TERRA's VIEW
God. I was so furious with life. Donovan was dead. I felt a feeling I had never, not once in my life, felt before.
Rage.
Bloodthirsty rage.
I could kill every Kat-Kane in the universe. This was their fault. No, it was the deer's fault. Riley was alive. Donovan wasn't. The only thing I could do was snap things with my teeth. That's what I did.
CRUNCH!
The floor is littered with ripped rawhide, Crunched chewy bones, and demolished deer bones. Boiling tears sting my eyes, clinging to my fur. Donovan's pelt sits on the floor, clean. I sob into it, thinking of the innocent greyhound who killed himself for Riley. The smooth, soft, and silky grey fur seems like it really was Donovan, oh, if only it was! If only Donovan and Riley were both OK, if only we were sitting in the A-House, where we were before exile. If only we were talking and laughing over steaming bowls of deer stew. If only, if only, at most, I could look into Donovan's warm, hazel eyes, tinged with ocean blue. I pressed my face into the pelt, smelling of musty livestock, warm milk, and ocean air. Just like Donovan. I remember his long, bony legs we teased him of, until we found he could run like lightning, his fur sparking like thunder clouds. How he was addicted to watching a one-ling show on the glow-box, Sherlock. He sat next to Holmes, both of their eyes intently watching the screen. Holmes taking Sherlock's last name, Donovan taking Sherlock's rival's name. But Donovan and Holmes? They weren't rivals. Not to anyone. I felt horrible. Watching Holmes. His eyes were filled to the brim with sadness. No rage, nor fury, no anger. That innocent dog. No matter what I did, I would never feel the pain he felt. Losing one of the only ones that would ever truly, fully accept you. Donovan would've felt the same thing if Holmes had risked his life. And my anger built up until no sadness was left in me. I WAS FURIOUS. I WANTED BLOOD SPILLED. I wanted revenge. A word that had never felt friendly to me,
was now.
My.
Soul.
CRUNCH!
The floor is littered with ripped rawhide, Crunched chewy bones, and demolished deer bones. Boiling tears sting my eyes, clinging to my fur. Donovan's pelt sits on the floor, clean. I sob into it, thinking of the innocent greyhound who killed himself for Riley. The smooth, soft, and silky grey fur seems like it really was Donovan, oh, if only it was! If only Donovan and Riley were both OK, if only we were sitting in the A-House, where we were before exile. If only we were talking and laughing over steaming bowls of deer stew. If only, if only, at most, I could look into Donovan's warm, hazel eyes, tinged with ocean blue. I pressed my face into the pelt, smelling of musty livestock, warm milk, and ocean air. Just like Donovan. I remember his long, bony legs we teased him of, until we found he could run like lightning, his fur sparking like thunder clouds. How he was addicted to watching a one-ling show on the glow-box, Sherlock. He sat next to Holmes, both of their eyes intently watching the screen. Holmes taking Sherlock's last name, Donovan taking Sherlock's rival's name. But Donovan and Holmes? They weren't rivals. Not to anyone. I felt horrible. Watching Holmes. His eyes were filled to the brim with sadness. No rage, nor fury, no anger. That innocent dog. No matter what I did, I would never feel the pain he felt. Losing one of the only ones that would ever truly, fully accept you. Donovan would've felt the same thing if Holmes had risked his life. And my anger built up until no sadness was left in me. I WAS FURIOUS. I WANTED BLOOD SPILLED. I wanted revenge. A word that had never felt friendly to me,
was now.
My.
Soul.
LAKEWOOD's VIEW
Terra looked oddly angry. I had never seen a dog so angry, or a dog so confused. Donovan wouldn't have wanted that. His claws were sunken into Donovan's pelt as he gripped it to his neck. His eyes? Blood. He wanted blood. I instinctively bolted over to Terra. He looked at me furiously.
"WHAT, LAKEWOOD?" He roared.
My leg ached. "Donovan was a peaceful person. He wouldn't have wanted this."
Terra's expression faded. "Yes. Yes, you're.... yes. Donovan wouldn't have wanted this," then, suddenly, the expression came back. "But I DO! Out. Just leave, dude. Please, Lakewood. Leave." I noticed Terra's dark olive claws sinking into the muddy, wet ground from the rain before. I winced and walked away, dragging my wounded leg behind me. Curling up under a cedar tree the size of an elephant, I think about Donovan, Holmes, Cobra, and especially Terra. How confused they all must be. Even Donovan, who I think isn't really dead. As long as he is in our hearts, we're OK. We truly are. And Terra? Y'know, one day, all of those angry feelings will wash away, and they'll never come back. And then after that? We can be a team again.
END OF BOOK 1
END OF BOOK 1
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