FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Author's note: I'm not a doctor and have no experience with first aid, so please forgive any and all errors in the scene to follow. If I ever go mainstream (doubtful), I'll take greater efforts to make it more realistic.

Chapter III: Canine Wounds

Daniel stared, open-mouthed, at the silent and ominous tableau before him. He didn't need to be a creation of Arthur Canon Doyle to deduce that someone had been in his house. To say the place was a mess would be understating the situation. It was a disaster. His eyes drifted across the scene, the rest of him too shocked to move. The pictures on the living room wall to his left were knocked askew, and one had fallen off the wall entirely, the glass in its frame scattered across the carpet. The shards looked oddly beautiful as they reflected the dying light of the sun coming through the large living room window. One couch had been overturned, and the other looked like someone had been jumping on it. The formerly neat end and coffee tables were in states of disarray. The carpet, usually a uniform cream colour, was pockmarked by footprints. Whoever had been in the house hadn't removed their shoes. Daniel kicked off his own shoes, more be reflex than by conscious thought. He took a step forward, attention still on the carnage in the living room. He felt something wet on his bare paw-pad and slipped. His arm managed to catch the short half-wall that separated the entryway from the living room, and having steadied himself, he crouched down to investigate the cause of his near-fall. A glance was all that was needed to make his blood run cold. "David?" he called. "Hello?" Silence answered him as he went past the stairs to the second floor and the living room to enter the kitchen. It hadn't fared much better than the living room. A couple of plates had fallen to the floor, and the cupboards doors were open. The point of entry was also apparent. The back door's window had been shattered and the screen cut threw, giving the vandal or vandals access to the dead bolt. It was a double cylinder, but the key had been left inserted on the inside, mocking Daniel's security. He quickly proceeded through the kitchen and down the four steps to the right of the back door to enter the den. This room had escaped the damage of the living room and kitchen for the most part, but a glace ascertained that things were missing. Daniel didn't pause to take inventory, but went through the den to the south wall. The side door and garage door were secure, and while looked in, the washroom and spare bedroom had mostly escaped notice. He cut back through the den and went to the already opened door leading to the basement. The rec area also didn't show signs of violence, but several expensive items were conspicuous by their absence. The door to the crawl space seemed to have been ignored, and a red light blinked every couple of seconds around the corner of the stairwell, indicating the office had been left alone. Daniel cursed himself silently. It looked like his alarm system would have done more good had it been covering the exterior of the house rather than his office. He hurried back up to the den and u-turned at the corner at the top of the stairs. From there, it was another four steps up to bring him full circle back to the entryway. Once again, he turned 180o around the corner and headed to the second floor. Whereas the den and downstairs were still mostly clean, the upstairs showed signs of struggle. Claw marks had gouged the paint in the wall in a couple places, and small stains in the carpet matched the liquid on which Daniel had slipped. A quick inspection confirmed that the storage room and the closet had been ignored. The washroom door's latch had been broken, and the mirror was cracked, but Daniel still hadn't found the object of his search. David's bedroom stood out in that it appeared completely untouched. Everything was in place, and Daniel suspected whoever had broken into his house had thought nothing of value could be found in a slave's room. There was only one more place to look. Daniel placed his paw on the handle to his bedroom door and paused for a moment, suddenly afraid of what he might see on the other side. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and turned the knob. He then let the breath out, pushed open the door, and opened his eyes to take in the room. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off, but his feline pupils had no trouble discerning the room's features despite the dark. The dresser and shelves were a little more bare than usual, but it was the addition to the room that made him gasp.

