backdated to about March 24 -- sorry for the major backdate i'm slow as molasses
For the entirety of his life, Fraser had served human masters. To make the transition from that existence to serving his canine betters was not as jarring as one would expect.
Head down, tail tucked, belly low. He knew this game. And he knew that Merrick was expecting it of him. He slunk through the valley, a subordinate worm, searching for the food his master said was buried here. Here, in the valley. His new home.
The deerhound now grazed at a slightly dessicated mouse, picking apart the corpse with careful teeth. Once, he would have gorged himself quickly—and did so at the start, hungry as he was. But food was not as easy to come by in this new life; the time of constant sustenance was no more. He had to pace himself. He did not know when his next meal would come.
Snick snack, went the tiny bones betwixt his jaws. They went down crushed with the morsels of meat, and his lips were stained with old blood.
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