I RUN FROM WOLVES // OPEN

[DANYLA]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]His stomach tightened as he watched the glitter float along in the water, facial fur nearly free of the gold décor by use of a water bucket and oil. He still had streaks along his legs and the dots along his sides, which wouldn't be an issue considering Danyla had removed plenty of glitter in worse places, but to think that he wouldn't apply it in the morning, that he might never need to wear it again was...terrifying. He knew nothing outside of noble parties where he entertained and laid at his master's paws, knew nothing about autonomy further than what color to choose of those his master provided. Even as a child, he was groomed for the role of reciting poetry on command in several languages, for smiling prettily and never frowning. They never taught him to say no, only to accept demurely, and only if the master permitted it.

He did not know how to be like these people. Danyla did not believe their lives were perfect, but some of them had to know a childhood that did not consist of walking the streets at his master's heel through an auction block where families thrashed as they were separated, or where the weary awaited a new master with a hollowness to their eyes. Surely they knew a life that was not bent to serve an individual with the whole of their bodies and minds, clay shaped into whatever form was desired.

To fear freedom, not for penance, but because it took them from their sole purpose.

Danyla shoved a leg into the bucket, scraping his fur against the side to clean it of the glitter. "Stabant orantes primi transmittere cursum tendebantque manus ripæ ulterioris amore,"[sup]1[/sup] he murmured, as though the glitter-filled water in his bucket represented more than what it was.

1. They stood begging to make the crossing first, and they stretched out their hands in yearning for the opposite shore.