The desert sun made the sand like a hot plate under Lethal’s feet. He crept over each dune hoping the helicopters above wouldn’t spot him. He didn’t want to go back home. He’d rather die of thirst under the desert sun. Lethal was but a puppy of a Lupe, and escaping from the madman of an owner had to have been the greatest feat of his life. It might be the last.
The sun was only beginning its decline into the western sky and Lethal felt like he could take it no longer. No puppy was built for this, it just wasn’t his enviornment. His environment was his humble home, his Utopia within an imperfect world, and he wasn’t ready to give that up. But once Master had died, and his son had taken him home to his shabby hut…who builds a hut in the deep outskirts of the Lost Desert, anyway?
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