wrapped in [blankets] of -dEATH-

[Cure]

He didn't even know why he was here. In this world. Why he wasn't killed along with his siblings and parents. Why the dogs who had killed them didn't follow his scent to kill him as well. Why he hadn't kill himself already. Suppose he still wanted to live. Suppose he thought there was still a chance that he would become part of a family with another dog. That he would still have the chance to undo what had already been done. But nay that would never happen. Surrik would not be able to undo this nightmare he lived in. The young pup growled softly to himself, his blue gray body streaking past the ambulance and to the doors of the hospital. Nose shoved the door open, paws pulling forward, nails clicking along the tiled floor as he crept in. Acoustics pricked up, balancing with a slight quiver in their perked position. Skull twisted on serpentine, light sun kissed pools dancing across the view he held. At only 10 months he had a large view point of the world. What it was really like. What it held for when he was really out on his own. Not that he wasn't now. Whimpering softly to himself, Surrik clambered along the slick floor, heading towards an open door. Eying the stairs that were behind it, the Weimaraner pup dashed towards them, crawling up them with as much grace as he could manage. Reaching the second floor he paused, taking a quick sharp intake of breath before heading for the second set of stairs.

Pushing the door aside he jumped upon the old bed. It's sheets were torn, though picturing that a human once laid here was easy enough. Shoving his nose under a once white sheet, his eyes scanned the area once more. He only wished somebody would come to see him, pick his sorry @ss up and care for him like his real parents would should they be alive.

[melody]

The slight aroma of death lifted into Bullet's nose as he stared up at the emptied old hospital, thoughts racing through his mind at what could have happened there when the humans had been around. He pictured case of heart attacks, in which the victim was already too dead to be alive. He had seen the pictures of what happened in that situation, the doctors usually just pulled the plug, watching as the human went limp in the bed, the family memebrs crying their own hearts out as the victim's stopped beating. Bullet had never understood sympathy, and had never wanted to.

Claws clicking on the stone tiles, Bullet found himself walking through the hospital door, his nose lowered to the ground in search of something. The something smelled like a puppy, not even a year old yet. The spotted Great Dane lifted his head, laughing silently to himself as he walked up the first flight of stairs. heading in the direction of the scent. It continued up a second flight of stairs, in which the large male mastered in seconds, his tongue barely lolling out of his mouth as he entered the room with the bed, the same scent of death in the air. Spotting the lump of gray beneath the sheets, Bullet reconsidered pulling the pup's tail.

"Well, who do we have here?" His voice was loud, echoing through the room and bouncing back at him. He loved the power it seemed to give him, and laughed at the thought of him leading a pack of mutts. He wished.