Belonging (слэш)

The engraving is a thin cursive font; elegant, but not pompous or flowery. Even in the light it's small, and John has to squint to see. It reads: Belonging to Harold R. Wren.
 
John feels his mouth quirk up. 'Belonging to'. Not 'Property of'. It was the kind of distinction that Harold was always concerned with. Of course he'd have something engraved custom rather than put his name, even a false one, to a statement he didn't believe. Bear wasn't anyone's property. But he belonged somewhere. He belonged to someone.