Bobby

He opened his eyes to slits. Then he raised his head and licked his lips and yawned. He was dizzy. His bed had been made out of the garden, though he did not know why he was there or where he was. The leaves flapped and crumpled as he moved to steady himself, then stretch his body into a state of readiness. He was surrounded by plants and shrubs: rhododendron, azalea, honeysuckle. Small flurries of light buzzed before his eyes. He threw himself to the floor and buried them under the fallen leaves. His nose picked up a scent. He followed it. In a clearing there was a big, stone table upon which was laid a book. He nudged the book off the table and the table sank into the grass with the sounds of crackling fat and twisting timber. He whimpered. The sun hung above the tips of the trees, full of courage and power. Light beamed from gaps in the woods. His little form seemed ready to burst with fear. Birds hummed and zipped in the air before him. The scent was weaker now. Then, he heard a whistle. Then another. A stick hurtled through the air and caught him on the back of the neck. He yelped. His chest lowered down to the woodland floor, his tail pointed to the sun and his teeth emerged, pointed and bright. The sun poured power and courage into his quivering body until he was straining to hold himself back. A dark form stepped between a shaft of light. His claws dug deep into the earth and he leapt at the silhouette, burying his teeth into it.
‘Bobby…’ the voice gurgled; blood bubbling from its pale, trembling mouth.

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