The Carvings of Claws {Ollie & Zeke}

Eyes stare upon the divine delicacies upon they tray - ingredients that the old foster Mom would wag her wrinkly finger at, disapproving of eating such sweets until after dinner. But here there’s no one to lecture on when to eat how much of something. The sugary spices of pies and pudding warp within Ollie’s nostrils, though her tongue has yet to lick upon any such substance. Her stomach growls in a need to consume, while threatens to make it reappear if she’d dare compel to such desires. A fork cautiously approaches an attempt for a slither of a bite; but when laughter breaks from a nearby table within the hall of dining, the Blonde’s shoulders tense in defense and the metal collapses in surrender.

An abundance of noise constantly roamed the house of the Pound, which cocooned Ollie in the comfort of her new family. Here, however, the foreign chaos has her in a consistent cower, craving to escape the potential dangers bound to ignite. If fear carves her so drastically already, how might she survive even the simple atmosphere of the destination approaching? Another abrupt collision of vocals breaches from a distance nearby, and instinctively she flees from the hostile environment.

The tray of unhealthy substance is left in her wake. Throughout her life it had become acceptable to simply leave untouched food upon the table - her guardians knowing very well she wouldn’t consume it unless it was on her own time. Sometimes she’d return two minutes later, and devour it within seconds. Other times they’d place it in the fridge for the hours to come. But eventually the meal was always absorbed.

The dining hall is abandoned behind, and the vast gymnasium surrounds her once more. Fortunately the violent aroma doesn’t coax the place as it often does, though a few stragglers still perform in it’s rest. Desperate for complete isolation however, her depleting existence pulls her towards the elevators - until an unexplored door catches her vision.

Like a mysterious smell upon a curious nose, she goes to explore the unscathed territory. Darkness graces her in a small terrain, until a flip is switched - and a dim light glows the room of storage. But when the door sneakily clicks shut behind her, silence roams in a welcoming for a sigh of relief. Chatter and training taunts in the distance, while no where near enough to frighten the small girl as she often is. Mind wanders to Bella as it frequently does, wondering if the older hound ever scattered into here when it all became too much.

Extra knifes dangle from the walls like precious paintings, or patient tools waiting to assist in building once more. Beautiful or helpful intimate decorations are to be hanged upon walls, while these blades are no such things. The thought of them being necessary, vital, life saving in the near future, forces all the hairs on Ollie’s exterior to stand. Delicate fingers go to grip one’s handle within her palm, not wanting her first touch of such an object to be followed by destruction - but rather something good. Her eyes now travel towards a wall of her seclusion, and so does the tip of the blade.

Dear sibling from the Pound, I hope you never have the chance to read this… It’s Ollie from the 79th. Bella was also here last year. She didn’t make it, and I don’t think I will either. I’m

The doorknob to her secret chamber is disturbed by an intruder. The tiny knife clatters against the floor beside, while Ollie’s left in shambles of fear that she’s been caught in doing something that she shouldn’t.