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My seeds will cross and then take root
Topic Started: Jan 4 2018, 08:58 PM (17 Views)
Peyton Brooks

It wasn't that Peyton had never been to a dog park before, he had. He had been a few times. He had come with his handler many times, always listening to him say that he wanted Peyton to have fun, to be a dog, to race about and do all that funny cute stuff that dogs did. Peyton rarely ever left his side. His handler had always waited almost expectantly, then pet his head and said it was okay if he didn't feel like playing, they could just enjoy the outside air. He remembered those times well. He remembered sitting there or lying at his handlers feet and just...watching. He watched all the dogs – young, old, male, female – racing around as his handler told him this was what they were fighting for. Those weren't army dogs out there. Most of them would defend their owners to their last breath, but they weren't fighters. That was why they had dogs like Peyton and humans like his handler. They weren't fighters, they didn't understand the danger of combat; they couldn't race ahead under the sound of gunfire or take a leap from a plane because they knew it was their job. They needed dogs like Peyton, who was willing to do all that, who had the strength to be brave enough to face all that war and strife. It had done him so proud to be with the humans that fought for freedom and safety and all of that. He had been so proud to stand tall over a downed enemy, to land on his feet after jumping from a plane, from having sniffed out the dangers so no one was hurt. Protecting people had been his life.


These days he didn't know what to do with himself. He wasn't a war dog anymore they had told him. But once, they had told him he would be a war dog until he died. Maybe they had meant that he wouldn't survive to be this old. Not in an unkind way, but...but there had been so much death in fighting. He had gone to funerals for canine and human alike, he had seen it happen. He had just foolishly thought it would never happen to him or his handler. They were suppose to survive, they were suppose to finish and go home together and it was suppose to be his handler who sat on the bench by him and told him that it was okay if he didn't want to go play. Peyton remembered that too with more clarity than he wanted, especially in the dark of night when he tried to sleep. They had been going into a fire fight. His handler had been talking about how they were on the schedule for leave next and he was going to show Peyton the best time; he was going to find Peyton the best food and they were going to do all sorts of things. And then there had been a bright light and pain and distantly he had realized that there had been a bomb. Peyton hadn't really woken up, he didn't think, not really. He just remembered lying in the dirt and dust and there had been a copper taste in his mouth and he hurt everywhere and he couldn't move but his handler had been in front of his eyes and his handler hadn't been moving and no, that was his handler, that was his human and his human needed to get up, why hadn't he been getting up.


The next time he woke up, he found out he had missed his handler's (his human) funeral. They took him to the memorial and all Peyton could lie on the stone and whine and paw at it because that was where his human was. They had buried his human and Peyton was still alive and they were suppose to have been together until death and Peyton hadn't been there. It had hurt more than the recovery from the bombing he had survived. He hadn't cared that he had lost a leg. He hadn't cared he was going to walk around with a slow pace because he was always going to be sore. He hadn't cared that he was no longer in the army. His handler – his human – was dead, who would he have worked with? He had heard the humans talking about how they were concerned over him; they were concerned because he had stopped eating, he had stopped drinking, he just lied around. A lot of things were a blur after he was well enough to actually leave the vet's, but he remembered going to a place that had seemed warm and nice and smelled like other dogs. He remembered curling up in a corner and not moving unless a human came over. That was usually when he had been hauled into the human's lap, when he had been feed water and food slowly, steadily and told he was such a good dog.


The humans he had now were kind. They were gentle and understanding. Their hands were always light as they pet him. They got him a new leg, one that functioned almost like his real one had so he didn't have to hop around on three. They gave him good food and snuck him things he shouldn't really have, but they said he was too skinny most days. They took him to the park to see the other dogs and never pushed him to run off and play. Slowly he pulled himself down into a lying position so he could watch everything. It hurt knowing that he was just another dog now, it hurt knowing that his handler was never coming back, and sometimes he forgot he wasn't in the war anymore, but he was learning. His new humans were kind and he loved them, he knew he would protect them for as long as he had breath in him. He didn't think he would ever be like the dogs that ran around here, but it was nice to watch them. It was nice to feel as if some things didn't change.
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Marc Miller

Marc didn't know why he came around the dog park, except that he was lonely. He had been lonely for a long time, it felt like. It was easy enough to slip into the dog park under a small and unnoticed hole in the back. None of the humans ever seemed to bother him or even really to notice him and the other dogs were usually willing to play with him and talk with him. There was plenty of shade, plenty of water to drink and to roll around in, plenty of games to be had and toys to play with. There had even been some humans who had given him treats. He had wondered if the humans ever noticed that he didn't have one, but none of them ever seemed to. Equally, none of them ever seemed to do more than sometimes pet him, sometimes give him a treat or toss a ball, and sometimes even shoo him off from their own dogs. Maybe they knew and didn't care. Maybe they could sense he was somehow inferior to their own dogs - after all, why else would his owner have told him to stay and never come back? - but he didn't know. Maybe they just assumed one of the other humans owned him and that they just never saw them interacting. At least it let him have a safe place to run and play and he could pretend, if only for a little while, that he was just like those other dogs that were here.

