the beginning, [Soj, Rao, Open]

[russia]

Russia trotted along peacefully on the grassy steppe. Her nose pointed to the are, shst expanding with every breath of warm summer air. Russia hated it. It was hot. Russia hates the heat. Her black fur absorbed the sunlight and cooked her in her pelt. It was not a fun thing, so she tended to stay in the shade and sleep durign the hot hours and run around in the evening. But Russia didn't care about the heat at the moment. Her main goal was to find other dogs. Dogs she could start a family, a pack with. It's all she needed.

Being a wild dog Russia understood the basics of nature. Killed or be killed, eat or be eaten. It was simple. She also understood living in numbers was the best way to survive. Without comrades to watch your back you could find yourself in a fix, and dead in a flash. Russia had survive 2 years alone, and she didn't want to leet al her hard work go to waste. If she wanted to die she wouldve given up long long ago. No it wont end now, not at this point.So, nose probing the air, Russia searched for other canines of her species.

[Raowolf]

Thick black lips barely concealing her teeth, Schwimkerl Upta made an imposing figure as she trotted with a purposeful gate over the rough ground of the Steppes. The trees stretched up, up, up, high above her, their shadows in sharp contrast to the blinding-bright sun shining through the gaps in the leaves; they speckled on the moss and dead leaves that were crushed under her wide paws, and over her rough ochre pelt. Kicking up the dirt, she closed her dark eyes for a moment and savoured the feeling of the mud under her paws. She was grateful of the shade, here; a breed made for hunting lions in a pack on the plains of Africa, and a dog raised on the icy slopes of Russia, the Rhodesian Ridgeback was constantly torn between the love of warmth and the hate of heat. Her short pelt was close to her body, tight over heavy muscles on her neck and legs, and loose on her sides, where the bones stuck out awkwardly, barely any fat to keep her going.
How long had it been since she had eaten? Schwim wasn't built for the life of a loner - again, bred for pack-hunting, raised in human luxury. She was just a mess of opposites and mixtures. Whenever she ran or stretched, the distinctive, 3cm ridge of spiked bone and upright hair down her spine ached; at first a genetic malfunction, dog breeders had long since decided they liked it, and bred it into the dog breed - it was dangerous, and cruel, and hurt the dog more than helped it, but that was humans. Her long legs were built for running; her back would break if she bent it too much; her tail was docked, so there was less balance. It was useless.

But, in terms of show-dogging, she was perfect. A proud neck raised a broad head up from powerful, muscled shoulders. The gaze slid easily down to her equidistant back legs and high rump, and flopping ears were set forward on her head.
And then there were the scars... Schwim's muzzle curled easily into a half-snarl as she continued to trot at a hurried pace - moving a little faster now - and her off-white teeth glinted in the dappled light that was so strange to her mood. For, with the sharp memories, she felt him once more.
She was only a pup, and to her he seemed to large... No. She was stronger now. She could fight off these memories-- Just as she couldn't fight him off then. The vicious bucking; the lust; the strange, terrible ecstasy amongst the hate and fear and pain she had felt... And was feeling so clear as if it were real. But it wasn't! "What's your name, pretty?" He had snarled in her ear. And what was her name? It was Schwimkerl. Schwimkerl Upta - because she had killed him, and added is own name to hers! Oh, yes, the revenge... She had been too afraid for revenge, then, cowering under him as he moved and she had loathed him but her fear had been more powerful, even than the sick, agreeing lust within herself.
And then she had had his pups.

Once again, the she-dog felt the tiny heartbeat against her own - the single surviving child of the two most hated beings in her life, herself and he; and when his heartbeat had stopped she felt as though her's had stopped also.
Funny, how you could hate something, and yet love it more than your entire world.

And then she had killed him.

And that was that.

The past was forgotten, and Schwim could smell a new scent in the air - another dog. She stopped abruptly, ears forward, dark ears steady. Where was he? She was not one to trust easily, the Ridgeback, especially males.