At first glance the room appeared empty. The black-tiled floor probably had something to do with that. If one were to enter the room right then, they would probably believe they were alone until a small sigh alerted them to the room's occupant. Then, perhaps, they would notice the white tuft of fur on a wolfen face that was mostly obscured by a black tail. The wolf sighed again. For once rather than a sigh of pain or frustration, it was simple boredom that brought his breath to his lips. The only benefit of "training" is that it is hard to bored when you are being beaten. As it was, all the wolf could do was wait to go back through the system and get auctioned off again. At least I'm waiting in an auction house, the wolf thought. He was going to be transferred out of the city, an uncomfortable prospect, but his sad condition on arrival convinced the owners that he could not be sold immediately. Sales happened only once a week in the small community he was going to be shipped to, so they kept him to be sold on recovery. He expected to be sold soon, not because he was healing rapidly, but because the auction house had ways to cover up injuries. Bruises, however, did not need any special covering. In most cases the fur sufficed to hide them. This was fortunate for the furs working in the auction houses because they often added a few to the slaves before selling them. The wolf was still a punching bag, but it was the odd blow here and there rather than concentrated abuse. The times spent in the auction houses were some of the most peaceful the wolf had had in the last few years. This particular moment was even more peaceful than usual. Normally, he would be in one of the slave cages, surrounded by other miserable furs. Instead, he was in an examination room in the infirmary, waiting for the doctor to check on his progress. The doctors in the auction houses, in his experience, didn't really care unless a slave was dying or going to lose a limb, but it was better than nothing. Once, a doctor had cared enough to keep him off the block for two weeks, much to the house's owners' displeasure. In order to maximize their profits, they sold slaves as quickly as possible. Slaves were often sold within hours of their arrival. The wolf had seen this doctor before and suspected that his time of sale was near. The doctor hadn't passed comment on any of his injuries. He still had a couple of broken ribs, and his tailhole was slightly sore, but he didn't have any infections or gaping wounds, so it was likely he would be spending the night in a private residence. The door opened, revealing a harried-looking rat. He must have been dealing with serious injuries. He had looked calm and collected the last time he had checked the wolf, but this time his glasses were askew on his pointy nose, and he looked ill at ease. The wolf smelled something metallic and realized the rat's white coat was slightly bloodstained. The wolf enjoyed the doctor's momentary confusion when his patient wasn't immediately apparent, but the canine decided to lift himself slowly rather than anger the doctor for wasting time. The rat straightened his glasses and gestured towards the bench that was the room's sole piece of furniture. As the wolf stood and crossed the room, he caught sight of two orderlies just outside the door. A lynx and a bear were clearly itching to enter, but the doctor still stood in the doorway, preventing their entry. They were big and looked like they worked out several times a week. This auction house had held the wolf before and knew of his tendency to escape. The wolf merely sat on the bench docilely. There was no way to escape from here, and he wasn't stupid enough to try. The rat stepped further into the room and the orderlies started to crowd in behind him. He sensed their movement and turned with an exasperated sigh. The wolf watched with interest while the doctor made a cutting gesture with his hand and made to close the door on the pair. The lynx opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor beat him to the punch. "No. I can't concentrate with you two crowding me. I nearly took out that rabbit's eye when you started breathing down my neck." The bear made to speak, but the rat preceded him once again. "There's only one door out of this room. If he breaks out, you'll still catch him. Now, give me a moment of peace." Having finished his speech, he forcefully shut the door. The wolf looked more closely at the rat, his respect for the doctor greatly increased. The brown-furred doctor turned back to face the wolf, running a hand through his greying hair. His green eyes looked hazy at first, but he blinked and sharpened his gaze on the lupine before him. "Okay. Let's take a look at you." The rat looked closely at the wolf's left ear. While the bite had drawn blood and hurt like hell, the wound had not been too serious and was well on its way to being completely healed. The