Chapter 3: Blueberry Muffins

Feather slouched into her assigned seat in the meeting room and rested her chin in her palm. She blew at her black bangs in a bored attempt at keeping them out of her eyes only for them to fall back in her face.

            I really should get these trimmed. Contemplated Feather absent-mindedly. After her meeting with Shut and then his sudden leave she had laid awake in bed thinking about everything that had happened; chasing Shut through the woods, hearing about his past, the Soul Oath . . .

            She shook her head in frustration. She couldn’t think out that now, she had to focus on what her next move was. If word got out that she knew the Hunter’s location and that she had talked to him last night and hadn’t even attempted to arrest him . . .

            Relax Feather. No one’s gonna find out. She reassured herself. After all, what were the odds of someone seeing through her front and discovering her dark secret?

            The door opened behind her. Feather turned her head back casually to see who it was. Chicka. The golden cheetah smiled at her and shut the door behind her and sat in the seat next to her chocolate brown friend.

            “You’re here early,” commented Feather and shot her friend a teasing look.

            “So are you,” quipped Chicka, smiling, and raised an eyebrow.

            Feather merely shrugged. “What else is new,” she sighed and stared off into space for a few moments before turning back to her spotted friend.

            “What is this meeting about again?”

            “How we’re going to find and catch the Hunter,” replied Chicka as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

            “Oh. Right. I forgot,” acknowledged Feather absent-mindedly.

            Chicka peered at her friend and locked eyes with her. “Feather, are you feeling OK?”

            “Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. Just had a late night last night. Just feeling a little out of it is all,” answered Feather truthfully and opened her mouth wide to release a long, loud yawn.

            “Oh, OK,” shrugged Chicka, who began playing with some kind of gold necklace she was wearing, satisfied with the answer Feather had given.

            Feather inwardly breathed a small sigh of relief. Her friend didn’t suspect a thing. Feather was a night person who was always working on some sort of project, so it wasn’t uncommon for her to come in tried or seem “out of it”.

            “Working on a new project?” inquired Chicka casually.

            “What?”

            “Working on a new project Feather?” repeated Chicka and stared at Feather curiously.

            “Um, yeah. I just started it a little while ago. I have some pretty high hopes for it,”

            “Oh, cool. Good luck with it,”

            “Thanks,” answered Feather a little quietly. Phew. Thought Feather in relief. It was true, she was working on a new project, but she hadn’t been working on it last night. She was too busy talking to a murderous werehog to do that.

            Behind the pair of friends the door opened and in stepped Kirby, followed by Talon, Icestorm, a few other human and humanoid agents Feather didn’t know, and Scarr, a humanoid dark brown Wolfian male who supposedly was from Timber Pack, like Feather, but she wasn’t entirely sure, since the males and the females in Timber Pack were carefully separated in terms of training. He was called Scarr due to the white slash marking over his left eye that gave the appearance of a large, white scar.

            And behind the dark Wolfian male was an extremely dark brown female dingo named Trisha who wore camo cargo pants with large pockets, a black t-shirt, and an army cap with the letters FBI written in bold, black letters.

            Feather glared flaming daggers at the beast and she returned it with a glare from her own dark brown eyes. Feather and Trisha never saw eye to eye on, well, really anything. The only thing Feather remembered them ever agreeing on was that the guilty must pay for their mistakes.

            The other agents sat down in their assigned seats and waited for the commander.

            “Hey Feather,” the she-wolf turned her head towards the voice and was greeted by a pair of solemn sky-blue eyes.

            “Oh, hey Talon. What’s up?”

            “Not much. You?”

            “Same,”

            “Hm. So do you know what this meeting is about?”

            Feather shrugged. “Something about the Hunter,”

            “Ah. Got’cha,” responded Talon and turned his attention to something else. Talon was the strong and silent type and didn’t stay engaged in a conversation very long. This suited Feather just fine. She could be the same way too sometimes.

            “Good morning everyone, thank you for arriving on time,” greeted an old man white snow white hair in a very dark blue suit and grey tie from the front of the room.

            “Good morning, Commander,” returned Trisha in a serious, but not impolite tone. Others followed her lead and said the same.

            “Mornin’ Commander. It’s good to see you up and about,” said Feather with a friendly smile.

            He nodded. “Thank you Feather. I have to say it’s good to be able to stretch my legs,” he smiled warmly at the she-wolf. The Commander had had a recent surgery and had been in the hospital for the last few weeks. He was going to retire by the end of the summer. She would miss him; he was always so kind to her. He was one of the few humans she liked, and didn’t feel the constant urge to stab him whenever he got too close.

            He cleared his throat. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” he turned towards the screen behind him and pressed a button on the remote in his hand. It came to life and showed a map of the Calidge and Black Hills area.

            “Now, so far we haven’t been able to identify the Hunter’s species or been able to track his movements but…”

            Feather tuned out and sighed. Wonder if Shut’s having more fun than me right now…

*****

            Shut crouched down till his belly fur brushed up against the dirt ground. He peered behind a clump of thorny bushes and honed in on his unsuspecting prey. It was a fat rabbit munching on some lettuce next to a birch tree. Personally, he didn’t have much of a taste for rabbit, but he was having a hard time finding deer today, so he would just have to settle for this for now. Plus he still needed to feed Philippe. His wing had healed but his foot was still mending, and he was still having a hard time hunting for himself.

             His mind wondered to what had happened last night with Feather. How she had raced him through the woods and to her backyard, how she had offered to let him stay the night, how she had spared him from the chains…she had been so kind to him…

            A twig snapped under his foot and startled the fat rabbit into the bushes and out of sight.

