Cave Canem

Tiberius paused to mark a corner where a stranger had been. It’s best to be vigilant about your territory’s boundaries and strange interlopers. He left marking that he was willing to defend his space if necessary, and another mark indicating his sexual availability to any bitches that might pass. It never hurts to advertise, just in case.

Satisfied, he resumed his daily exploration. He was seeking the scent of the Master, as always. He’d started by the docks, worked his way up the main avenue and examined the surrounding plazas.

The strange little rocks were falling from the sky again. All of the people, the humans, were collected at the docks and fighting for places on the few ships. Many of them wore pillows tied on their heads as a defense against the solid rain. The fine ash collected on the people, buildings, and streets.

He grew concerned when he observed the feral dog packs fleeing the town. He whined when he felt the ground quake and his nose alerted him to the fires.

Tiberius was a good dog. But when the wave of mud and ash roared over Pompeii, he was certain he wouldn’t smell Master Pliny again.

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200 words. Inspired by this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt:

Which brought to mind the most famous of all Pompeii’s preserved victims: