Eventually deciding that the attack on her was not at all worth resisting, Mâché placed her head between her paws on the soil coated ground, so close she could almost taste the bitter dirt, pondering if she would ever have the miraculous fortune of escaping this new place, having the newfound pleasure to explore and be free and do whatever little things a young dog should. She was snapped out of her thoughts with herself by the ripping of her left ear caused by a set of snapping, muscular jaws on the cartilage.

It was none other than the Beta-Dog, and the third in command. They looked bothered by this, as if they did not want to be performing this sacred ceremony. But they were Fierce Dogs. They had to, it was their duty. It was in their nature--after all, they were born like this, weren't they?! The small pup lowered herself on her haunches, yelping and yapping as her ears were ripped. As soon as it seemed like it would go on forever, the torture finally stopped.

"Why don't you look at your reflection?" Blade took about three steps toward her. Nodding in agreement to her terms, the young pup female was brought towards a rain puddle, cleansed of mud and dirt, which was oddly surprising. Carefully, nervous about how the outcome was, the Black and Tan female gasped lightly in response to what she saw--her ears were forced upward, straightened.

She had been cropped.

"Blade! I--I mean Alpha, I'm too young for this! Couldn't you have waited until I was at least six moons--five moons, even. The Sky Dogs certainly would not approve of this treatment to a pup...I should be with my litter-mates back at my own camp, hunting for treasure and guarding longpaws, should I not? This is unjust cruelty, and it's not fair..." She longed for her former self, the face she was familiar with, the face she was raised with.

"I thought you would take it as a gift." Blade sounded confused, and hurt as she spoke.

It was just then when Mâché noticed the she-dog looked odd...odder than usual, to say the least. She was... almost pixelating...her image was flashing, transparent...her eyes could cruise directly through her ghostly figure. Her features blinked and would glitch every now and then, ever so bizarrely. Fear and tension arose in the young pedigree's stomach. Blade's dark, cocoa eyes were like portals to the underworld, the hellish realms of iciness. Why was she pixelating? Was she a mirage? Was she even real..no, scratch that, were any of them even living in reality? What the Earth Dog was going on? The ghoulish female warrior could read her mind just like a psychic.

Smirking, Blade lifted a hind leg to scratch the itchy patch of fur behind her neck.

"I should've warned you ahead of time."

"Whats going on? Why did you shape me? I'm too young!"

"I shaped you to mound you into a true warrior, not just a pseudo one. You cannot just be an imposter, a poser...someone forging the image of what your species is supposed to be, tainting your own name for your own selfish reasons," Blade spat coldly , some of her drool landing against Mache's now-tender ears, which still stung from the cropping procedure.

Mâché was about to object, when she spotted a sharpclaw, a tortoiseshell to be precise, crouched near the stair-stoop the doorway, tail flicking and lashing against the ramp. Blade was curious what caught the younger dog's attention, so she turned her focus towards the sharpclaw. Unlike most sharp- claws Mâché had seen before, this one didn't appear to be intimidating or overbearing. He had rough, thick hair and a wiry " beard" below the stump of his chin. He licked the dust and mites off one paw, appearing to be a dirty scoundrel. Blade was so focused on the newcomer, that she didn't notice that Mâché began digging an escape route, as an exit out of this dumpster.

------------POV Change-------------

Barnacle was the cat 's name. They called him that because he used to live with his master, who worked on steamboat ships and led a large crew of humans. The humans were loud, rowdy, and rambunctious, always throwing parties and making loud noises, and chorusing ancient traditional folk songs.

He had seen a lot, done a lot, been through so much...but he had knowledge in a variety of different topics and subjects. He had been out on busy streets and cities, near marketplaces and shoppes, cafés, churches, boutiques..., although old and somewhat weak physically, Barnacle, the tortoiseshell coated cat, was more intelligent than most animals.

Barnacle was also flexible, for an old timer. He could stretch his stretchable legs, and bend them in all different kinds of crazy directions. He was a good impressionist, one who could imitate dogs and other cats, and cows and cattle and hens and poultry. Right now he washed himself, giving his fur a bath. He washed his face with both paws, flexing his claws and whiskers in a humorous and comical style. He sat near a set of stairs near a ramp, and a power outlet.