            Shut sighed and growled at himself and shook his head as if to clear it. That was the third time he’d scared off a perfectly good dinner because he had let himself become distracted with thoughts of Feather, with her raven black hair, slender form, sleek dusky brown and chocolate fur, and scorching, fiery green eyes…

            He snarled and shook his head violently. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get that Wolfian out of his head?

            A robin chirped above his head and Shut’s eyes snapped open and he tilted his head up towards the red-bellied bird.

            He smiled and crouched into a hunting position. His legs tensed as he put all his weight into the soles of his pads and pushed his body into the air. The robin made an alarmed chirp before Shut’s jaws clamped around it and snapped its neck and back, killing it instantly, and gracefully landing on all fours with the robin clamped triumphantly in his jaws.

            His guardian Rope had showed him the trick. He was an Amethyst and bird hunting was very common in their Pack. He had showed him how to transfer his weight into his back legs and then jump at incredible heights and catch his desired prey.

            It wasn’t much and took a while to get through all the feathers, but once you got through all the inedibles and cooked it, it was actually pretty good.

            He caught two more robins and a cardinal before he reached the river. He stepped up to a large oak which he had hallowed out part of to make a sort of cabinet that held his fishing and hunting supplies.

             Hm… Do I want to use the big toe method, the fishing pole, spear, or my bare hands today? He wondered. He rubbed his chin before grabbing a large, flat stone and sharpening his claws on it, and put it back in its place before stepping up to the edge of the river.

            I think I’ll go with bare hands today. He decided. He squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration before his arm shot into the water and speared a large silver fish with his claws. He snapped its back and set it on the ground a few feet away from the water’s edge and speared eight more fish before deciding to call it a day. He grabbed his catches by the tails and put them in a hand woven basket buried under a large pile of leaves behind the oak. He put the lid on it and strapped it to his back and hiked back into the woods to the patch of berry bushes just east of the river.

            Along the way he snatched up some mint leaves and chewed on some and stored the rest for later in one of the small badger skin pouches hanging off his moth-eaten leather belt. The berries were good this year and he picked a fair amount of wild blueberries, careful not to pick too many so as to save some for tomorrow and later in the season, and stowed them in another rabbit skin pouch attached to his belt.

            He checked the snares he had set and found two of them untouched, one that had been sprung, but was missing both the catch and the bait, and the other two with two fine catches; a white rabbit with a quality pelt, and a fat turkey. He smiled when he laid eyes on the dead turkey, these birds were a rare catch for him, but whenever he caught them he always considered it his lucky day. He caught three more birds with Rope’s hunting method before he reached the Black Hills Church and stepped in through the back door.

            He carefully closed the door behind him so as not to let slam shut with a loud bang, and a large, red hawk squawked at him from one of the shelves on a bookcase. Shut smiled and stroked the large bird on the wing. The young werehog could tell from the way he fluffed up and curled his neck that he liked it. He had found him a few weeks ago in the berry bush patch under a wild raspberry bush with a broken wing and a twisted leg. He took the bird home with him cared for him, bringing him morsels of food from his catches, bandaging his wing and legs, applying fresh herbs to his wounds. He didn’t make him feel so lonely anymore. He helped to keep him company.

            “Hey Philippe, you hungry?” he asked, (though not really expecting an answer), and pulled out one of the dead robins from one of the badger skin pouches hanging off his belt and set it in front of the red bird. Philippe snatched it up before Shut was even able to move his hand away and began to tear away at the flesh. Shut smiled and stroked the great bird on the wing before disappearing down the hall.

            He passed by several doors before he came to the one at the end and opened it with a rusty key he produced from his pocket. It opened with a creak and revealed a set of ancient moldy wooden steps leading into a pit of darkness. Shut walked down without hesitation and stepped into the darkness. He produced a match from his pocket and lit a lantern hanging from the ceiling and took it by the handle to light his way.

            The first time he had found this room and come down these steps he had been scared out of his mind, but then again he had been much younger then. But now, older and used to coming down these ancient steps and into this dark room, it didn’t bother him as much anymore, but that didn’t stop his mind from stirring up old irrational fears.

            He reached the bottom of the staircase and held up the lantern which radiated a dim light, making the place seem even more ominous and fear-wrenching.

            He shifted his light to the far wall and screamed, but then breathed a sigh of relief when he realized what it was.

            I really gotta get rid of that thing… reflected Shut as he shown his light on the object again. It was a raccoon skeleton draped in cobwebs, dried blood, and tufts of its old pelt that stared back at Shut with dead, dark pools that once held its eyes. It was positioned in a way that made it look like it was crawling towards you and its facial expression gave it the illusion of a psychopathic killer and you were its next victim. It looked like something out of a horror movie or a Demonconjuror’s pyre.

            Shut shivered. Of all the years he had lived here that thing managed to scare him every single time. He had tried to get rid of it but it was so ugly and so creepy a part of him was afraid it would come alive and attack him at any moment. So he gave up and simply left it alone, but it was moments like this he regretted it and wished he had just thrown it away when he had the chance.

            He padded over to the toppled antique fridge that served as his cooler that helped keep most of his food fresh. He stored most of the fish save for two into the fridge along with all but one of the birds and kept the berries, they were best fresh.

            I wonder if Feather likes river food. Joked Shut and chuckled softly to himself.

A floorboard creaked.

Shut whipped around with his teeth bared and claws unsheathed and puffed up to twice his normal size. A large rat scurried past him and under a crack in the faded, crumbling stone wall.

Shut relaxed and let his claws retreat back into his skin and his fur lie flat. Ever since Rope…”left”…he’d always been really jumpy to any noises he heard. Well, I guess after spending a third of your life running and hiding from people you start to get a little jumpy and sensitive to even the smallest noises. Couldn’t be too careful these days.

