A thing Maybe

«So anyways...» Evals concluded, «That's how I got this scar on my inner thigh. Moral of the story: don't tease wolf girls about their low alcohol tolerance. Especially when they're drunk.»
With a chuckle, he laid back onto the sand next to Mike, and let the strange beams of what appeared to be sunlight caress his fur. They had been sitting there for a while now, just the two of them, exchanging stories while listening to the slow rhythm of waves crashing against the illusionary shore of the Grand Templar's oasis room.
«I was still a kid back then...» he murmured, a bit more somber. «I think it was a few weeks before the snatchers got me. Gods, how many years has it been...»
He sighed when he realized that he actually didn't know. His time of servitude on the Na'Rella had seemed like a constant blur of mundane tasks.
«Seven.» Mike mumbled beside him.
«What?»
«It's been roughly seven years.» he clarified. «I kept track. I was hardly more than a kit back then, but I've got a good memory. It was during the winter, I think. At least I remember it being cold. You were shivering heavily, and I almost froze to death. They placed you in the cage next to mine at the auction. Never seen anyone cry so miserably.»
Mike sighed. «I felt kinda sorry for you, so-»
«-So you reached through the bars to hold my hand.» Evals finished. «I remember.»

The memories were coming back to him, slowly.
«At first I didn't accept it. I mostly just wanted to suffer alone, I think. Or maybe just die. Pretty sure the auctioneers gave me a good beating beforehand, to make sure I wouldn't do anything to shock customers.»
He shuddered. The cold and pain from the past was still in him somewhere, even with the sun shining throgh his fur. «Man... Those were dark days.»
«Mhm.» the fox complied. «Quite the contrast to this, huh?» He motioned towards the seemingly endless sunny shore. «I know it's not a real beach, but it feels nice enough to me.»
«Yeah...»

The dog laid flat on his back, and felt his tail wag a crescent rut in the sand. This really was comfortable after spending allegedly seven years as a slave on a ship, sleeping on a bed with an inch-thick mattress as his only resting spot.
But as comfy as the human estate was, he could feel a certain restlessness stirring. It had been growing ever since the magical explosion on the Basitin Isles had nullified the effects of his slave collar.