He shook himself off somewhat, ridding his fur of as much of the dirt and leaves that had collected on it from his roll in it when another dog had barreled into him just a few moments before. He had decided to take a break after that. The other dog hadn't been in the least bit aggressive, but Marc could admit that he sometimes became intimidated by other dogs. The larger and more pushy they were the more he had a tendency to shrink back into himself. He always remembered those dogs that had snarled at him when he had been trying to wait for his owner to return, the ones that had said this was their territory and they didn't want him in it. They had chased him off and he had gotten himself hopelessly lost. He would never know if that was the reason he had never found his owner or if it was the simple fact that they just didn't think he was a good enough dog for them anymore. So when some of the larger dogs got pushy and dominant, Marc would just simply slip away and take a rest somewhere else until he felt more confident and able to get back into the games again. That was what he was doing now. Usually he tried to find an abandoned corner or a less populated area but the dog park was busy today and that was becoming increasingly hard to find. The park was full of energetic, playful dogs everywhere he turned, it felt like.

Finally he spotted another dog and owner pair, but the dog wasn't running around and the owner didn't seem to be doing anything other than just watching the other dogs, occasionally reaching down to pat the other dog's head. He hesitated, because the other dog was bigger than him, but he was being calm and quiet and that was what Marc wanted right now. He just hoped the other dog wasn't territorial about his owner, that the other dog wasn't going to suddenly take offense to Marc's presence. He trotted his way over to where the bench was and, for a second, he just skirted around it all and pretended like he was going over to the small trough of water that there was over on this side. He took a long drink, casting glances at the other dog, testing the waters and waiting to see if the other dog got aggressive and started looking like he was uncomfortable with Marc even being this close. When nothing happened except a wary glance here and there, Marc figured he was safe enough for the moment.

He skirted back around the bench that the human was on before he moved a few feet away from the other dog and plopped himself down into a sitting position. From there, he couldn't actually stop himself from wriggling slightly as he wagged his tail at the other dog. Though he was needing some bit of quiet, he couldn't stop his excitement at potentially meeting a new dog either; he was always eager to have someone to talk to even if he might not always put himself forward the best that he could. "Hi!" he greeted cheerfully. "Do you come here often? I haven't seen you before." He realized that, honestly, Marc didn't come here that often, either. Here and there he popped in for some company and the potential for treats, but he wasn't here every single day. He had food to find and shelter to find - because, inevitably, another dog usually found and took over his - and other things to worry about. Coming here was more of a treat for himself than a routine.
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Peyton Brooks

Peyton wanted to like this place and there was a part of him that did. But at the same time, there was all these unknown factors. He didn't know these dogs at all, how was he suppose to interact with them? And for years, he had been living with sniffing out materials that came with making bombs or whatever human they were hunting. The reasons they were hunting said humans were always vaguely obscure to Peyton, but it was their job, so he had done it. He had spent years patrolling and guarding areas that had seen gun fire and humans dying. How was he suppose to treat this any different? What did he do when he wasn't patrolling? It had been like his leash had gone slack and he had run ahead, but now...now he didn't know what to do. The humans he had were just telling him to be a dog. The dogs Peyton had associated with had been ones trained to attack, to guard, and detect things just like he had and they had talked and howled over situations like the pack they were. These dogs? They weren't pack. They didn't understand anything. They were nice enough, for the most part, but they were still strangers. Maybe he should have tried to give them more of a chance, but lying where he was, he didn't see the point. Soon the human would sigh at himself and ask if he wanted to go home, where he would silently stand up and start making his way to the gate before the human even had time to clip his leash.