Shut turned his head to see where the rat had scurried from so he could set a trap or two for it. He wasn’t particularly that annoyed by dirt, dust, grime, or vermin,           he had grown up with it, but when it came to rats or other rodents he made sure to set a trap by their hole. They were always giving him unnecessary startles and wreaking havoc on his hard earned food supply. Not to mention that they made pretty good snacks.

He squinted and held up his lantern to ward off the darkness blocking his line of sight. His eyes widened at what he saw instead. At first they were surprised, but then they grew into a mixture of sadness and buried pain in a long ago, tortured memory.

He stepped towards it and laid his hand on the wooden object and took a deep, ragged breath and hung his head. Inscribed at its head was a five-point star with a smaller four-point star inside with the capital letter P written in Greek.

He gently ran his hand along its edge and sighed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you…” he whispered painfully. How many times had he uttered that same apology? A hundred times? A thousand? More?

He put on a pathetic, weak smile and patted the old slab of wood and turned his back to it and began to head back up the stairs, but not before stealing a glance back at the box that held the bones of his long forgotten guardian…

I’m so, so sorry… he squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the tears from streaming down his face. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily before climbing the creaking wooden steps and locking the door behind him.

Wonder what Feather’s doing right now? He wondered as he began to speculate about what he should cook for dinner that night.

*****

            Oh merciful Decoria when is this meeting going to end..? Begged Feather miserably. The meeting had gone on longer than she had previously anticipated, and much more uninteresting and boring too. Most of it was stuff she already knew or would have figured out anyway or come up with herself.

            That’s what you get for being a genius. You have to sit through these meetings and listen to the same lecture as all the average-minded.

            “…and I will be assigning Trisha as head of the operation…”

            Feather’s drooping eye lids snapped open and her head shot up. “What?!”

            The Commander turned his gaze towards her tiredly. He was used to Feather tuning out in most meetings, especially in a case where she didn’t feel the need for any information they offered. But she still got the job done and she got it done right (but more “done” rather than done “right”), so most of the time he just ignored it when he heard her snoring softly in the background.

            “I said I will be assigning Agent Trisha as head of the operation, Feather,”

            Feather whipped her head around and stared at the dingo in shock. Trisha smiled wickedly and shot her a defiant look.

The she-wolf glared at her and forced herself to swallow the growl rising in her throat and release her grip on her knife’s handle.

She took a deep breath and faced her superior. “Why, pray tell, her?” inquired Feather through half gritted teeth.

“I thought she would be a good agent for the job.”

Feather laughed and shook her head. “Oh, Commander, I don’t mean to be rude but you’re wrong on two levels there. One; she’s an idiot, so it was a bad idea in the first place,”

Trisha stared at the she-wolf liked she had murdered someone and then glared and growled menacingly at her.

But Feather continued on like she hadn’t even noticed. “Two; ‘be a good agent for the job?’ Uh, no, I think not. In fact, last time I checked she was Satan’s offspring,” she sneered. OK, that was probably crossing the line with that one, but come on! As if she hadn’t done it before! Besides, other people crossed the line when they called her insane, a psychopath, or saying untrue things about Storm.

“Why you bloody psychopath…” Trisha growled and clenched her hands into tight fists, preparing herself for a fight.

“What did you just call me?!” Feather snarled and unsheathed her knife, her fiery green eyes roaring with a blazing fire.

“Whoa, whoa! Ladies-“tried Kirby before he was interrupted by Feather’s snarl.

“I am not a lady!” she snarled harshly and turned her fiery gaze and knife on him. If there was anything she hated more than being called a psychopath, it was a lady.

“QUIET!!” a screech rang out throughout the disorderly meeting room and a loud BANG echoed off the metal walls and abolished the noise from the commotion.

Everyone turned their heads towards the high pitched, scratchy shout. It was Talon.  His feathers had puffed out making him look even bigger and his sky blue eyes were locked in a glare. He was irritated. Very annoyed. He hated it when people fought over petty things, especially when it was females doing the fighting.

Feather relaxed her muscles a little and put her knife back into its pocket and sat back down with an unreadable expression and turned her gaze to the Commander, as if the last two minutes had never occurred.

The Commander sighed. Just a few more months, Henry old boy. Just a few more months.

“Let’s return to our meeting shall we?” he forced himself and continued his lecture. He knew better than to scold Feather about things like this. She had had a rough childhood after all…

Trisha growled and reluctantly sat back down in her seat.

There were no more outbursts for the rest of the meeting.

*****

            Shut rested the spit with the impaled fish and began to slowly turn the succulent fish over the heated flame. He’d put some extra fish over the fire for Feather, even though he wasn’t even sure if she liked fish. But she was a Wolfian, and Wolfians usually weren’t very picky, especially Timber Pack females, but he set aside some extra beef jerky from that deer he took down last week plus some of the berries he’d picked. Surely she’d like those? I mean, what Packian wouldn’t?

            He shivered. It was getting chilly, but unfortunately he had to watch the fire to make it didn’t get out of control and to make sure nobody could see it, it would only attract unwanted attention. Plus, he had to make sure his food didn’t burn. This was his dinner after all, and he was hopefully going to have a guest tonight.

            Maybe I should clean myself up a bit then…? He wondered. He’d never had guest before, well, except when he was imprisoned like at Deathhorn’s and West Compound when someone would come and deliver his food and water and back at St. Waters Penitentiary when either the warden, some random guard, or little Emily would come by their cell. Man, he missed that little angel…

            He shook his head and sighed happily. Oddly enough he had fairly good memories of St. Waters Penitentiary, well, except when he first came to be there and the very violent why he had left it, plus the fact that he was deemed a “dangerous” prisoner and was on a number of occasions treated as such.

