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 buried her face into the bread without hesitation, chewing greedily, crumbs sticking to her lips.
"Yummy food ... like," she said, smiling. It was an innocent smile, wide and childlike, full of something too pure for a place like this, not even realizing the concept of spoiled or expired substance, if it smelled like food, she went for it.
A crow cawed nearby, hopping along the edge of a broken barrel. It cocked its head at her, one beady eye gleaming. Rena dropped the half-eaten bread and crept forward, paws silent on the dirt.
"Birdie... friend?"
The crow flapped its wings once and lifted off. Rena yipped and leapt after it, feet slapping the
stones, chasing the shadow it left behind. She bounded after it through the maze of alleys, forgetting the bread, forgetting everything.
The chase led her behind the tannery where the ground was slick with black water. She skidded, rolled, came up dripping and laughing. The crow disappeared into the rooftops, gone, but Rena didn't mind. The world was full of other things to find.
She shook herself off, sending dark droplets flying, and padded on.
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, ears flicking. "Rena like fetch," she said, then tried to catch whatever was thrown at her with her mouth, tail-less hips wiggling in excitement. But the pain began to take shape as more and more objects struck her.
"You throw far, Rena catch... no throw at Rena," she barked out, still believing they wanted to play—but just didn't know how. So she tried to teach them, stringing the words together as best she could.
But it didn't work. The yelling grew louder. The things kept flying—some missing, some hitting—until the sharpness of pain finally sank in.
"Rena hurt ... No like," she whimpered.
Her limbs scrambled beneath her, paws 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.
Her sides heaved with each breath. She collapsed beside a crumbling stone wall, hiding behind a tangle of dead vines. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, and tears—hot and sudden—blurred her vision.
"Bad fetch... bad," she mumbled.
The wall smelled like moss and old earth. She pressed herself into it, hoping it might hide her better, make her invisible.
In the distance, the market noise rumbled on, but here it was quieter. Here, the world felt slower.
A beetle crawled across her hand. She watched it with wide eyes, mesmerized by the tiny legs, the way it carried a crumb twice its size. Slowly, carefully, she stuck out a finger and nudged it. It scurried faster.
She giggled. Soft. Almost soundless. Then she curled up, arms wrapped around her knees, and dozed. Dreams came, blurry and strange. She was running across endless fields, her paws faster than the wind. Voices called her—not cruel ones, not angry. Voices like songs. Someone was laughing, and she was too, barking into the open sky.
When she woke, the sun had dipped lower. The market had grown thinner. The world was turning gold and long-shadowed.
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."
The fields beyond the market stretched wide, speckled with dry grasses and patches of wildflowers. The dirt path that led out of the city lay cracked and lonely, but she didn't hesitate. She crossed it without a thought, wandering where the scents pulled her.
A lizard darted past. She gave chase but tired quickly, sprawling in the warm dust.
Above her, the sky was huge—too huge. It made her feel small. Smaller even than usual.
But the breeze brought new smells: berries, damp earth, the musky hint of a rabbit burrow. She rolled to her feet and followed.
She found a blackberry bush. The thorns scratched her arms, but she dove in anyway, tongue and fingers grabbing the soft fruits. The taste burst across her mouth—sweet, sour, alive. She stuffed herself until her face and hands were stained purple.
When a thorn pricked her lip and made it bleed, she simply licked the blood away, unbothered.
Night fell slowly.
She saw it creeping up, the way the blue deepened, the way the crickets started to sing. The air cooled. Her stomach growled.
In the distance, the woods began. Dark trees, dense and whispering. A real dog might have hesitated. But Rena... Rena only saw more places to explore.
She crossed into the trees, the shadows swallowing her whole.
Inside, the forest floor was soft under her paws. Ferns brushed her sides. Strange bird calls echoed overhead.
She found a hollow log and crawled inside. It smelled of old rain and beetles, and she curled up, content. Her pink hair tangled with leaves, her body warmed by the earth.
Somewhere far off, wolves howled. She listened, ears twitching.
"Sing song," she whispered.
And she howled back—a high, cracked sound that startled a nearby owl into flight.
She laughed. It echoed against the trees. She drifted between sleep and wakefulness that night, her dreams thin and flickering.
In one, she was running again—not from anything, but toward something. A light? A face? She couldn't tell.
In another, she was small—even smaller than now—and warm arms held her. A voice hummed in her ear, sweet and low. She felt safe. Safe and full.
But when she woke, the hollow log was empty. The arms were gone. Only the cold morning mist wrapped around her now.
She yawned and stretched, her body aching but willing. She poked her head out of the log and sniffed the air.
New day. New smells. New things to chase. 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.