Maybe that would have happened, maybe he should have started making his way over to the gate to tell his human it was time to go, when he spotted the other dog. Most of the dogs had seemed to get a vibe from him, or so he assumed. He hadn't wanted any of them approaching him, so they hadn't. Or that could have been wishful thinking on his part. The dog was smaller than him, not by much but Peyton had the confidence in knowing that if push came to shove, he could defend himself, his human if he needed to. Not that size really had anything to do with it. One of the more vicious dogs Peyton had ever worked with had been a small one; his buddy had been brought in for scenting but had managed to tear off some human's face, which everyone had been proud over. But the dog before him skirted away, going to where the water was. He lied his head down on top of his one real paw and the one that worked as his paw from the fake leg. If the dog wasn't bothering him, he could focus on the others out there...but then the dog came back, coming back into his line of vision and just...sitting down without an invite. Though he supposed he couldn't protest; this wasn't his territory, it was everyone's and just sitting there wasn't causing a problem for his human. And then he wiggled and wagged his tail at Peyton. When was the last time a dog had done that? The other dog greeted him quite cheerfully all things considered, asking if he came here often. He took a long moment to decide if he wanted to engage the other dog, wanting to actually invest some time with him. With a quick glance up, he realized his human was looking at that phone again. They wouldn't be leaving for hours because that phone took away all attention to the outside world. "Off and on," he finally said. "When my humans feel guilty about me staying home all the time, they bring me here." Honestly, Peyton much preferred just sitting in the backyard or riding around in the car. "I don't think it's quite fair to say you haven't seen me before, since I've never seen you before," he pointed out with a small huff of amusement.


Sitting like this, it was easier to look the dog over. He seemed to no longer be a puppy, but neither had he become an adult. He certainly wasn't old like Peyton, but some days he felt like no one should feel this old and no one could feel that old. "What's your name?" he found himself asking. He decided he liked this dog so far. He had kept his distance, giving Peyton his space and while he had seemed somehow eager to talk with him (why Peyton didn't know), he wasn't up in Peyton's face. He could appreciate that. "I don't exactly like places like this," he admitted. "The last time I was around so many dogs was in the field and before that had been training." He had been picked young from his litter, but he supposed that had to be a fairly common thing, especially with the training he had done. The dogs he had met had all been different breeds, but oddly enough, they'd been all somewhat similar. They had all worked as hard as they could, learning the ins and outs of what they needed to do. Some had gone with Peyton to other lands, others had gone...well, he didn't know where. No one ever said and the older dogs they had met when they landed had always said some dogs went different places. Those were the things Peyton could understand, but this though? This was dogs having fun and having too many different personalities.


He shook himself off a tiny bit. "Are you hungry?" he found himself asking. Maybe it was because the other dog looked so skinny. Maybe not as bad as some dogs that Peyton had seen, but certainly not like all the other dogs around here. He carefully pushed himself up, making sure his false leg was sturdy before he turned to his human, putting his head in his lap and grumbling at him. It always made the humans laugh, it made them happy, though Peyton could never quite figure out why. He didn't care because it pulled his human's attention away from the phone long enough to pass him a few treats that he took carefully into his mouth. From there he walked back over to the other dog, slowly easing himself back down into a lying position so he could put the treats in front of him. Normally, he might have just wandered back over to his human, kept talking from there...but he found he liked this other dog. At least he seemed to be one of the better ones than the dogs running around.
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Marc Miller

For one brief moment, Marc thought he might have made a mistake. The other dog was eyeing him so intently that he was sure that the bigger dog was going to spring into action. Maybe to just chase him off, but maybe to do something worse. He was always jittery around larger dogs that looked like they meant business ever since the ones had chased him off. His wriggling stopped and his tail stilled, one paw raised just slightly as if he was already half-poised to jump and run off if the other dog turned aggressive. Nothing happened, though. The other dog just lifted his head to look up at the human that was sitting next to him. Then he turned his gaze back onto Marc and actually answered his question. Marc's tail picked back up wagging again, his ears pricking somewhat, and he looked at the other dog eagerly for the moment. At least, initially. When the other dog pointed out that he hadn't seen Marc around, his ears pinned back against the side of his head again in embarrassment. The other dog hadn't sounded the least bit aggressive - in fact, there had been a huff of amusement - and in a way that just made it worse. It made him practically want to sink down into the ground. He fidgeted in place somewhat, shifting his weight from paw to paw. "Oh... well, I guess I don't come here that often either," he finally admitted. It was the truth, too, but somehow it made him feel almost ashamed to admit it. He had no human to decide he needed to be out of the house anymore. He had no human to sit by him and wait. All the other dogs did, but not him. Coming here was just a break from his routine once in awhile, a little treat for himself.