            Maybe I should wear the jacket Rope gave me? He sniffed under his arms. Should I take a bath too? He wondered and shrugged. His last bath was over six months ago, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he smelled bad or not. As far back as he could remember, he’d always smelled like this, so he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a “bad” smell per say.

            Couldn’t hurt, I guess. He thought, after all, Feather was a female. He took into account that Feather was also a Timber Pack female, and that those kinds of girls spent half of their lives in the muck and dirt. But decided it couldn’t hurt to take one anyway.

            Maybe I should’ve washed my hands first…? But then remembered: Timber Pack female. They ate almost anything so long as it was editable.

            He placed another log into the fire and quickly ran inside to grab his jacket and a bucket to hold the water.

            No, I’ve got to take a real bath. He ordered himself and grabbed a torn wash rag and a homemade scrubbing brush and an extra sheet of dry cloth to use as a sort of towel for when he was finished, and quickly dampened the fire down to a pile of lit, hot coals and ran down to the nearby stream and started scrubbing himself.

*****

            Well that’s two hours of my life that I’ll never get back. Feather thought bitterly. But maybe she was being too hard on them. They really did try.

            The she-wolf slipped her coat on and headed for the door, certainly ready to go home. Perhaps go see Shut or something, see how he was doing.

            “Hey Feather!” Feather stopped and turned, surprised by the call. A (rather small) snow white Arctic fox wearing glasses, jeans, and a button down shirt clutching a clipboard closely to his chest was running towards her with a friendly grin on his face. Icestorm.

            “Hi Feather!” he greeted and smiled widely at the she-wolf.

            “Hey Icestorm, what’s up?” she returned not unkindly and shot him the friendliest smile she could muster.

            “Hey, so I was thinking,” he shifted his foot slightly and blushed. Icestorm was a little socially awkward, especially around girls, so this kind of behavior coming from him was not uncommon. “Maybe we could go to the movies, or something?”

            Feather gave him a sympathetic and sorry look. “Gee, I’m sorry Icestorm, I already had plans for tonight,” she said earnestly.

            “Oh, I see,” he mumbled and looked down at the floor with his ears drooping.

            “Tell you what, we’ll go tomorrow and do something, OK? Tonight just doesn’t work for me. We’ll go then, you have my word,”

            Icestorm perked up and smiled. Feather never broke her word, so it was reassuring to know that she really would go out and “hang out” with him.

            “OK, that sounds good,”

            “Great! I’ll see you then!” she said and waved to him as she walked out the door. Icestorm waved back slowly as the door closed behind her and blushed again.

            I wonder what kind of movies she likes? He wondered as he racked his brain for what he should wear on the night of their date.

*****

            Shut violently shook his body to help remove the excess of water that had soaked into his grey fur. Ugh, now he remembered why he hated baths. How anyone could enjoy something so cold and rough and laborious he would never know. But then again the Outsiders had a large, smooth bowl that you could pick the exact temperature of the water for maximum comfort and luxury.

            He didn’t get how people enjoyed that either.

            He’d been in a bath tub once before and hated it. It was so slippery and suffocating. He felt like he was being prepared for a cannibalistic Demonconjuror’s next meal.

            But then again he had kind of brought it on himself for refusing to use the prison showers. Some of the other prisoners and even Emily said he was lucky they didn’t just blast him with a hose instead and save time and effort. I guess you could get special privileges if the warden happened to like you.

            He shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time to conjure up old memories.

            The young werehog quickly dried himself off with the extra sheet of cloth that was functioning as his makeshift towel and fixed up his quills and smoothed out his long, shaggy fur. He stole a glance at himself in the creek’s reflection.

            I can’t remember a time when I looked this good. He thought to himself. The dirt and grime that had embedded itself on his face and in his fur had been washed away by the creek’s current giving him a glowing completion and a shimmering silvery pelt.

            He rubbed his chin and smiled. Not bad. Not bad at all.

            Now all he needed was some clothes and dinner.

            Speaking of which he still had fish over the fire!

            He gasped when he remembered this and snatched his pants and belt from its hanging place on a low-hanging branch and rushed off back to the Black Hills Church where his dinner was slow roasting.

*****

            Wind whipped in her face and ruffled her fur as she powered down the streets up to the Black Hills area to meet Shut. She’d taken several complicated and hard-to-drive-in roads to make sure she wasn’t being followed. You could never be too careful.

            As she swung a left on the turning junction to the road that lead almost directly to the dirt road that emptied out into the Black Hills region a red-tailed hawk whizzed over her head. The she-wolf couldn’t help but look up and watch the bird fly away into the distance. She smiled and though of Shut, with his mangy grey fur, dirty and torn clothes, strong body, and piercing, ice-blue eyes.

            She sighed dreamily and revved up her engine and zoomed down the near vacant road.

*****

            Chicka peered around the command center one last time before she gave up. What the heck had happened to Feather? She didn’t usually leave this early. And after yesterday’s performance she’d thought for sure Feather would stick around and help with the investigation. Guess not.

            “Hey Icestorm, do you know where Feather went?”

            The young fox jumped and adjusted his glasses and smiled when he realized it was his spotted feline friend.

            “Feather left about a half an hour ago,”

            “Really? Did she say why?”

            “Other than she had some stuff she had to do tonight, nothing,”

            “Well, did she say anything beyond that?”

            “Um…no. No, I don’t think so,”

            “Hm. Weird. That’s so unlike her,” contemplated Chicka. Feather had been acting a little strange all morning, well, no stranger than normal, but still…

            “I’m gonna call her,” concluded Chicka and dialed her friend’s number on her homemade cell phone and pressed the ‘call’ button.

