CW: Some violence.
The dog is above all loyal. It seeks not only purpose, but comfort and reprieve from the human. It is restless, and violent, at all times ready to maul, or to hunt, or to butcher. The dog is a predator. The dog is a protector, and will fight tooth and nail for that which it claims as its own. In this way, one can say that the dog belongs to the human, and the human as well to the dog. Kings and prophets will plead in scripture, "oh lord, deliver me from the power of the dog."
Yet the dog remains.
A caravan of Gypsies travel across the land, which is cast in harsh hot and yellow, the orange eye never seeming to leave the sky save for the night when sudden and unyielding cold comes. They have moved from place to place, in this way, they are restless, like the dog.
They have moved through the plains of Eastern Europe, staying for as long as they're able until the hate becomes too much to bear. They gather their belongings, never much, and resume their pilgrimage through the land.
At night when they sat up camp, they sometimes are forced to flee under the obsidian, men from nearby towns coming with the intentions of wolves.
They come to another town, and the gaze of the men, women and children seem particularly malevolent. Night is coming though, and they must rest, having found none the previous night. The cold is particularly violent that night, winds blowing by that seemed more like the clawing of wraiths, and things undead. They seek shelter in an inn, but are turned away. They seek shelter at two more, and after the same result, seek no shelter and rest on the land.
The boy has only his father, sister and dog with him. They pass by the rest of the caravan, which is filled with men alone, and with families, and children long-lost. They set up a spot at the end to lay. The boys sister is young, no older than eleven months. She is thin for her age, and face already blemished and world-weary. The father cradles the babe on the right, and the boy on the left. They have one, thick cover which they share, and old stuffed animals piled upon the sister for extra warmth. The dog lay his head on the sisters stomach, and they sleep.
At night, deep into the witching hour, they hear howling afar off. The boy tries to ignore them, but they get nearer, and nearer. Some of the men rise up, arming themselves and walking around the caravan. The boys father is one of them, and before he leaves he command the boy to draw the sister close to his chest and wrap both arms around her. The dog follows the father.
The howls stop, and the boy begins to fall asleep again before a loud and close snarl rings out, gunshots echoed as men screamed. The boy closes his eyes, bringing his sister closer to him if it were at all possible.
The dog, the boys dog, he knew by the sound, let out a bark then shortly after a whimper. The gunshots continued a moment, like blasts of thunder during a storm, but soon died down til it was only silence and hushed wind. The boy only opened his eyes when a hand tapped his shoulder, and the boy opened his eyes to see his father above him, holding his bloodied and whining dog. The father put the dog down, giving him some of his blanket but saying he can't do much else. All the medicine and bandage is needed for the women and children. He said hopefully the dog will survive to sunup.
The boy asked his father what had attacked them, if it was wolf. The father simply shook his head, saying no, and that he knew not what it was, due to the dark, and eyes still being bleary from sleep, but that it was not a wolf.
It was something strange.
When the boy awoke, the dog was fine. Not just fine, but vibrant. He pounced about, and wagged his tail, and barked. The father and boy observed with shock as well as jubilee. Somehow, someway, the dog had survived to sunup.
They resumed their pilgrimage, coming to another town, the malignancy palpable, but not as severe as the previous town. They ask for an inn and get one. They are charged much higher than the other patrons though, at least that's what the boys father tells him. The boy, as well the other children of the caravan, go to a nearby creek to play. Other children come, children of the town, and of the country, the boy could tell by how they looked and dressed, and always upon seeing the boy and his kin, departed. The children didn't care however, and spent most of the day playing in the creek.
As the sun began to dip for sleep, and the moon awoken, the cold winds with it, they returned to the inn. The boy ate, then went to bed.
Later, knocking is heard all down the hall. The father opens the door, men of the town present telling the caravan they must depart. The caravan leader asks for a reason; saying they've already paid, but the men simply say to leave.
They depart the inn, and once again lay in the open land, the wind so fierce it threatens to rip them from the ground and throw them into the vast obsidian. Lights are seen afar off, and faint chatter with it. The men of the caravan awaken, along with the boys father. They walk away and talk hushed, and when the father returns, he tells the boy the men of the town have come to kill them.
The men gather arms and lay wait in the grass, the women and children afar off, hidden by brief bushes and shrubs. When the townsmen come, the men of the caravan rise up from the blades of grass and fire, bullets thundering by on both sides. The boys dog joins the fight, the boy hearing it bark and snarl, then eventually a whimper. It goes silent.
Then after a moment, the boy hears it snarl once more, but something is different. The sound is guttural, and wrathful. If the sound itself could spill blood, it would. Men screamed, both of the townsmen, and the men of the caravan. A cacophony of snarls, screams and gunshots rose till they crescendoed, silence and the sound of wind flying returning.
The boy once again is positioned close to his sister, whose cries endlessly. He feels a tap on his shoulder, and looks up to see his father above him, holding his dog who is maimed and bloodied. The father says that the dog is a miracle, and at their moment of need transformed into a beast of vengeance. The men gather around the dog in silent awe. The boy asks if the dog will survive, and the father says he's not sure. They'll have to wait til sunup.
The boy awakened, the sun positioned high in the sky, and the land basked in heat. He turned to see the dog up and full of jubilee, barking, and pouncing, and wagging its tail.
The dog had survived til sunup. The father told the boy to pack his belongings, and with the dog near the front, the humans flowing its lead, they traversed across the crimson desert for the next town.
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