Wish That I Could Travel His Way

Admittedly, it was going to take some time for Peg to acclimate herself to this new lifestyle. While she had never been a stranger to hard work, all that she ever did she did on her own terms. Work assignments dished out by a higher authority had never really been part of that equation.

Back in her street days, she and her pack had always worked as a team — no one dog with any kind of real authority over the others, just a group of like-minded individuals trying to make it through another day. Their freedom was the only real thing they had to their name, and while some strays would easily fall in behind a dominant force, Peg's crew didn't play that way. Besides, you weren't always going to have friends to depend on. It was better not to get too used to having someone always telling you what to do. That being said, Peg knew that if she wanted to stick around, she was going to have to pull her own weight. Even if that meant giving up some of that personal freedom and following orders.

But now was not the time for that. Tucked away in a corner of the Gilded Wings' underground hideout, Peg had spent the last few hours quietly dozing through the afternoon. That is, until she'd been roused by the sound of a new presence entering the space. Peg had always been somewhat of a light sleeper — survival instincts and all — but even now in this newfound safety she was still on high alert, though now for entirely different reasons: she was fairly certain whoever had just descended from the tavern was probably looking for more tasks to assign before the dinner patrons started flooding in.

Blinking away sleep, the small dog slipped out from behind the variously sized boxes and crates that had been her shelter, stretching out her hind legs as she went. She shook out her fur and looked up to greet the newcomer, a joking remark about being back on the clock on her tongue. And Peg stopped. 

It was as if she'd seen a ghost. A four-legged ghost, with grey fur and a tail. 

"Tramp?"

The name was barely a whisper, and quickly interrupted by the sudden realisation that the dog sitting before her was not the Tramp. He was much younger, for a start, with thicker fur and an ever so slightly different build. No, not him. But so strikingly similar it shook Peg to the core. Her heart still hammered in her chest. 

It was then that Peg realised she had been staring. She took a moment to compose herself.

"Don't think I've seen you 'round here before, dearie," she started, an air of curiosity in her voice. Peg padded forward almost warily, as if he might disappear if she got too close. "Who might you be?"

It seemed as though this other dog was almost as surprised to see her as she had been to see him. For a fleeting moment Peg thought she saw a flash of recognition register in his eyes. Unusual, she thought. Beyond his almost identical resemblance to the former object of her affections, she was sure she'd never encountered this pup before... had she?

As the younger dog introduced himself, an all but obvious revelation clicked in her mind. Tramp had pups. Peg had never actually met them mind you, nor could she recall if she'd ever been told their names, but of their existence she was sure. She even vaguely remembered hearing that one of them had had a run in with Buster's gang a few years back -- not that she made a habit of associating much with that crew. This one certainly looked to be the right age, as if the name 'Scamp' wasn't a dead give away on its own. Either that, or this was the mother of all coincidences.

Peg barely had a chance to formulate a response before Scamp edged closer to inspect her scent. The close proximity allowed her to take a brief sniff of her own, during which she could just make out something familiar. And she was almost certain she knew what, or rather whom, it was.

For a moment, Peg pondered how exactly she should broach this subject, before becoming painfully aware of just how quiet the room had become. Thankfully, Scamp broke the silence.

"So... how long have you been a Wing? I've only been here for a few days."

"I haven't been here much longer myself. Has it been... a week? Time seems to fly around here, with so much to do. I'm still gettin' used to it," she replied, a lightness in her tone. The response was punctuated by a habitual flick of her bangs. A brief silence followed. Well, it can't hurt to ask. After all, she couldn't dance around it all day, not when a young Tramp was staring her right in the face.

"Say," she began slowly, "you... remind me of someone an awful lot. An old friend of mine." A fondness crept into her voice then, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "Greatest street dog there ever was, 'til he settled down and had a family."

There was an almost questioning tone in the last statement, as if she hoped he'd catch on to what she was implying.  Which, if Peg's suspicions were correct, he should, and she'd have her answer. And if not, well, wouldn't that be something.