"Oh, I'm Marc. What's your name?" The humans had called him Marc, anyways. He had never really had a name before that and he had seen no reason to change it since then. It was just his name now. He missed hearing them call it, missed someone petting him and telling him he was a good boy. For a brief second he let his gaze shift up to the human that wasn't even paying a bit of attention to the either of them, a bit of wistful longing in his eyes. Then he turned it back to the other dog when he spoke again. Marc let his head tilt just a little as the other dog spoke of not liking places like this, of being in the field and having training. Marc wasn't quite sure what he meant. He had been trained, of course - his human had said to stay, so Marc had stayed - but that didn't seem to be what the other dog meant. "The field?" Every dog that he had ever met had either been a stray or a pet. None of them ever talked about something like that before and this dog did seem to be a bit different. Not mean, not aggressive, but different; aloof and reserved, watchful. Maybe he was a guard dog or something like that?

Marc blinked when the other dog asked if he were hungry. Of course he was hungry. He was always hungry. Marc made it a habit of not complaining about it, though. What good did complaining do? And he didn't want other dogs to pity him. "Oh, I'm all right," he said, instead of saying that yes, he was hungry. The other dog either didn't hear him or didn't care, however. For a brief moment, Marc's attention was completely taken away from the offer of food by the sight of the other dog standing up. At first, Marc wasn't quite sure why the older dog was taking such a long, careful time to stand up. Then as he fully stood, he realized the dog just... didn't have one of his front legs. There was a strange shape there - obviously some sort of human contraption - that acted as a leg, but it wasn't the same as his other legs. He could only gape, even though Marc knew it was undeniably rude to do so, as the other dog stood and then made his way to his human, grumbling and growling in a way that was almost conversational. The human shifted his attention away from his phone long enough to pat the other male and then pass over a few treats. The other dog then turned and made his way back to where he had been before, slowly and carefully lowering himself back to the ground and then lying the treats in front of him, right in front of Marc. "What happened to your leg?!" Marc blurted the question out without even thinking and then he dropped to the ground in a lying position as well, except his was more to cover his face with one paw. "Oh God, I'm sorry. You don't ask those kinds of things!" The other dog would be fully in his right to snarl at him or glare at him for asking something like that so blatantly. Sure, he was probably used to other dogs asking but that didn't mean Marc had to ask so rudely.

He lifted his paw after a moment, just resting his chin against the ground as he looked at the older dog and then let his gaze shift to the treats that were in front of him. He didn't really deserve any one of them at all. Slowly, carefully, he extended his neck enough that he could grab one with his teeth and draw it towards him. From there, though, he found that he didn't want to eat it. He was starving. He was hungry as could be... and yet, he just wanted to savor it. He wanted to hold onto it because he hadn't had a treat in forever... and someone had been so kind and given it to him. The other dog had gotten his own treats and brought them over to Marc. "Thank you," he said, softly, letting his tail thump against the ground once or twice.
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Peyton Brooks

Peyton watched the other dog, not entirely sure what to make of him. He had gotten more than use to the dogs that seemed to wander around the park and this one wasn't at all like the others. The others tended to let Peyton be, seemingly getting the feeling he didn't want to be approached. Or maybe they saw him lying down and not leaping up to join them as a sign he didn't want to spend time with them. Whatever the case, he wasn't use to dogs approaching him and this felt like a first. The other dog wagged his tail briefly, but then it stopped and he seemed to duck down a tiny bit, becoming uncomfortable as he said he didn't come that often here either. Peyton told himself he had no connection with this dog, this dog wasn't his problem and he could be uncomfortable for Peyton cared...but it didn't work like that. It couldn't work like that, really. He could say he didn't care, but he did. For whatever reason, he liked the dog in front of him. Whether it was because he had approached Peyton first or because he had wagged his tail like he was happy to see Peyton. "Then it was suppose to happen for us to meet then," he decided. "If neither of us really come here, we were suppose to be partners in this." Because all the other dogs had ones they had seen before and went tearing off to be with them; they had their own little packs and they didn't let people into their packs easily. He and this dog? Well, maybe they weren't a pack, but they were alone, they didn't have anyone else to be there with so...it was all very simple to Peyton.


The dog seemed to bounce back from the original set back, announcing his name was Marc. "I'm Peyton." Without really realizing it, his tail started to wag. He liked Marc, he decided. Marc had been friendly but respectful of Peyton's space. Marc had looked up to his human but he hadn't gone trying to harass him like some of the other dogs that were there (though to be fair, he supposed those dogs hadn't needed to be nipped for coming to his human just to throw a ball, but). It was a nice feeling to know that there was at least one dog he got along with here. "The field," he repeated with all the graveness that his original humans had used. The soldiers that had called the deserts their home for long tours. He straightened himself up, lifting his head some to show how proud he was of himself. "I'm an army dog," he said with dignity...that deflated a few moments later. "Or I was. My human took me in when I was young and I trained for years. After that, I flew out of the country and I worked in the field," he said the word carefully again like the humans did. "My main duty was to detect explosives, but they also trained me to hunt other humans and protect civilians." He had done all his jobs with pride, working along side his packmates through thick and thin. He had been hefted on the shoulders of his human when he had thought he was going to be left in some abandoned house, he had stood before his human and drove off anything that could hurt him until help had come. He'd had a purpose then, it felt strange not having it now.


