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If this was to be her last sight of the world, it would be a sorry one. The scent of death was in the air. She was certain that others had lost their lives down there, she sensed it strongly. It frightened her so deeply she could barely breathe.
Minutes passed by into hours and she started to doze off, not because she was tired but because she was thoroughly exhausted. Fear had faded into despair.
What seemed like an eternity later, heavy footsteps rang out close by, jolting her into awareness. Suddenly, the grated door was flung open. She smelled William before she saw him, his scent alone propelling her from the crate into his arms. She threw herself at him, tears coursing down her face as she gripped him like a spider monkey, wrapping her arms and legs around his body and refusing to let go.
“I guess that says she's yours,” a voice spoke. It was the voice of the catcher, the man who had shocked her for no reason at all. It evoked a rage which sent her from William's arms to his throat, her canines bared like a beast as she did her very best to bite the cruel citizen.
“Sarah!” Her name cracked through the air. “Here. Now.”
She ceased her attack, pleased to note that the catcher looked suitably frightened. As well he should. If William had not stopped her, she would surely have drawn blood, for the coward deserved at least that and likely a whole lot more.
She retreated to William's side, standing just behind him, a low growl emanating from her throat. A sharp slap from William's palm made her cease, but she still glowered at the citizen, who was looking at her as if she were a particularly nasty form of dirt.
“She's not registered,” the catcher said. “She should have been marked and chipped for identification purposes already. You were informed of that when you applied for your license.”
“She needs more taming before she will be ready to receive my brand.”
“All pets are to be marked within thirty-six hours of entering the city.” The catcher was not reading from a page, but he sounded as though he was. That was what reading did to people, turned them into reciting mimics, no original thoughts of their own. “You must comply with regulations, or face fines.”
“I understand,” William said stiffly. She looked up at him curiously. He could have crushed the catcher if he so desired. He was a much larger man, a much stronger specimen entirely—but somehow the catcher with his rules and his regulations was holding sway. Sarah did not understand it at all.
“I want to go home,” she said.
“Home?” William turned to her with his brow raised. She had never called it home before, but a spell in the kennels had made her realize that William's domicile had become her home too. It was a place where she might find some comfort, where she knew she was protected from little men with big guns.
His expression softened slightly, but only for a moment. The catcher did not care much for their bonding time.
“That's four thousand credits,” he said. “One thousand for allowing a pet loose in the city, an additional two thousand for her being hostile, and another one thousand for her lack of marks.”
“Four thousand credits is enough to feed a family for a year,” William pointed out. “That's a bit steep, isn't it?”
“If you want to keep one of these wild things, you need to have it under effective control,” the catcher replied. “You were informed of your responsibilities when you applied for your license.”
William's expression went from grim to grimmer, his jaw locking as he paid over four thousand credits by pressing his thumb to the handheld device. Sarah didn't really understand the system, but she understood that the clerk was taking something William valued, and he was doing it because she had been caught.
She began to feel a very strange emotion, one she had not felt before. It was uncomfortable and prickly, like a sore bottom, but on the inside, just above her stomach. It made her feel slightly nauseous, though the kennel had done a good job of that as well.
“Come,” William said curtly. She followed at his heel, eager to be away from the place.
“Leash!” The clerk called out. “She must be on a leash!”
Sighing, William snapped one about her neck. She made no objection, and was thoroughly surprised when he handed her the end of the chain to hold herself.
“There,” he said, turning to the clerk. “She's leashed.”
The clerk's face turned pink then red with thwarted frustration. “That is not what leashing means.”
“She's wearing a leash,” William said. “And we're leaving.”
He walked toward freedom. Sarah followed, a little grin on her face. William had a bit of a rebellious streak, so it seemed. She had not seen that side of him before. She liked it.
