Color scheme: purple. Mood: paranoia. Theme: child.

The child was no older than fourteen months when he was enlisted from the shelter into the forces. He knew no one here and no one knew him, and that gave him about the same comfort as it did fear. These were dogs she didn't know, dogs who were stronger and faster and braver.

They did not have the terror set deep in his heart from his early months of life. They did not have the same memories of flood, gasping up for air when he could find none. Struggling against rope and material that roughed against his soft fur. Blacking out when there finally was no more air in his lungs to keep him awake.

They did not remember waking to an almost empty riverside, lungs heaving up mouthful after mouthful of polluted water. Looking up into the face of a human and, instead of feeling grateful for his savior, feeling fear as if it was the face of his captors. Snapping at the face out of fear, not aggression, and being stuck back into the sopping wet bag and dragged to a place where it was too loud and too stinky and he could hear the voices of angry and scared and lonely dogs.

And now he was here. Afraid that his fear would overcome him again and make him attack and harm someone else. Like he'd hurt that little girl in the family who'd tried to become his family.

He had no family.