Marc said he was all right, but Peyton tilted his head at him, not quite believing that. Marc looked too skinny to Peyton's eyes. Oh, he had seen dogs that were skinny and that was normal for them – just the other trip out here, he had seen one of the fluffiest lady dogs walking by with a much taller male and he had looked sick. Those long legs and rib cage showing, but no one had been alarmed and the lady dog had sneered at Peyton for staring. So some dogs were like that, but Marc? Marc didn't look like he should be skinny. It made Peyton feel oddly protective, like he had to get Marc food and had to watch out for him. They were all alone in this park, right? They were a pack of two that needed to watch out for each other. He didn't mind sharing with pack and Marc had become that quickly. He just got his treats, went back to Marc and blinked as the other dog blurted out the question. For a moment, Peyton just glanced down at his leg, looking at it as if it was a new thing that had just happened. Sometimes he forgot, honestly. In the beginning, it had been harder to forget. It had been impossible because he had hobbled along with only three legs and then he had gotten a new one. "It's fine," he said as Marc almost wailed that you didn't ask those sorts of things. "It's strange, I know." Dogs had stared at it before and most didn't ask, but what did Peyton care if they dd? The time of the answer hurting him had slowly begun to dwindle. It brought heart ache to him, but the grief that it once had been wasn't as bad. He pushed himself up, moving so that Marc could see it better. "I detect explosives," he said again, "I didn't do a very good job of detecting." But it had all been a very sudden thing, he remembered. The humans had all said the "clear" call and they were suppose to carefully start working their way through and then the gunfire had started. The ambush happened and everyone had panicked; humans had scrambled for cover, his human had tried to make sure they got to cover, but they had stumbled, they had fallen back and there had been a bomb. Peyton couldn't remember if it had been a land one they no one had seen or if it just happened to be one that had been dropped, but it had gone off and only Peyton had come out of it alive.


Marc stared at him, watched him before looking at the treats. He watched as the smaller dog reached out carefully and grabbed it so he could pull it close, but he didn't eat it. Peyton's instincts felt like they were waking up again. He felt like he had been sleeping for weeks but had finally risen. This little dog and he were pack, he decided. They were both alone and they needed each other, that was what packs did; sure, it might end the moment they both left this park, but until that moment passed, they were in this together. He nudged the other treats closer, then moved himself over to Marc's side. With another quick glance around, he lied himself down, stretching his body out next to Marc's. "We're pack now," he announced it with all the confidence of someone who had seen it building for months rather than the span of minutes he and Marc had had. "We look out for each other and we take care of each other." He had tried taking care of his humans, but they had just...patted him down. They told him to calm down and it was okay and they didn't understand.
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Marc Miller

At least the other dog wasn't making fun of him. He also wasn't snarling at him, trying to chase him away. Those were two things Marc definitely didn't want to deal with. If the dog was a bit reserved, well, that meant he wasn't going to be jumping all over Marc, right? Marc didn't mind some rough play but after a point he didn't want to deal with it anymore. He had already gotten his fair share of roughhousing today. Now all he wanted was just someone to sit and talk with and it seemed like this other dog was willing to do just that without having to make a rough and tumble game out of it. His ears pricked up a little as the other dog said that they must have been meant to meet. He hadn't thought of it like that, but then maybe it was true? After all, Marc had met many dogs while he was here before but most of them had just been ready to play and leave. Some of them hadn't wanted anything to do with Marc at all. This dog, though, hadn't just immediately tackled Marc or chased him off. Instead he had just stayed where he was and listened to him, watching him intently. He let his tail sweep against the ground again. "Maybe you're right," he said after a moment, feeling immensely cheered by the prospect of being meant to meet someone here. Maybe he would have a friend. Not a permanent friend, because this dog had an owner and Marc didn't, but someone he could see more than once, who would sit and talk and listen and not wrestle him to the ground in excitement.

