Lune was a dog of shadows. His long, black fur seemed to absorb sunlight, making him appear even larger and more imposing than he was. People often looked at him with a mix of fear and pity, their eyes lingering on his matted coat and mournful eyes. He knew he wasn’t the prettiest dog in the neighborhood, but deep down, he yearned for a little affection, a kind word, or at least a simple pat on the head.
Today felt different. A spark of hope ignited within him. It was his birthday, he was certain. He’d counted the days, or at least tried to. As a stray, time was a vague concept, but there was a rhythm to his life, a pattern of hunger, cold, and the endless search for shelter that had marked the passing of days.
As the morning wore on, Lune wandered the streets, his stomach growling with hunger. He approached people cautiously, his tail tucked between his legs. But they retreated, their eyes filled with fear or disgust. No one offered him food, no one gave him a kind word. The day wore on, and with it, his hope dwindled.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, mournful shadows, Lune found a quiet corner. He curled up, his body trembling from cold and hunger. He closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he imagined a world where he was loved, where he was seen not for his appearance, but for the loyal heart that beat within his chest. As sleep claimed him, he dreamed of a warm home, a soft bed, and someone to tell him he was a good boy.
