She moved on all fours, weaving through broken crates and wagon ruts, nose twitching.
The trash heap behind the butcher’s stall smelled strong—rot, blood, old rinds—but to her, it smelled like hope. Like food. She pawed through it with the same determination she’d once used for chasing birds, tossing aside spoiled vegetables, fish bones, and wet parchment.
Then—bread.
Stale. Mold-flecked. Cracked in the middle like old leather. But it was food. She stuffed it into her mouth without hesitation, chewing greedily, crumbs sticking to her lips.
“Yummy food,” she said, smiling.
It was an innocent smile, wide and childlike, full of something too pure for a place like this.
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She wandered on, weaving between stalls again. Still low. Still quiet.
Until the shouting started.
She flinched, ears twitching, as something flew past her head. Then another—an apple core, a rusted horseshoe, a clod of dirt. She looked up.
People. Everywhere. Grabbing whatever they could reach—turnips, coins, boots—and hurling them at her like she was a rat in their kitchen.
Rena froze. Eyes wide. Then bolted.
“Rena hurt,” she whimpered. “No like.”
Her limbs scrambled beneath her, claws scraping the stone as she fled, weaving past carts and animals, past children who laughed and joined in, out through the edge of the market.
She didn’t stop until the noise faded. Until the wind felt soft again.
Then—still breathing hard—she saw it. A rock.
Small. Smooth. Just the right size for her mouth.
She picked it up gently between her teeth and dropped it, then pounced, tail-less rump in the air. The stone skittered across the ground, and she chased it with a delighted bark.
Whatever had happened before—gone. Forgotten. Just noise that faded like storm rain.
"Rena played. Alone. Happy."
And when the game ended, she wandered again, paws pressing into soil and grass and ash as the edge of the world opened before her.
She didn’t know where she was going.
But she was going.
