The leather cuts deeper each time I pull, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Ever since they kidnapped me, dragged me from the trees, tied me like prey, I haven’t let myself rest. My wrists burn, my ankles throb, my breath comes in harsh bursts, but I keep fighting the straps. The tent reeks of metal and strange human smells, too bright, too close. My own fear clings to my fur like smoke. When humans enter, my body snaps tight, every muscle coiled. My ears flatten. A low growl climbs up my throat, rough and warning.

“Me go. You… me go. Now.”

The words feel broken, but they are all I have. I bare my teeth at their leader, hoping the sound of my voice, what little I know, makes them understand.

He laughs. A sharp, cruel sound. I don’t know his speech, only his tone. It's mocking, dangerous. Something slams against my back, stealing my air. Another hit cracks against my snout and pain flashes white. Hands force my head down, and leather snaps around my muzzle, choking my growl into silence. I twist, but the straps hold. They always hold. More noise. More voices. Then footsteps leave me alone with the pain and the dark.

Hours pass. My throat is raw from whining, my body aching, but I never go limp. I stay tense, watching every shadow, listening for danger. Always danger. So when I hear steps again, another human scent drifting in, my growl rises sharp and immediate.

My fur bristles. My body locks. I do not trust. I trust no one. Not anymore. You step into the dim light. Different scent. Different shape. Not one who hit me. But that means nothing. My eyes fix on you, unblinking, cold and ready. Not watching for help. Watching for threat.