            But after several rings she was answered by the message receiver.

            “Hey, this is Feather Wolfheart, sorry, can’t answer the phone right now, I’m busy with important or messy work or I just can’t hear the ring right now, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Please leave a message after the ‘beep’…unless I don’t know you, then just hang up and get lost. Later! BEEP!!”

            “Hey Feather, it’s Chicka. Listen; call me back when you get this. I thought you were going to stay for a while and help with the investigation, and that maybe afterwards we could’ve gone out and grabbed a pizza or something. Just call me back as soon as you can. Later,”

            She closed her phone and sighed. It seemed like more and more everyday Feather retreated further into her herself and her isolation. She was scared that if she didn’t do something she would lose her best friend forever.

            Oh, Feather, what are you doing? She pleaded to herself before deciding to grab her coat and go after her friend.

*****

            OK, let’s see; dishes on the table, food on dishes, berry wine in the cups, fish on the plates.

            He shifted the position of the homemade candles on the short, cracking wooden table. He had made it himself, something his old friend Branch, a Topaz werehog, had showed him how to do before he left to go looking for his sister.

            Alright, what else? Tablecloth; check. Food; check. Beverages; check. Candles; check. Dishes; check. Seats; check.

            Everything seemed to be in order in terms of the meal and the setup. But he still felt like something was missing . . .

            “Oh-! My jacket!” he realized and bolted upstairs to his room and whipped open one of his wardrobes and pulled his bomber jacket off of its hook and slipped it on.

            Rope had given it to him. He had said it belonged to his grandfather �" a war hero from World War I, who had passed it down to his son, Rope’s father, who gave it to his child, Rope Amethyst. Rope had come from a long line of war heroes (which was a little strange considering that the Amethyst Pack was peace-loving and hated violence), but Rope had been born more along the lines of an ordinary Amethyst and tried to stay away from things like war and battle and was more peace-loving, almost a pacifist (almost because if the need ever rose up to fight he would stand up and defend himself or whoever else was in danger, but only if it was the only way to solve the conflict). After they had escaped from West Compound, Rope had given it to him as a birthday gift, since he was a Gold werehog and battle was something bred into them, he figured it would have more meaning to Shut than it ever really did to him. And ever since that night . . . it had even more meaning to him than ever before. It helped him keep his beloved guardian close.

            He turned and looked himself over in the broken mirror. As distorted as his image was, he couldn’t help but marvel at himself.

            Hm, maybe I should dress up more often. He thought as he turned his body and looked at himself through different angles in the broken mirror’s reflection.

            Philippe squawked loudly and broke Shut out of his trance. He blinked and rushed to the boarded-up window.

            A dusky brown Wolfian wearing a black helmet, jeans, a black leather jacket on a motorcycle slid to a gentle stop and parked the vehicle on the outside of the church.

            Shut narrowed his eyes and unsheathed his claws, a low and deep growl rising in his throat, but then snapped to his senses and sheathed his claws when the wolf took of its helmet.

            Feather.

            A wide grin engulfed his face and he ran downstairs to meet the she-wolf at the door. Philippe flew down the steps after him and landed on the werehog’s arm. Shut was panting in anticipation and staring wide-eyes and smiling at the door at the bottom of the steps.

            “OK, Philippe, I want you on your best behavior tonight, got it? We have a female on the premises,”

            Philippe squawked. Shut smiled and stroked the ruddy bird. “That’s my boy,” he said and lifted his arm in the air to tell the bird that it was his time to fly. The injured hawk soared into the musty air to far reaches in the bell tower. Shut watched him go and rushed to the door.

*****

            Feather put her bike in park and unmounted and put up the kick stand. She took off her helmet and stared up at the abandoned church. Now that she was here she wasn’t as sure as she had been before about going in. It wasn’t that she was scared about entering, it was just that after Shut’s reaction last night she wasn’t as sure about this as she had been earlier. She had brought her handcuffs, but it felt wrong to just stop by and lock him in chains, especially after hearing his story last night.

            Oh, she hated having mixed feelings.

            Feather sighed and put her helmet on her bike and stepped up to the once grand front doors. Just as she was about to knock the door suddenly was thrust open and out poked Shut’s smiling (slightly awkward) face.

            “Hey Feather!”

            “Oh-! Hey Shut, what’s up?”

            “Just getting some dinner ready for myself. You want some?”

            “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to intrude and eat your hard earned game-“

            “Nonsense! I have plenty. Come ‘on, you’ve got to be hungry,”

            Right on queue Feather’s stomach growled and she lifted her hand to it and rubbed it subtly. She smiled a little nervously. “I guess I’m a little hungry,”

            “Great! Come ‘on in!” he urged and gestured her in.

            Just as she was about to step inside she remembered her bike. “Oh wait, I’ve got to put this somewhere a little more hidden first,” she stated earnestly and motioned to her motorcycle.

            “Oh, yeah that’s fine,”

            “Great. I wouldn’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions by parking a new motorcycle outside of an abandoned church, you know?”

            “Yeah, that’s perfectly fine. Actually, I would kind of prefer you do that,” he laughed a little awkwardly.

            His social skills still needed a little polishing up.

            She would remedy that over time.

            “Cool. So, um…where should I park it?”

            “Inside’s fine,”

            Feather raised her eyebrow. “You want me to track my motorcycle’s dirty tires into your house?”

            “Well, the floor is already dirty, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he smiled nervously and laughed a little awkwardly.

            Hm. Shut’s been on his own longer than I thought . . . Contemplated Feather as she awkwardly followed the werehog into the church with her bike in tow.

            “Is it OK right here?”

