Fhilcar Faunillani 
The rain fell cold and steady. Two puppies, small and shivering, huddled together on a muddy patch of earth. Clark, his tiny body broken, lay curled around his sister Cloe, shielding her from the downpour. Their eyes searched the gray morning. For what, no one could say. Maybe their mother. Maybe food. Maybe just a …
Her eyes were dull, like faded glass, staring at nothing. She lay on the street, bones sharp under thin skin. The world moved past her, indifferent, as if she were already gone. I found her at dusk, when the light softens edges. She didn’t lift her head, but her paw twitched when I touched her. …
The puppy’s eyes were wide, trembling with fear. She lay in the dirt, small and forgotten. Her body was a map of scars, each one a silent story of cruelty. Andorina, barely five months old, had known only the street’s harsh lessons. Hunger gnawed at her. Strangers shooed her away. She was an orphan, unseen …
The dog lay still, her eyes half-closed, as if guarding a fragile hope. Flies buzzed over her matted fur, but she didn’t flinch. At Marikina Hospital, gentle hands worked with steady care. The team moved softly, their faces calm, their tools precise. They lifted clumps of filth from her back, cleaning wounds that told a …
The dog lay in the cold, dim basement, her breath shallow. Her eyes, one nearly blind, searched the shadows for someone who wouldn’t come. She was thin, her ribs sharp under matted fur. The concrete floor chilled her bones. Neighbors said her owner had cast her out, left her to wait in the dark. She …
The kitten’s legs twist outward, like bent twigs under a soft weight. He moves low, wobbling, determined. His eyes, wide and clear, fix on the slipper across the room. Fishy drags himself forward, paws splaying, body swaying. Each step is a small fight, but he doesn’t stop. The foster home is quiet, sunlight pooling on …
The kitten’s tiny paws pressed against the rusted car door. Her mother’s warmth was gone. Patchwork, barely a month old, curled up in the back of an abandoned sedan, her soft mews lost in the highway’s hum. Quilt, her mother, paced the used car lot, eyes sharp, searching for safety. The employees, kind but helpless, …
The rain tapped softly on the pavement. A tiny kitten, fur dappled with dirt, crouched under a parked car. Her eyes, wide and amber, followed the street’s blur of feet and tires. She was alone, but not entirely. Her mother, a lean tabby, had taught her to wait, to watch, to survive. They lived on …
The kitten crouched low, her gray fur matted with alley dust. Hunger gnawed, sharp and familiar. She nosed through a torn garbage bag, chasing a faint whiff of something edible. The street was cold, the city loud. Tibby, they’d later call her, didn’t know warmth yet. She only knew survival. A volunteer watched from a …
Her eyes caught the morning light, soft and gold, staring through the back door. Mama Latke pressed her nose against the glass, waiting, hopeful, her tail still. The neighbor, a woman with graying hair and a gentle voice, knelt down. She’d seen the cat before, thin but unafraid, weaving between her ankles. “Hi, Mama,” she …
The wind cut sharp across the alley, and the kittens shivered under a rusted car. Their tiny bodies pressed close, seeking warmth from their feral mother’s thin frame. She was all they had. A neighbor left scraps of food, but it wasn’t enough. The cold bit harder each night. Ryme, a gray tabby with eyes …
She lay crumpled on the street, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her shallow breaths barely stirred the dust beneath her. A stranger knelt beside her, hands gentle, voice soft. The dog, too weak to lift her head, let out a faint whimper. Her eyes, clouded with fear, flickered with something else—hope, maybe, or just the …
Her eyes caught the streetlight’s glow. Mila sat, tail curled, watching the world pass. She perched on a trash can, fur dusted with city grime. Her kittens hid somewhere in the shadows. She didn’t move when I walked by, just blinked slowly, like she knew me. I’d seen her before, weaving through the alley, her …
The dog lay still, his thin frame trembling in the dirt. His eyes, dull with pain, met mine, and I felt a pang deep in my chest. He was small, barely ten kilos, his fur matted with grime and dried blood. Three legs were gone. The fourth hung by a thread of ruined tissue, bone …
The sun burned low over the field, and she lay there, curled around her puppies. Her eyes, tired but fierce, watched the horizon for danger. The children saw her first. They whispered about a ghost dog, slipping through tall grass, vanishing before anyone could follow. She was a shadow, they said, with babies hidden somewhere …