"Peyton," Marc repeated the name for a moment before he spotted the other dog's tail wagging. He let his own tail pick up tempo in response to that, practically thumping it against the ground over and over again before he gave a tiny wriggle. He knew other dog's names, of course. He had met a few of them over the times he had crawled under the fence to be in here. He had met a few of them several times. This was different, though, even if he wasn't quite sure why. "Oh," Marc practically breathed out the word. He wasn't quite sure what the army was, but Peyton seemed very proud of it. He seemed more than proud of it. When he continued on to say what he had done, Marc supposed he could see why. He didn't know a lot of human things, but he had heard this or that when he was with humans, had heard other things from dogs. It all equaled up to the work that Peyton had done being dangerous. He had been doing very dangerous things that sounded like they were to protect his human, maybe others. "That's amazing. I don't think I could ever do something like that." It was true. Marc would never even be able to go out of the country. He had seen those big airplanes in the sky and they were terrifying. Then to have to work with dangerous things? It just made Peyton seem ten times bigger, ten times braver, with the knowledge that he had done something of that nature.

He ducked his head a tiny bit as Peyton just scrutinized him when Marc said he was all right. He was hungry. He was always hungry, lately. He had eaten some food already, though. It was likely the most that he would get for the day and he had learned to not be greedy. Often times, if he ate more than he was used to he would just end up miserable the next day when that same amount of food was available. So he really didn't need to eat anything else unless he wanted to sigh and whine about hunger pains tomorrow. Peyton, however, didn't seem willing to take no for an answer. And, at least, he didn't seem in the least bit offended by the question that Marc had blurted out. He was probably used to it, of course, but Marc was still heavily embarrassed. Hesitantly, shyly, he crept forward a little bit as the other dog stood. He was still wary, despite the fact that he liked Peyton. A dog could change his mind in an instant, after all. He might just decide he didn't want Marc getting too near. Marc drew near enough to nose very lightly at the fake leg, just enough to scent along it, to try and make some sense of it. He turned and did the same to the actual leg before he rapidly lost his bit of bravery and backpedaled away from the other dog quickly. It didn't look like a leg. It wasn't a part of Peyton, but it smelled like him and he moved mostly like a normal dog. So he supposed it was... still a leg at that point. "That's rough," Marc said. An understatement, he was sure. What did he know of explosives outside of what they were? He knew it was rough to lose something you were used to, though. Losing a leg must have been very hard.

As Marc watched, the other male nosed the treats that Marc hadn't taken closer to him, making sure that they were all in reach of Marc. He wanted terribly to just wolf them all down. Instead he just licked lightly at the one in between his paws before he nibble at the end of it, giving a tiny little groan at the fact that it tasted good. When was the last time he'd had a treat? Maybe another human in the dog park had given him one, once, but he hardly remembered it. He didn't remember a lot of things that he used to enjoy because there was hardly anytime for that now. It was all about finding food constantly and finding a place to rest that was sheltered from wind, rain and other dogs... even from some humans. He paused in his nibbling as Peyton came up beside him and then slowly stretched himself out next to Marc. He nibbled off the edge of one treat, still trying to savor it and make it last. When Peyton spoke, his head came up and his ears pricked to their fullest. "We are? Really - we are?" His tail beat against the ground again and his eyes practically shone with excitement. Without even bothering to think about it, he stood up just enough that he could slide closer to where Peyton lay. He stretched out next to the older dog and then pressed himself up against Peyton's side before he curled somewhat, burying his muzzle in the other male's neck ruff. "I've never had a pack before," he mumbled softly.
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Peyton Brooks

He watched the other dog, feeling his tail wag the tiniest bit. He didn't think this was a first. He knew that he wasn't the most social of dogs – he hadn't been since he came back and he knew his handlers were aware of that – but he had never really had a problem before. Most other dogs avoided him, because of his leg, because sometimes they wanted to play in a way that reminded him of his time before, when he had been with his old handler and they had been working together. This dog was nice because he didn't seem to think he needed to jump all over Peyton for the attention he wanted. "Fate is a very serious thing," he lifted his head, intoning the words almost, "It dictates everything that has happened, is happening, or will happen." he paused, lowering his head and gave a soft snort, "Or so an old friend told me. I don't think he was quite all there, talking about that stuff all the time." Or maybe the other dog had been trying to cope in the only way he knew how. They had both been army dogs, but he had been from somewhere else where the humans spoke in a weird language. He had never been more grateful for the fact that the dog had spoken normally so that Peyton could understand him. He talked about fate and destiny a lot; he talked about how everyone had a plan for their life and they all walked a line that had surprises for them, but they weren't really surprises. Everything that was meant to be would be, there was no point fighting it. Peyton had found out later that he had lost his own handler, that he must have been trying to comfort himself and say that there was nothing he could have done. If fate had put it out there, how could a mere canine fight it? Sometimes Peyton found it comforting thinking that maybe there was no wrong choice in his life. Other times, he felt his hackles want to rise because what was the point of anything if you weren't in control?


