Colt has been by my side for years. And those years seem longer still because of the sheer amount of moving about we did. The people we met. The places we saw.
I can confidently say he had a good life. I kept him fed. I kept him warm. I kept him as safe as I could in a place as dangerous as Arcadia. And he paid me back in return. He devoted his life to me, not because I forced him to, but because he wanted to. He took out the throats of those that would do me harm. He nuzzled my hands when he could tell I was down. We gave each other a sense of family. A sense of hope. In this fucked up world we owed it to each other to make it better because I fucking adored that dog, and that dog adored me right back.
And that’s how a real relationship should be. Human and dog. Human and cat. Human and human.
A respectful co-existence. A shared experience of life. That feeling that you couldn’t possibly live without your soul mate with you. Even if some of us have no choice but to live.
But I remember a long time ago, before Colt was even born, my Uncle had a pup by the name of Ranger. My Uncle called him the “runt” of the litter, he bullied that poor pup night and day until he was terrified of him. Ranger did what he asked because it thought he would die otherwise, until the day my Uncle got trapped. Ranger left him trapped and walked away, knowing he should escape while he had the chance, eschewing the way his ex-master treated him.
Because that is what it was for them. A master and a servant. Not a friendship.
And that’s how I see you, Tombstone. You’re that same pup, bullied night and day by Igor Mortis as he makes all of the decisions without you. He shipped me off to the back end of nowhere, kept it from you, and kept you from what you truly want. An end to whatever this is between us. And when you asked for what you had earned, he kicked you to the kerb. He is the master and you are the servant. Bound by oath to ferry the dead. He has promised you everything, hasn’t he? That’s what they often do, people like my Uncle. People like Igor. They promise you everything to get you to stay.
And you have stayed. Boy have you fucking stayed.
When we fight at Red Snow, Igor will be trapped, unable to do anything, just like my Uncle was. And you will have that same moment of realisation that he is powerless. You will have that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to walk away. But will you? I hope you do, Tombstone, because as much as I hate you for Colt dying on your watch, nobody deserves what you are going through.
A dog should be man’s best friend, like Colt was mine. You ain’t nothing but a fucking lap dog.