Little did she know that this single scent - and that fact that she had stopped and not carried on by - would change her life forever.

[Sojourner]

It was the Beginning, and so shall it be forever and ever. The start of All of Life, of Creation... Of everything that you have ever known...

But that's not what we're talking about, now is it?

The two forms were -at first- rather funny. They walked with a sort of trotting, trundling kind of gait. Short, round, and long was your first impression. Then came the second. Usually, 'What the heck is that?' And you sort of stared as they went on their way. One was red, a bright and long and shiny red like copper. The other was a mix, not brown or black or spotted or striped or anything like that. A mix. With mismatched eyes, and a flopping tongue.

The mix-matched one, Butch, paused for a moment. His floppy ears were up, pricked and forward. His nose was lifted into the fall breeze, sniffing. His companion -the rusty one- stopped too, mimicking his movements. Her nose touched the dewy grass, with which they were above eye level -the grass here was short, and they were visible. The male, Butch, gently touched his flank with the female, Neaveh. Her long, reddish-brown coat burned like fire in the sunlight.

"....Butch...." Neaveh warned, her voice quiet but commanding. "It might not be safe." The male gave her a look, his ears flopping down to hide his cheeks and mismatched eyes giving her a pleading look. "I said no. I refuse to let you go out again. Your leg's not fully healed." She indicted his right hind leg with a thrust of her muzzle. "The leaves might've helped, but if you get into another fight..." Neaveh trailed off, her eyes fearing for his well being.

Butch shook her off, eyes annoyed. "I'll be fine, Neaveh. Stop getting all upset." Neaveh opened her mouth, about to protest. Butch gave her a look, and she sighed before shutting her maw. "There's another dog -maybe more. We could start a pack, join or something. We may be small, but that's a good thing, remember?" Butch said. "We're dachshund's, we were born to get badger's and stuff from their dens. We can take on anything else." Neaveh gave him a look, but he smiled in a dog's grin. "'Side's, with you I don't need to fend for myself. You'd hamstring anyone who tried to touch me. Don't pretend you wouldn't," Neaveh smiled despite herself, but looked down and then back up. Her eyes were pools of worry, doubt, and fleeting laughter; orbs of fear. Her expression communicated what she didn't say in words. I promise to kill anyone who lays a claw on you.

Without another word, they strode forward, preparing for the worst while hoping for the best -as one could only do.

[Kat]

R E X

Rex strode confidently across the land, his steps wide and dominant. The long, sleek black fur on his back fell flat on his thick frame, barely moving in the little bit of wind that picked up as he moved. His stomach let out a lound, drawn out groan, which made Rex mutter something foul under his breath. He hadn't eaten in two days. All his prey had began to hide out because of the fierce summer sun. The heat was excruciating, causing droughts for some parts of the land. Rex knew he'd gone hungry long enough, however, and he was currently going out into the steppes to find what he needed - or try to anyway. Little did he know he'd meet one of the greatest dogs to have ever been placed on the Earth.

Rex was a rather handsome pooch, though his appearance made him look much younger than he actually was. As a labrador retriever-chow mix, he looked quite strange, but he was oddly adorable. Short with a large build, Rex had long, sleek black fur that covered his body, with ears that stuck up high while perked and deep, mysterious golden brown eyes. Though Rex looked innocent and cute, long dark claws on his paws and ferocious ivory fangs, slightly stained with pink from his prey's blood, proved that he was definitely something to watch out for. His personality was also quite different from his appearance, but no dog had really stuck around long enough to find out about that.

Rex's pace suddenly slowed as a scent filled the air - the scent of a dog, a female. Quickly, his deep golden brown eyes narrowed, wondering why in the world there would be another dog roaming around in the steppes. At that thought, he rolled his eyes at himself. Why wouldn't there be? It was free land, after all. Rex let his hackles raise only slightly, though he didn't feel threatened, yet. He hadn't seen the female, but as he found that the scent came closer, he figured he would meet her soon. Rex slowed to a stop as he finally saw the girl he had smelled. He had definitely underestimated her, she was tall, much taller than him, and she looked very fierce. Rex didn't know if she had saw him or not, it was a mystery. He opened his mouth to take in the scents around him. Instantly, there was another scent of another female in his nose along with those of two much smaller dogs, and Rex muttered bitterly to himself. Oh, how he loved reunions with strangers.

