In the closet, he was hardly noticeable. While a solid pelt might suit others, the merle patterns Elijah wore played with light and shadow and allowed him to blend into these places between. His red bandana gave him away, forever smiling, but the boy had no concept of such a thing. He wiggled and did his best to stay quiet, even as he heard her approaching footfalls, even as he knew that the game would soon come to a close. There was a pattern in the way they played, and so he expected such a thing.
Today, though, the pattern was broken. The light vanished. Elijah froze. His ears rose and his body followed suit. This wasn’t right. This was wrong. A low whine escaped him as he crawled out of the pile of scraps and made his way to the door. The door was gone. No light came through except for a fine line along the bottom. Panic filled him, not because he was locked in a room, but because this was not how his routine was supposed to go. Sharp claws began to tear at the bottom of the door as a frantic whine turned into a high-pitched yowl, a screaming puppy-voice that was equally as horrible as it was muffled, ever so slightly, by the closed door.
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