            “Yeah, there’s fine,”

            The she-wolf put up her kickstand and parked her ride in the corner and followed Shut.

            “So . . . what are we doing?” started Feather a little awkwardly. Oh Lord, I’m no good at this.

            “Well, I thought you would be hungry, so I made some lunch,”

            “Oh, I couldn’t �" “

            “No, no, no, really, it’s no trouble; food’s been pretty abundant lately, so it’s no trouble, really,”

            Feather shrugged. “Alright then. What are we having?”

            “Fish,”

            “Oh? Where’d you get fish?”

            “From the river,”

            “You know how to fish then?”

            “One of my friends was a Topaz, they do a lot of fishing and he showed me a couple different methods,”

            “Oh cool,”

            “Do you know how to fish?”

            She shook her head. “No, not really. Timber Pack isn’t really huge on fishing and I wasn’t bred to be a hunter per say, and no one in my family really knew how to either, so, I never really learned how to myself,”

            “Oh, that’s too bad. I could show you how to some time,”

            “You’d do that?”

            He shrugged. “Sure. Why not? What are friends for, eh?”

            Feather paused. Were they really friends? She guessed so if they were having dinner together . . .

            Wait, this wasn’t a date, right? Was it?

            Feather uneasily rubbed the back of her neck. “You know Shut, I’m not so sure about all of this . . .”

            Shut paid no heed to her and pulled back a torn, royal purple curtain that must have once been a magnificent piece of fabric. The she-wolf gasped and held her hands over her mouth. Laid out on a short-legged table was a platter of slow cooked silver fish smothered in some kind of golden sauce decorated with colorful wild berries and a chipped glass pitcher of some kind held a satin red drink. The table itself was made of a fine deep red cherry wood carved with intricate designs of caribou, constellations, and wolves, werehogs, hawks and eagles, fiery horses (even exotic cats such as cheetahs, leopards, and tigers), detailed and breath-taking landscapes and even a sunset. It was so magnificent Feather’s heart skipped a beat and blinked several times because she could have sworn that some of the designs were jumping off the wood. Inlaid on the wooden spectacle was a silk table cloth strip spread out across the center of the table with tall white candles held in golden metal holders that were lit with a steady orange flame.

            It was beautiful and simply breath-taking. No one had ever done something so nice for her before. It was so blessedly beautiful that the she-wolf nearly shed a tear.

            Shut slowly took her hand and led her to the bountiful table. He gracefully placed a soft, deep purple feather pillow with golden lining underneath her as she sat down to serve as her seat and relieved her of her coat and hung it up on a nearby coat rack. He joined her on the other end of the low-lying table and smiled.

            “Shut, this is amazing! The food looks delicious! And this table �" who carved it?” inquired Feather excitedly, running her hand over the intricate designs with awe.

            “I did, actually . . .” he mumbled, a little embarrassed.

            “Seriously?”

            “Yeah, I had a lot of time to myself growing up, so I guess I kind of just . . . picked it up, I suppose.”

            “Well, I have to say, I’m impressed. You could put the woodwork at the museum to shame, I mean, it almost looks like that eagle is soaring off the table! A-And that deer! Oh! It looks like it’s going to run right off the woodwork!”

            Shut rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed by the she-wolf’s praise. He wasn’t used to praise, especially from a female. Insults he was used to, but praise and compliments? They were very foreign. It was kind of weird, but nice at the same time.

            “Do you carve?” he asked.

            She shook her head. “Not really. I draw mostly; I tried carving several times but could never seem to get the same details into the wood as I can on paper,” she chuckled. “I make a lot of mistakes when I draw and erase a lot, so I guess that’s why carving was always so difficult for me; I wasn’t allowed to erase my mistakes,”

            Shut shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. What do you draw?”

            “Mostly animals and plants and landscapes, almost never people or humanoids, I can never seem to get the facial expressions and hands right, and the head is either too big or too small or the body misshapen or something,”

            Shut laughed. “Don’t worry; I have the same problem,”

            Feather’s ears perked. “Really?”

            “Yeah, whenever I try to carve someone it never seems quite right and there’s always something about it that bothers me or doesn’t look right, you know?”

            “Exactly! Finally, someone who gets it!” exclaimed Feather and threw her hands up in the air.

            They both laughed heartily. It was the most either of them had laughed in years.

            Shut sighed. “So, you hungry?”

            “Starving,”

            He picked up a large fork and poked at the top fish. “Would you care for some fish, Ms. Wolfheart?” he inquired, imitating an old fashioned gentleman’s voice.

            She laughed. “I would indeed, Mr. Hedge, thank you,” she replied back in the same tone of voice and held out her wooden plate as Shut carefully and gently placed the sweet smelling fish.

            Luxuriously, Feather took a drawn-out breath of the saucy fish’s sweet scent. “What kind of sauce is this?”

            “Try it and find out,”

            Feather picked up her fork and took a bite. An outburst of exotic and wild flavors exploded in her mouth. “MMM!! This is delicious! Seriously, what kind of sauce is this?”

            “It’s a special recipe of mine made up of wild honey, fresh berries, some herbs, and a pinch of sugarcane,”

            “Mm! Well I declare, it is de-lic-ious!”

            He cheeks flushed. “Thanks,”

            “And this fish, mm! The best seafood I’ve ever eaten! And I’m not a huge fan of fish, and I love this!”

            “Wow, um, thank you, that �" that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me in a long time . . .”

            Feather took another bite of the delicious fish. “So anyway, you never finished your story,”

            “Hm?” Shut looked up from wolfing down his slow-roasted fish.

            She raised her eyebrow at him and smiled. “You had just been caught by the police?”

