Your eyes slowly open as you blearily look around. Groaning, you quickly look away from the harsh brightness of the morning sun as your tired mind slowly makes sense of its surroundings. Beneath you is a small sea of fluffy red fur. This sea extends far in every direction besides up - although the small red hills in the distance are certainly tall enough.
Sleeping on top of your mistress was a regular occurrence now. The Reconstruction was still in progress, and many anthros were without homes for the time being, forcing them to sleep under the stars like your ancient ancestors may have once done. Your mistress' house would, when completed, be a safe haven for you. Your mistress is the only anthro you feel safe and secure around. She's the only anthro you can bring yourself to talk to - and even then, very rarely. Hours of hiding from the more sadistic giants had ensured that you found it very easy to be quiet, and very hard to be loud. More often than not, trying to speak above a certain volume simply resulted in silent exhalation and a sense of embarrassment.
Shifting uncomfortably, you begin to crawl towards the 'hills' in the distance, towards your mistress' upper body. Your original name, like everything else that had defined you as a member of a modern society, had been lost when a giant paw had accidentally crushed your house. Perhaps if you'd had pets at the time, they would've transformed and protected you.
Your memories from the time when you lost your house to when you were found by your mistress are fuzzy; disjointed and half-remembered. Hiding in a field, covered in mud and trying not to move a muscle nor make a sound as lightning illuminated towering shapes in the distance. Falling to your knees and crying in a mixture of despair and rage upon realizing just how helpless you were. Hearing shrieks and roars as a flash from hundreds of miles away, burning with the intensity of a sun, nearly blinds you.
Mistress made everything better. She cared for you. Provided for you. Loved you. She made sure that no one would ever hurt you. Your collar, a symbol of servitude and slavery to a culture that no longer existed, was now an icon representing your safety. Anyone who would want to hurt you would have to hurt your mistress first. You weren't quite sure if your owner could even feel pain.
Too tired to crawl any further, you let yourself sink further into the deep orange-red fur, feeling a warmth spread throughout your entire body. You owed your owner your life. And you were happy to give it to her.
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