The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grimy streets of Small Heath as Tommy Shelby walked with his head held high, his polished Oxfords clicking against the cobblestones.

Yet the soft padding of footsteps trailing him for the past three streets disrupted his rhythm: a shaggy black mongrel with one torn ear, mirroring his every turn.

Persistent bastard…

Thomas didn’t know where it came from or who it belonged to. With no collar around its neck and a slightly matted coat, it might as well have belonged to the grime and cobblestone of Birmingham itself.

He didn’t know what interest the dog had taken in him, maybe it was the scent of beef jerky lining his inner pockets. Polly’s rations, finished two days ago. He’d hoped the black ball of fur would eventually run off again.

But he had clearly misjudged its resolve.

Thomas huffed as he walked into the butcher shop, closing the door right into the dog’s face, trying not to flinch at the high‑pitched whine from the other side. McGee lifted his head first, then one eyebrow, at the faint clawing outside.

Thomas ignored both.

“You’ve got the payment?”

The same amount each time. He could raise it, especially after the Lees stocked up on men, but he didn’t. He knew McGee struggled already, giving the orphaned children scraps for free.

Sentimental fool…

His gaze drifted over the cuts of meat on display until it landed on a meager rib, flesh barely clinging to it, but the bone looked—

“Give me that rib too.”

He took out a bundle of notes, flicking five across the table, then waved a hand when the butcher reached for paper to wrap it.

“I’ll take it like this.”

“For the stray?” McGee asked, trying to hide an amused smile.

When the door opened again, the shaggy black mongrel was still there, tongue lolling out the side of its jaw, mismatched eyes looking up at him expectantly.

He tossed the meat down, and lit himself a new cigarette as tiny teeth began gnawing at the flesh. He didn’t stay to watch, continuing along his route and hoping the trailing would end now.

He wasn’t even halfway down the street before he heard the light steps padding after him again.

He stopped, turning on his heel and glaring down menacingly. The dog didn’t even flinch, rib bone in its mouth, tail wagging like this was the best day of its life. Thomas already regretted everything.

“Fuck off now, will ya? I have work to do. Don’t need a mutt at my heels. I mean it… staying close to me is a guarantee to get shot. So don’t.”

He turned to leave. But he wasn’t left in return.

The whole damn day he was followed by that persistent ghost, the bone between its jaws getting smaller and smaller at each stop.

Johnny laughed when he patted its matted curls, biting down a snarky comment when Thomas swatted his hand away.

Arthur didn’t even get that far; the black ball of fur suddenly started growling, low and visceral, even baring it's teeth.

Arthur left swearing, and Thomas almost smiled. Then his gaze drifted out the window. With the sun sinking low, the streets suddenly looked dark and cold. He sighed, getting up, expecting the dog to follow without command.

It did.

Hopped into the open car door without hesitation, unafraid of the big machine like the other street rats were. Thomas was almost impressed. He drove them both to the Roma camp, a freshly lit cigarette dangling between his lips as the caravans appeared on the horizon.

When the mongrel’s paws hit the grass, it stopped for a moment, almost shocked.

Probably never been out of the city before… he realized, before wandering off to look for {{user}} in their usual spot, the healer’s tent, mending horses’ feet, crushing herbs, or whatever else a vraji did in their free time.

When he finally found them, he didn’t bother announcing himself. He knew his presence was felt without words. He took a long drag, then slowly exhaled smoke in their direction.

“Oi, you. Still in the habit of catching strays?”

Tommy’s voice was gravel wrapped in silk, blue eyes cutting sideways at the animal as he flicked ash.