doctor ran a finger over the scar. The ear twitched, but it was more from reflex than pain. The doctor let out a satisfied grunt and started working his way down. The wolf's muzzle earned a cursory glance as did the side of the wolf's head where the buffalo had kicked him. How the wolf had avoided a concussion was beyond both the canine and the doctor. The rat gently pressed on his patient's sides. The wolf winced, and his ears went flat for a moment. The doctor sighed and continued his examination, getting the wolf to stand so he could check the lower body. The wolf's legs were fine, but when the rat lifted his tail, he couldn't help flicking it back down and turning quickly to face the doctor. Running his hand through his hair again, the doctor sighed. "Look, buddy, that's the last thing on my mind right now. I'm heterosexual, and I'm so tired I couldn't if I wanted to. I'm just taking a look." The wolf turned, abashed. He hadn't really expected the man would try anything, but it had become ingrained in him: if they grabbed his tail, they wanted sex. He halfheartedly raised his tail and let the doctor lift it the rest of the way, though he shuddered as he did so. "Odd," the doctor said. "Have you been using that lotion twice a day?" "What lotion?" the wolf asked, confused. "The--" The rat paused, and the wolf could feel his sudden hostility. "You weren't given any medications since our last visit?" "I didn't know I was supposed to have any." The wolf was now even more confused. The only time he had received medicine since becoming a slave had been when one of his wounds became infected. Other than that, time was the only healer he had been given. The doctor relinquished his grasp on the lupine's tail and grabbed the wolf's chart of the wall. He began scribbling furiously, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. The wolf could see the chart, but the doctor's handwriting looked like meaningless scribbles to him. "It's a bloody miracle anyone leaves these places alive," he grumbled. "Too little food, too little water, inadequate accommodations, and heaven forbid any money be spent on such trivialities," he spat out the word, "as medicine. It's no wonder they can't find any good doctors to come to these places. First that rabbit, now you. You know," he said, speaking up, "when I told the owner you'd need recovery time, he offered me a hefty sum to give you a clean bill of health. I had a syringe in my hand and more than half a mind to shove it right up his ass." The wolf was rapidly revising his opinion of those in the medical profession. It certainly explained a lot if the auction houses were paying doctors to release slaves for sale early. Any honest doctor would refuse to serve the houses, and only the bad apples would stay. The wolf fully understood the doctor's aggravation at being asked to lie. He respected honesty. "There," the fuming rat said. "I'm going to check on the others I prescribed drugs for as well. Either you're going to get your meds, or I'm going to hold back everyone with so much as a hangnail." The wolf felt a little bad as the doctor stormed out of the room and one of the orderlies entered to take him back to the cages. He had taken the rat's silence before as indifference when it was merely having nothing to say. After all, the wolf couldn't provide anything for himself and was completely dependent on others to look after him. It was one of the things he hated about being a slave. As he walked back to the cage he could temporarily call "his," the wolf saw many eyes looking back at him. Some looked at him with mild curiosity while others merely raised their heads to see if the footsteps were coming for them. A broad range of emotions confronted the wolf: the ones new to slavery showed mixtures of anticipation and fear; those that were being resold showed depression or resignation. One pair of eyes in particular jumped out at him. One reason they stood out was their brilliant colour. The sparkled a bright jade that caught the dim lighting and shone through the comparative dark. The primary reason, though, was the emotion the wolf could see in them. He could see that this slave had had a hard time. There was a mixture of resignation, sorrow, and pain that spoke of years of ill-treatment. The eyes seemed like the eyes of a youth, but they had lost their innocence. However, beneath all of the fatalism and despair, there was a glimmer. It had been so long since he had seen that glint that the wolf had passed by the slave before he recognized it. He scoffed silently at the feeling. Another master and the green-eyed slave would learn the futility of the emotion. The wolf had abandoned it years ago. It only brought pain. As his cage was locked with him inside, he snorted softly. He would not fall for its allure again. What use had he for fool's gold? Still he couldn't help but feel a little envious of those eyes and what they held. Hope.