Marc was a good sort, he had decided. Marc was a good dog and Peyton found that he liked the way the other said his name. It had a good ring to it. And he liked how Marc breathed out his astonishment; he sounded awed...but at the same time, he wasn't gushing at Peyton, nor was he condemning him. He had heard that a lot from other dogs, dogs that thought it was oh my god the most amazing thing in the entire world! It was so exciting! How stunning that he could do it! Or the other dogs snarled at him and said what, did he think he was better than them? Lots of dogs did that. But Marc seemed a happy medium...or maybe it wasn't a medium at all? He didn't know what it meant to be an army dog, so he just seemed mildly impressed. He tilted his head as Marc spoke again. "Well, I was raised in it," he repeated. "I don't think I could do it if I hadn't been raised to. But I was." Some days he didn't think he could do this...normal dog life. People told him it should be relaxing – no one was shooting at him, there were no bombs under the ground, there were no bombs in the sky, no need to stay on a short leash and watch everything – but he could never shake the feeling that that was what he was suppose to be doing. How many times had he been closed inside his human's bedroom because he had barked at every little thing? How many times had he been told to "please just lie down" as he stood at the door? How many times had he been told it was fine, why are you so jumpy at every little twitch that didn't seem normal? He was different from other dogs. The thought made him feel as if he should be shamed for thinking that, as if he thought himself better. But he wasn't. He knew he wasn't.


He watched Marc for a longer moment before he had to accept that, maybe, Marc knew what he was talking about. It wasn't like Peyton could scruff him and command him to come get food, what good would that do except scare the one dog that had approached him quietly and with interest? Instead of focusing on that for the moment, he watched as Marc crept forward slowly but surely. It was a good precaution to take. Not only did it protect Marc, but it kept Peyton from panicking. He wasn't as bad as he use to be, but there had been a few well meaning dogs that had gotten close too fast and wound up pinned on their backs and terrified. In amusement, he watched as Marc sniffed his fake leg and then the other. He was sure by now they didn't smell all that different. In the beginning, even Peyton had smelled the difference between his legs. His fake one hadn't smelled like him at all. But slowly, the leg had just been around himself long enough that it seemd a part of him now. He was sure there was the barest hint of it being fake (outside of it looking nothing like an actual leg), but other than that, it was him. He gave a small sigh as Marc said it was rough. "No injury is a regret if you protect your people." The problem was he hadn't protected his people. His human was dead, a few others were dead. His human had been trying to protect Peyton of all things. And Peyton had failed him. The missing leg was the least of his problems. "It's not so bad," he said easily. "Humans are very sympathetic and tend to give me a lot of treats as if I'll grow one back." A moment later he sighed mournfully. "But I can't eat all the treats." His new human had told him he had to watch his weight because of the leg. It was fine right now, but if he put on too much weight? The leg wouldn't be able to work. Even if Peyton said 'feh!' to the leg, he couldn't go hobbling around if he was fat, right?


Marc was enjoying the treat at least, that much was clear. Except it sent alarm bells in Peyton's head. He had seen other dogs in his time In The Field. They had been scrawny scavengers that some of the humans had felt sorry for and fed; they had only nibbled at their food too, lying close by. Not close enough to be hit if a human decided to, but enough that the humans would be hard pressed to miss them if they wanted to give more food. Marc wasn't as bad as them but he recognized it. Marc seemed content with Peyton lying there, which was good. What would he have done if Marc had suddenly decided to be stand offish about his food? Again, the scavengers sometimes got like that. They had gotten the food and snarled and snapped at anyone who came close, even those they had been calling friend right up until that moment. He could hear Marc's tail wagging and his own couldn't help but respond. "We are. Dogs are suppose to be in packs. That's why we have humans," he hesitated a tiny bit, "We're both alone for our own reasons and in our way. So what better for two outcasts than to be a pack?" It made sense to Peyton. They didn't have anyone but each other. There was something that made his heart twist a tiny bit, that made him think that this was better than any of the other dogs he had met since coming to this place. Marc stood, moving closer and practically flopping against Peyton's side. "Well, now you do," he said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "We'll take care of each other." he moved his head so he could wrap it around Marc, nibbling at his cheek fluff.
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Marc Miller