            He quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Oh, right. Well they had just thrown me into the nearest cell and locked me in. They didn’t even bother to unshackle my wrists and ankles; probably figured I was too dangerous. When they left I tried to break down the door and get out of those stupid cuffs, but I guess those things were designed to be extraordinarily hard to get out of because I couldn’t seem to pick the lock. Or maybe it was just me, I dunno, but either way I was stuck in those things and the door wouldn’t budge.

            “After a while I finally gave up and sat down on the ground and cried for awhile. I felt kind of pathetic and was furious with myself for letting myself sink that low, but I guess when you feel hopeless dignity and pride are the last things on your mind,”

            “That makes sense. When I lost my sister it was the only thing I could think about and for weeks on end I just sat around feeling sorry for myself,” Feather made a noise that was something between a laugh and a sarcastic cough. “I look back at it and think of how pathetic I must have been; imagine, an elite female Timberian warrior brought so low  by grief and hopelessness and the feeling of being powerless to do anything to change it,” the atmosphere had become solemn and still. Even the flames flickering atop the candles themselves seemed to have dimmed and the carvings engraved on the table didn’t seem nearly as lively or joyful.

            He nodded in agreement. “I stayed like that for awhile; it could have been over an hour or maybe only a few minutes, I wasn’t sure, but eventually I was interrupted. Not by any of the guards but by the inmate in the cell across from mine. He was �" excuse me �" is a Topaz named Branch, who was roughly about the same age as me at the time,”

            “Before you continue,” interrupted Feather. “I have a quick question; you started out describing the other inmate-“

            “Branch,”

            “Yes, Branch, describing him in the past tense, then switched over to the present tense. Why?”

            He shrugged and took a sip of his drink from a wooden cup. “Well as far as I know he’s not dead so there’s no use talking about him like he is,”

            “Fair enough, continue,”

            He took another swig of the magenta liquid. “Anyway, after awhile he interrupted me and asked why I was crying,” he smiled. “Naturally, I of course denied that I was crying at all,”

            “Naturally,”

            “But of course he didn’t believe me,”

            “Of course,”

            “And we argued about it until he gave up and introduced himself. We exchanged our names and what Pack we were from and so on. We became pretty fast friends, I mean, he was the only one who didn’t call me ‘mutt’ or treat me like one, and we were the same age and spent a lot of time together,” he smiled. “That, and he was the only one to talk to,”

            “Wasn’t there anyone else there?” inquired Feather with her mouth full of roasted fish.

            “Outside the guards I don’t think so,” he took another bite of his fish. “If there were they were pretty quiet and very good at hiding their scent,”

            “Oh,”

            “They kept us in our cells most of the time, on occasion they would drag us out and tie us to a chair or something and ask a bunch of questions, mostly about Resistance groups we had never heard of. It was kind of annoying, especially at first, since they would yell at us and slap us or punch us when we told them we didn’t know anything. Then they would drag us back to our cells and throw us in. We usually came back with some fairly nasty bruises and were sore for a couple of days. But what I guess ticked me off the most was the fact that after every time they interrogated us Branch always came back crying and looking worse off than me.

            “I hated them for it. Branch isn’t really the type that likes to hurt other people, no matter how much they deserve it-“

            “Was-“she coughed. “Is he a pacifist?”

            He shrugged. “More or less,”

            “Well which is it? More or less?”

            “Somewhere in the middle; if he could avoid a fight he would, but if he absolutely had to he would at least try to defend himself,”

            “Ah, got’cha,”

            “I guess they probably figured they could get more information out of him, since it was very clear I was the stronger willed out of the two of us, but all they got was a big ol’ pile of ‘I don’t knows’, because we had no idea who any of these groups were, or that there even were any resistance groups, but they didn’t start to believe us until after like, twenty sessions.

            “After that we were finally allowed the ‘privilege’ of getting checked out by a doctor. We were led into a room and pushed down onto some cheap-looking gurneys and looked over by the doctor. He wasn’t very talkative and was kind of rough with us when he bandaged our wounds,” Shut took a sip of his drink before he continued. “He wasn’t as mean as the guards but I’m still almost positive he was Anti-Wereian, I mean, he made it very clear he didn’t like us,”

            Feather shrugged. “Maybe he just didn’t like kids,”

            He raised an eyebrow at her. “I doubt it. I had overheard from a couple of the guards saying that he was a children’s’ doctor,”

            “Oh. Yeah he was probably Anti-Wereian,”

            “Most likely. Anyway, after the doctor was finished with me the guards dragged me back to my cell and threw me in. Branch had gotten sick and his wounds were bad enough that the doctor didn’t want them to just put him back in his cell, so they kept him in the room until he was well enough for his cell again. I, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky and things pretty much went back to normal for me, which sucked since at least before I had someone to talk to and sympathize with. So after a couple of days out boredom I jumped up and looked out my window. It was a little tricky to jump up and grab the bars and stay there with my wrists and ankles tied but I managed to do it.

            “I don’t know what I expected to see, but I remember feeling disappointed; maybe because I was hoping to see some woods or something familiar to lift my spirits up, but instead all I saw was man-made buildings and concrete roads and disgusting smelling vehicles and humans everywhere. It was kind of depressing.