Daniel didn't breathe as he took in the scene before him. It was as if he had suddenly forgotten how. It wasn't until the dark shape before him shuddered that the air started moving through his lungs again. He slowly stepped into the room, still slightly unable to accept what he was seeing. "David?" The canine was completely obscured beneath the bedsheets, which had been flung into the far corner of the room. The only indications that anyone was there were the smell of the Newfoundland dog and the occasional quiver of the sheets. Daniel approached slowly, both because he did not want to scare his slave and because he was scared himself of what he might see. "David?" he called again, a little louder than before. The pile shuddered at his voice. "It's me. Daniel. Your master." He kept his tone quiet and soothing as he continued his careful advance. When he reached the twitching bundle, he carefully crouched down beside it and gently grabbed one edge of the sheets. He slowly tried to pull it back, but a black-furred paw prevented him. "C'mon, David," Daniel crooned. "Let me have a look at you." He slowly tried again, and this time the sheet pulled back easily. The sight that greeted him beneath the two sheets, he knew, would be much more difficult to pull from his memory. A tear rolled down his cheek as he looked on his shaking slave. "I tried to stop them," David whispered. "But--" The canine's voice broke and fresh tears rolled down well-worn paths on his cheeks. "Shh," Daniel whispered, taking the Newfie in his arms. The sheets still covered the lower half of David, affording the dog a little modesty. Daniel could see the loincloth that David usually wore had been flung into the corner as well and could all too easily guess the reason it had been removed. The slave wept in his master's arms while Daniel murmured, "It's all right. I'm here, it'll be okay." It was abundantly clear, however, that things were not all right. Even a cursory glance revealed that things had been rough for David, and Daniel was taking a closer look while he comforted the canine. The black fur was streaked with red in a couple of places, and one blow had swollen his left eye shut. Based on how David flinched, it appeared he was sore all over. On closer inspection the wrists appeared chafed. Daniel glanced over at the bed, and as he predicted, ropes were tied to the bedposts. He turned back to his slave and saw that the poor dog had passed out in his arms. Daniel was torn among three emotions as he looked at David. He felt anger at the perpetrators for their treatment of David. Everything they had taken could be replaced. Everything, except for David's innocence and sense of security. He felt sorrow for the pain David had gone through and the psychological scars the Newfoundland dog would carry for a long time. However, the predominant emotion for Daniel was guilt. He couldn't help feeling that he could have prevented this. The marks in the house were fresh, and the blood downstairs still wet. Had he taken a cab home, perhaps he could have been home in time to stop the break-in. Furthermore, if he had found another slave earlier as he intended, especially one less submissive than David, the thieves might have been wary of trying to enter. Carefully, Daniel picked up the physically and emotionally drained canine. Despite the occasional missed meal, the dog was a large specimen, and Daniel strained a little under his weight. It wasn't an excess of fat or muscle; it was merely the way David was built. Daniel carried David into the bathroom, awkwardly shuffling sides through the doors. The cracked mirror distorted their image, blending the two black-furred people into one ominous shape. Daniel gently lowered his slave to the floor and leaned him against a wall in a sitting position. He started running a bath and took a first-aid kit out of the cupboard. The jaguar cast a critical eye at the cuts and scrapes David had accumulated during his struggle. Most of the blood was dried or drying, and none of the wounds looked serious in nature. When the bathtub had filled with warm water, Daniel once again laboriously lifted David off the ground. Maybe I should start going to the gym, the panther thought as he carefully placed himself and David into the tub. Once they settled without incident, Daniel slowly and carefully started cleaning the still unconscious canine, paying especial attention any place the skin had broken. The most time-consuming area was the dog's rump, which still bore traces of the ordeal to which David had been subjected. After the dog's appearance was restored, Daniel just lay in the bathtub with David in his arms. He knew it would take a lot more time to restore the dog's confidence and good-humour. He was trying to think of how he could speed the process when he realized he was sitting in lukewarm water fully clothed. He had been so concerned about David that he hadn't even removed his tie. Daniel sighed and prepared to get out of the bath. When he shifted, David stirred. Feeling Daniel's arms around him, the Newfie instinctively lashed out with his arm, impacting the panther's muzzle. Working around the pain in his jaw, Daniel tried to soothe the slave. "Whoa, David, it's me, it's me!" David calmed at his master's voice and turned his head and torso to look at the jaguar. Seeing him rubbing his jaw, David apologized. "Sorry, Master," he said, bowing his head. "It's okay," Daniel reassured the canine. "I understand." They held that position for a moment. Then, Daniel said, "Okay. Time to get out. Can you stand?" "I--I think so," came David's halting reply. Daniel pulled the plug and helped David rise and step out of the tub. Daniel grabbed a high-absorbency towel off the rack and gently dried off David. Then, he removed his sopping clothes and dried himself. After blow-drying both of them, Daniel lead them to David's bedroom, figuring that the master bedroom would still hold bad connotations for the dog. Once inside they la y on the bed with Daniel spooning David. The dog soon fell asleep, safe in his master's arms. The jaguar could feel his eyelids drooping when he realized he hadn't eaten since that muffin in the break room. Was that only today? he wondered. The lighthearted repartee with Catherine felt disjointed from everything that happened since coming home. He considered getting up but decided against it. He didn't have much of an appetite just then, and he wanted to be there for David. I'll need to call in a few sick days, he thought. Then, he joined David in the realm of Morpheus.