It was really cold, considering that I became used to snuggling under my mother's belly and lived in a den. After I've gotten shot by some sort of thorn, a dart they call it, and stored away in a cold, metallic den in … something... I don't know.
I didn't like it here. The den I was kept in felt too small. The ground was cold, making me shiver. The only thing I love about this den is the soft thing at the corner. It's so silky.
I hear other dogs, howling, somewhere close by. I understood what they were thinking. Why did we get taken away? They probably felt the same way I did, feeling lonely and alone; stuck here in a small den. I remembered my old den. It was warm, soft enough and most of all, I didn't feel alone. I was loved there. Having to be taken away from my old home tugged at my heartstrings.
I strained to hear the familiar bark I yearned to hear, hoping she would be here to comfort me. Nothing. I padded to the soft thing and settled myself, head slumped in defeat. I think I was meant to sleep on it.
"Here's your food, baby." came the voice of the local feeder.
I'd swear I'd rip her to mince-meat if I didn't have this harness on. Baby, indeed! So I promptly ate the raw salmon as she walked out the door. So I went for a nice, long (but lonely) rest.
The days that followed were incredibly boring. I met a couple of the dogs close to me... kind of. I didn't see them from the door that kept me in, but I talked with them. From them, I learned that thing we were kept in was called a room, and the room was inside a ship. The conversations weren't interesting. They actually seemed more depressed than I was.
I looked out the window in my room and saw the half moon rising high in the black sky. For some time on this ship, I've counted the rise and fall of the moon as a kind of pastime. I counted 20 cycles. 20 days.
"Pana, are you there?" A whimper echoed into my room, surprising me. It was Willy, the dog who I talked to most often. He talked to me late at night, every night. Like the crows cawing in the middle of the night in Frostypoint.
"Yep." I replied. The sound echoed coldly.
"I want to go home, Pana."
As if he didn't tell me that already. "Don't worry," I barked, "we'll get out of here soon."
"I know! I think we'll be landing soon!" Landing? Great. Another weird word.
"What do you mean by landing?"
"I don't know all the details, but it'll involve us being released from this place!" My heart soared. I can go back home!
"Really?" I yipped enthusiastically, "That's great! Then why tell me you want to go home when it's obvious we're going home soon?"
I could now sense that Willy was worried. "I'm n-not sure wh-wh-where we'll be released."
I felt myself begin to worry. What if he was right? I waved the thought away. "Don't worry. We'll be back to our dens."
I heard him yawn. I yawned in response. It was getting late. "I'll be back to bed," he woofed, "Let's talk again tomorrow."
"Sure thing." I looked back to the soft pelt I slept on. "So, it's called a bed, huh?" I mumbled to myself. I flopped down on it. It didn't take long for me to get to sleep. Now, I knew that there was escape from this place. My paws itched with anticipation. That night, I dreamt of running through the thin snow covering the grass on the tundra, the wind ruffling through my fur. I kept running until I woke up to the same routine. Talking, drinking, eating, sleeping.