Marc tilted his head as he looked at the other dog, as the other dog spoke in such a deep and serious tone. He was almost awestruck by the tone and the words, by the concept of it. After the other dog had finished talking, he lowered his head and gave a small snort. That made Marc hesitate and his ears drooped just the tiniest bit as he was caught between not quite knowing what the other dog believed and what he wanted Marc to believe. He finally settled on a tentative tail wag before he looked more firmly at the other dog. "You don't believe it?" In a way, it was nice to think that your life could be laid out like that. It removed all of the guess work, didn't it? You would start here and end there and it didn't matter what you did. But then... that was a sad thing to think, too. Marc had thought he had a nice enough life before. His father and mother were very kind to him - his father especially had doted on him. He could remember them both vaguely. A lot of fur and bright eyes full of warmth. He had been taken from them early on, he knew. But that had been okay; that was what dogs did, he had been told. He had been given to his humans and he had been happy. But then, one day, he had been told to wait and so he had waited. If this thing about fate was true, did that mean he was always fated to have been left behind by the human he had loved? If so, why? What would he have done to have a fate such as that? He shook his head a little, making his ears flap slightly with the abrupt action. "It's beyond me, I think," he said ruefully. He didn't think there was much he could discuss about it and... he didn't want to find out or be told of course his humans had left him for this or that reason.

The other dog continued to look proud and confident and Marc still felt in awe of him. Had Marc ever been so proud or confident? Look at the way that the other male sat so straight and tall, the way he seemed to exude confidence and strength. It left him a little breathless, truth be told, and he could feel a small part of his brain very kindly reminding him that that was the kind of mate that one should look for; a mate that was strong and could handle everything that life threw at him. "I just... grew up on a farm," he said, tentatively. That was nothing near like what this dog was talking about. He remembered the smell of hay and horses. He remembered his siblings and his parents, the humans who were there and talked to them as they went about their daily chores. The days had passed by in a lazy sort of a haze and then the humans had come and taken his siblings away and then taken him away too. "Then a human took me. I never did anything like what you did." He skirted around the subject of his human because... well. He had probably done something wrong, right? Humans didn't just get rid of you for no reason. His parents were still with their humans and this dog had a human. All of these dogs did. He didn't want to point out that he didn't. Besides, being a pet sounded like nothing to brag about when compared to what this dog had done.

Marc very purposefully did his best to ignore the treat that was still there, tempting him, and focused momentarily on the sight of the fake leg. It smelled like Peyton. Oh, he could smell the strange things used to make it beneath that scent of course but it still mostly smelled like Peyton. It didn't look like a leg but it seemed to work reasonably well. Marc supposed it was something the humans had come up with and they usually seemed to know what they were doing. Marc was glad. It was sad to imagine that the other dog might have struggled with moving around before and now he seemed to be doing just fine. Of course, Marc hadn't seem him running around like the other dogs but maybe he was still able to do so if he wanted to. "Oh," he said in response to the fervent words. He hadn't protected his person. He didn't think his person had needed any protecting. Maybe that was why he had left him? "I've always been easily scared. I never had to protect my human from anything.' His human had usually seemed content or sometimes angry but never all that scared. Marc, on the other hand, was afraid of many things. He turned his gaze back fully on Peyton as he spoke and said that the humans gave him lots of treats, then went on to sigh and say he couldn't eat all of them because there were so many. Marc couldn't stop the light whine that escaped from him at that. "I wish I had that problem," he said, wistfully. This treat was the first he'd gotten in a long time and probably the last he would see for awhile. What would it be like to be constantly getting treats?

Eventually, there was nothing for it but to eat the treat. Just licking and nibbling at it wasn't getting him anywhere. With a reluctance, he scooped it up into his muzzle and chewed on it, relishing the taste of it, the fact that he would have some extra food in his stomach, but regretting it all the same because the treat was gone. There wasn't going to be another one and tomorrow he would remember - and his stomach would remember - but there would be nothing else to do about it. He gave a little sigh, nosing lightly at the grass for any crumbs that might have fallen. When Peyton wagged his tail, Marc felt his own tail wag harder although he stilled it as the other male spoke quite seriously. He felt a twinge of guilt and regret as Peyton said that dogs had humans for a reason, at the fact that he was an outcast, but he couldn't help but to wag his tail again as Peyton said what better for them to be in a pack together. "I would like that," he said, eagerly. The other dog didn't seem bothered in the least as Marc flopped against his side. The other male turned to nibble against Marc's cheek somewhat, gently grooming, and he let his eyes slip closed at the gesture. "We will," he said, almost dreamily, trying to ignore the fact that Peyton would leave with his human and Marc would be alone soon enough. For now, he could enjoy this.
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