Mâché found the strength to sit upright, her brown hues skittering in nervousness.
Blade approached her, and her memory was restored to her. She had been taken from The Fierce Dog Camp that she belonged to; she wanted to summon Machete for help, but found her speech impaired. Blade, who was strong and muscular on the outside, had a brain the legitimate size of a pea. She wasn't sharp, and she wasn't logical. A pup could outsmart her with the most assumed of tricks. Brainless was she, even to a three week old pup-dog who was barely familiar with her own kind's series of Pack slang. But the teensy pup crouched down submissively to her new leader, who nodded.

"Satisfactory," she growled, "Now the ceremony shall begin. It's ancient tradition, one going back to the start of time. We must keep it that way."

Mâché whinnied, trying to buy her face into the patch of dirt in front of her.

"That's enough cowering!" Blade demanded, two warrior fierce dogs emerging from the shadows that were painted across the den's walls, the poor pup unaware of the cropping that was bound to happen. The two male dogs took two mild steps forward, teeth sliding out through their black and blue lips. Blade ordered them to attack her, but they seemed to he holding back. The architecture that supported the Fierce Dog Camp looked loose and wobbly, Mâché noticed, as if it could've just all collapsed and knocked away flurries of dust into the air, as the dog ruffians who built up the pack, fled in terror.