Drifting between sleep and a slightly-conscious state, Lume breathed quietly. Most threats would not be able to reach him at such a height, and it let him relax. His greatest fear was that of sleep, to be completely vulnerable to his memories otherwise locked far away. While he slept, he dreamed, and his dreams always renewed those memories and brought the past back in such vivid detail it could have happened the day before. Shortness of breath, the feel of a grainy tree pushed up against his front and the cold metal of a dagger on his neck.
The abandonment, when he was nothing more than a puppy, unable to willfully change from human to animal, unable to even see. Taken in by stray dogs, then raised until he could at least scavenge for himself, then abandoned again to roam the city streets and explore the forest. But the guards at the entrance of the city always threw things at him, rocks or old fruit from their lunches. Getting more in-tune with who and what he was, the people of the city always teased him, a thin and odd-looking young dog, with their table scraps before throwing them down a sewer drain. The pain from that abuse, how they sneered at and kicked him, both depressed and isolated him. Humans were violent creatures, he had believed, evil.
Young at heart, he had decided to live on the border of human existence, stealing what he needed and staying in the forest more than the city, but even then, humans chased him. Lume’s belief that if he just stayed out of their way, the humans would leave him alone, had been destroyed by the vigilante hunter who took it upon himself to catch and kill Lume. Even in his human form, the young boy had never had a chance. In the back of his mind, he recalled it, though he tried to repress it; a gasp, struggle, words of apology that requested to be let go, a stinging pain to the back of his head.
The human had no morals, no sense of kindness. Most likely hardened by the world, he may have built a wall around him and become indifferent to the cries and pleas of even a child. The scent of an old tree filled Lume’s nose, the feel of rough bark and cold metal. And among the fear, the wish not to harm the man, he felt a spark of heat, of hate, that drew his arm back. A fire inside that burned, blinded him, and drowned out his rational thought.
The jerking movement in his dream was real. Lume brought his front paw back, jolting himself awake. He clambered for balance on the widest part of the branch, but his claws grasped only smooth wood, too frantic to dig in for leverage. With a gasp, he fell backward, landing with a yelp on the grassy ground. With the moon shining beyond the clouds, he laid there, gritting his teeth.