His own problems had been slow. Injuries from other dogs, infection, starvation, the pain of watching death, humans. So many things had scarred him, slow and right before his very eyes. Things he could not wipe out of his mind. Imagining it as red, his mind a white satin cloth. So much red, unable to ever be completely washed out.
(I got that from some movie.)
Blossom stood up, looking at the dogs. "All of you all right?"