[russia]

Russia sniffed the air once again, coming up with no prey. Then, the scent of a strange female hit her nose. The large mixed dog raised her head, finding a thin ridgebacked female ahead of her. It didn't look too terribly friendly, Russia decided. The shepherd mix walked slowly towards it to get a better view and scent. Perhaps this dog would be a good pack ally?

Russia stopped cold when another dog appeared, another two dogs. A female and a male, probably a pair or family members of some sort. Friendly maybe? Russia sure hoped so. A fight between four dogs wouldn't be a fun one. Russia snapped her attention back to the matter at hand, the two dogs. One was a coppery red color, with another dog by it's side. A heterochromic eyed dog, Russia noticed the different colored eyes of the mix. This must be fate..

As if on que, another dog appeared. A mix of somesort, with a sandy coat. He didn't smell like a friendly to Russia. His dominating gait annoyed the large doberman mix very much. She decided this one would be an issue.

((192 words))

[henley421]

Two birds, a raven, and finch, flew in. They looked at the dogs, and decided it was okay to go in. Starisa, the raven, went to the ground. Lemonholly followed. The two female birds felt the heat and started getting really tired an sleepy. Lemonholly passed out and lay motionless on the ground while Starisa started realizing the dogs were hungry.

[Raowolf]

Her nose did all the work for her.
Dog, left. Non-territorial. Bitch, behind, very territorial. Dog - no, wait, only half - and Bitch, behind... Something's up with them. Small - non-territorial, but... Protective.
The swift evaluation ran through her head, and all of a sharp sudden she recognised the relationship between the last two noted - funny, what you could tell just from hormones in the air... And something about that last dog caught her attention; he was definitely a male, yes, but she could tell that he wasn't... Whole. There was something missing. Something manly.
Schwim remembered the condition, briefly, back from when she had had only one name - that time in her life that she vowed never to forget, and yet never to dwell on. An old female who's name had long been forgotten had had to many pups, and her owners, fed up of the constant pregnancies - for she was a common for the males, even in her old age - had drowned her last litter of pups and taken her away for a few nights. When they came back, she was listless, and never either bore pups nor looked at a male again.
And here the Ridgeback stopped her thoughts, for they drifted too far into unwanted and unnecessary grounds.

But these strange dogs - the small female and half-male - were far away, and quiet; Schwim had no qualms with a fellow bitch, and had no wish to antagonise it by seeking it out - fearsome as she may seem, the ex-show-dog did not seek trouble, only revenge - and there were more pressing matters; the dog, close by, and suddenly it hit her like a live bullet: he smelled close, and now she could feel the eyes on her pelt...
Turning her head, slowly, Schwimkerl Upta caught sight of the dog. He was tall, not quite as her but still long-legged and strong-bodied, and his eyes were boring into her like lazers on her skin. His gaze un-nerved her slightly, so it was only by instinct that her hackles rose; by appearance, one may have thought that previously they were already up, but it was only the distinctive ridge, once again, of her breed that made it seem so. What should she do? To warn may seem to threaten, and to threaten was to receive an attack. And then she would have to fight back, And then he would probably die. But if she appeared weak, then he may attack anyway, and the whole horrid circuit would start again. Just... Don't panic. No rash movements or decisions, don't attack or run away, and don't let your guard down!
Then there was yet another revelation; If he can see you, who else can?
Without looking away from the male to her side, eyes locked with his, her torn ears flicked back, listening keenly - yes. A single pawstep close behind. Her instincts were half telling her to stay, half telling her to turn to the unseen other watcher, while a tiny smidgen she barely noted screamed at her to run from them.

A raucous of bird-squawking echoed around her. She ignored it.