            “I dropped some crates.” Misha said, ears flattening against his head. Bailey didn’t know what to say, but luckily the mutt continued. “I haven’t dropped any since.” He added, with a slight grin, although Bailey saw the grimace hiding beneath it.

            “Did Garrett help you with that? He gave me some bandages for my burn.” He said, glancing over to the Akita in the distance. Resh seemed to be asleep, and Garrett looked like he wanted to hit someone. What is his problem?

            “Uh, sort of. I mean, Turin said I wasn’t supposed to eat. He gave me some of his food.” Misha replied. Bailey bit his bottom lip, wondering just what in damnation was going on inside that Akita’s head. Even the fact that Randor owned an Akita slave was curious. But as much as he wanted to ask, he knew he couldn’t.  

            “Do you know anything about him? I mean, he just acts so…so strangely.” Bailey said, turning back to look at the mutt. He found himself blushing as he looked at Misha’s eyes. They were just so earnest, the brown iris’s so…kind, and genuine. Bailey almost wished he could hug the guy. He needed a hug.

            “I don’t have no idea.” Misha said, and Bailey again winced at the poor use of language. “But he’s a weird one for sure.”

            “Yeah, one day he bandages me up, speaks kindly…the next he refuses to even look at me.” Bailey wasn’t sure if he felt hurt by that or not. He wanted Garrett to like him, the Akita seemed so self-assured, so confident in his world space. But he also understood that everyone in here had to look after themselves, because nobody else was going to.

            “I think.” Misha said softly. “That Garrett has been a slave for a very long time.” Bailey nodded. He was about to reply when a large figure loomed over them. It was a guard, and Bailey suddenly felt very small. He shut his eyes and braced himself to be berated or hit, but instead he felt a hard lump of something drop into his lap. Opening his eyes, he found himself holding a fifth loaf of stale bread. Misha had one too, and now the guard was walking away, carrying a basket.

            “It’s noon already?” He asked, looking into the sky at the sun. He’d been on this stupid bench all morning. He wanted this day of no-work to last forever.

            “Guess so.” Misha muttered, biting savagely into his fifth of a loaf. Bailey hesitated, then followed suit. Like he thought, it was stale and dry. But it was food, so that was a plus. He found it odd how the slaves were denied breakfast, and only given lunch and dinner. It seemed so backwards to him. In fact this whole system seemed backwards to him. He was about to take another bite, when a second large figure loomed over them. This time Bailey didn’t shut his eyes, looking up to see another slave standing there, practically blocking out the sun. He was an old, scarred tiger. It was rare to see cats of any kind in Tevarian lands, but they did come here. Randor seemed to own a few, Bailey had never seen so many together before. The tiger’s arms were like legs, thick and round from working. His face was gnarled and he glared at Misha.

            “Um…wh-what do you want?” The mutt asked timidly, sounding like he wanted nothing more than to disappear. The tiger pointed at his piece of bread, one lonely bite taken out of it. The cat’s own food was nowhere to be seen. “Oh…this?” He asked, gesturing to the bread.

            “He kind of needs it.” Bailey protested meekly, wishing his voice sounded intimidating. He sounded so small. He wished he was more like his father, large and angry and bellowing. It just wasn’t in him though.

            “No…sorry, you can’t have it.” Misha said, trembling.

            Then the tiger hit him in the face.  

            Garrett watched calmly as the mutt went over backwards, landing in the dirt with a thud and a whimper. The burly tiger, whose name Garrett forgot, stepped over the bench with ease. He saw Bailey say something, standing up and shoving pathetically at the brute.

            Idiot pup. Garrett thought, making no move to interfere. Resh was still asleep.

            The tiger shoved the young wolf in the chest, sending him tumbling over backwards into the dust. Then he stood over Misha and grabbed the front of his filthy tunic. Where did he get that anyway? Garrett wondered, scratching at his own bare torso. The cat growled something, and the mutt held up the fifth of bread in a shaky paw, before it was snatched from his grasp. The tiger clambered back over the bench, making to move away. Surprised, Garrett watched as Bailey stood up and shouted something, it sounded like stop. He watched as the stupid, naïve, idiotic wolf ran over and tried to grab the piece of bread stolen from his new friend.

            The cat watched for a second too, surprised at the resistance. After a brief moment of bemusement he tore his claw out of Bailey’s grip, making a fist and punching the fur straight in the mouth. The wolf went over harder than Misha had, falling to the ground and crying out. Garrett could see little spots of red in the dust from where Bailey’s lip and nose bleeding. He glanced over to the guards, but they just watched.

            Bastards. He thought. For a moment, he almost considered going over. Doing something. Taking the bread back maybe. He could easily beat the tiger in a fight, and the stupid cat probably knew it.

            But why should he? Why should he put himself at risk like that? Make himself a target for Turin’s guards? Talking to a young kid or bandaging a wound was one thing…but defending their ‘honour’ in a fist fight? Don’t make me laugh. He thought, snorting to himself.

None of them had any dignity left, so what was the point of pretending otherwise? The pups would learn eventually, one way or another.