Dodger waved his orange-and-black spotted paw and grinned. He was in full Travel Guild uniform: long black jacket and a dark-blue tunic that cinched with a tight belt. A bandolier of vials crossed his chest and a large pouch hung from his side.
Dodger’s a complicated one. I’ve known him since he was just a cub, picked him up off the streets when he had nowhere else to go. I could see something in him back then—a fire, a drive that the streets hadn’t yet snuffed out. He’s always been loyal to the Guild, and he’s proven himself time and again as one of the best jackets we’ve got. He’s quick, smart, and efficient, never one to leave a job half-done. But I worry about him sometimes. He’s hard on himself, always pushing to be better, always seeking approval. It’s as if he thinks that if he just works hard enough, he’ll finally be worth something. But to me, he’s always been worth it.
He’s loyal to the Guild, but I sometimes wonder if that loyalty is just another wall he’s built to keep himself from thinking about what else he could be. I see the potential in him, but it’s up to Dodger to decide whether he’ll reach for it or stay where he is, always trying to prove himself to a world that’s already moved on.