There was distrust in the puppy's eyes when he drew away. He kept out of range of Ralastor's jaws, as he had been taught (quite rightfully) not to trust him. The father was dangerous. The father would hurt him if he let him. Something deep inside of Brutus had broken and hardened. Something terribly vital. "I don't like your games," he told the father. "Mommy's games were fun games. Your games are mean." It was the first and the last sign of defiance that the puppy showed. If this father had loved him, he would not have done this. Clearly, there was no love lost.

Whatever else Ralastor might gain from Brutus, he would not gain the unflinching loyalty that Brutus's mother had commanded from him. He would not gain love. But Ralastor, it seemed, did not understand love to know that he had lost it. As innocent as the puppy was-- had been-- he understood the difference between someone who he could trust, and someone who he must fear. Fear was what Ralastor had over Brutus. One day, perhaps, Ralastor might regret that. But today was not that day.