            “Just as I was about to hop back down and wait for my daily scraps when out of nowhere this bright orange humanoid porcupine jumps up in front of me and says hi,” he chuckled at the amusing memory. “It scared me pretty hard and made me lose my grip and fall to the ground. I guess he was just trying to be friendly but I was still pretty irritated with him for surprising me like that and making me fall and hurt my back. He apologized for scaring me so I jumped back up and said hi myself. We introduced ourselves and talked for a while and I found out his name was Johnny and that he lived with his grandmother on the other side of town. And from what he talked about his grandmother and the way he treated me I figured they were most likely Pro-Wereian; they certainly didn’t seem to have anything against us, and he was certainly one of the nicest Outsiders I had ever met,” he cleared his throat. “Right next to Spike and Sonia of course,”

            “Of course,”

            “So anyway we talked for a while and I asked what the name of the town was, since I hadn’t seen any signs and while I was fairly fluent in English I still had a little trouble reading it from time to time,” he took a sip of his drink and sighed heavenly and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “The name of the town was Calidge-“

            She raised her eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that just down the road? Calidge is just a few miles from here; if you stand on the top of the hill you can probably see it,”

            He took another swig of his drink and slammed it back down on the table. “I know,” he replied through almost gritted teeth. The anger in his electric cyan eyes was as clear as a polished diamond.

            “You sound like you don’t like it,”

            He stared with stony eyes at the wall, the mood had swiftly changed and the air felt a little uneasy.

            He shook his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I don’t. I hate them. I hate them all. Bunch of scum-sucking, dung-eating demonic apes, I hope they all burn in DeathPack,” his tone was dark and beyond serious. Feather didn’t blame him. She felt almost the exact same way about humanity.

            “I get where you’re coming from, I really do, mankind hasn’t been very kind to me either, but they’re not all bad,”

            He shrugged. “I’m not saying all humans are bad, but a good chunk of it is, and it’s that chunk that nearly destroyed me and my people,” his free hand clenched tightly. “If they had their way Wereians would be extinct,”

            “If they had their way I’d either be in some hole or dead,” she commented casually and took a sip of her drink.

            He paused to stare at her, his cyan eyes betraying his confusion. “What do you mean?”

            She set her drink down and wiped the liquid from her lips with her thumb. “I don’t exactly have a very good history . . .”

            “How so?”

            She sighed heavily. “Let’s just say I’ve done some horrible things that I wish I could take back,”

            There was a long silence. You could hear a down feather drop and it would seem noisy compared with the still silence.

            “Me too,” he mumbled and took another swig of his drink.

            She looked at him with understanding eyes. She had never met anyone like him; he was so much like . . . herself. Misunderstood and deeply wounded, no matter how good they were at hiding it.

            “Take me fishing,” she blurted out of the blue. He looked up at her and blinked, clearly surprised by her words. Feather herself blinked at her own words. Where did that come from?

            He shrugged. “OK,” he stood up and collected the plates and dishes, putting a cork in the bottle of berry wine and putting out the candle’s flickering flames with his fingers.

            Feather stood up and helped him, taking the bottle and her plate and carrying it for him. He smiled and nodded. “Just need to put this stuff away first,”

            “Of course,”

            She followed him down the dirty hallway and into a crumbling kitchen. It was a fairly large kitchen but it had fallen to such disrepair and filth it was almost impossible to believe that this place had once been used to prepare food.

            “You don’t actually prepare food in here, do you?” she asked, a little nervous for the answer seeing as how she had just shared a meal with him that he had prepared himself.

            He chuckled and shook his head smiling. “Nah, I just use the pantries for food storage, they’re much cleaner,”

            She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness, I was a little nervous there for a second,”

            He laughed. “I don’t blame you. No, I never use this room other than the storage closets for food storage. I do most of my cooking outside on an open campfire,”

            She licked her lips. “Mm, I thought the fish tasted a little...smoky,”

            He smiled. “Well I’m glad you liked it,”

            She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, I enjoyed it very much,”

            He opened the cracked pantry door (it was a miracle it didn’t fall off its hinges were so rusty) and put the fish and berries in an icebox and the wine on the shelf and closed the door.

            “So are we going fishing now?” inquired Feather with a hint of excitement lingering in the back of her tone.

            He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, we’re going fishing now; hope you don’t mind trekking through the woods,”

            Feather adjusted her belt. “Don’t mind at all,”

*****

            For the fifth time that afternoon Chicka dialed in Feather’s phone number and waited. She sighed heavily when she was greeted by her friend’s message receiver yet again

            What was she doing? Or perhaps the better question would be where was she? The spotted feline had stopped by her friend’s house to see if maybe she was just at home working on an art project, but when she knocked and looked in the window it was as vacant and silent as an empty coffin.
            Feather, where are you? She pleaded silently into the empty air. It wasn’t like her to just disappear and not tell anyone where she was going or when she’d be back.

            She thought for a moment and shook her head.

            OK, that was just like Feather, but she would’ve replied back by now, right? Wouldn’t she?

            Chicka groaned and collapsed on the chair in the hallway and put her hand on her forehead. Where could she have gone? She had checked all of her usual hangouts; the book store, the library, that new art store, the weapons and firearms shop, even the bar and parts of the woods, but still nothing. No one had seen her all day.

            “Hey Chicka,”

            Chicka lifted her hand from her eyes and smiled weakly at the source of the greeting.

            “Hi Icestorm,”

            He smiled weakly in return and sat down in the seat next to her. “Still can’t get a hold of Feather?”

            Chicka shook her head and sighed. “I just don’t understand it. She would’ve called back by now, right? She wouldn’t just leave and then never answer back, right?”

            Icestorm opened his mouth to answer before closing it again, unsure of what to say. He sighed. That sounded a lot like something Feather would do if she wanted to be left alone. Maybe Feather just needed some space so she left and then turned off her phone so no one would bug her.

            “Maybe she just needs some time alone, a little space. You know how she is,”

            Chicka sat up a little. “You could be right. But she seemed so determined to find the Hunter yesterday, heck; she stayed here till 10:00 at night because she was so determined to find him. Why would she just get up and leave so early today?”

            Icestorm shrugged. “Who knows what goes on that wolf’s head,”

            “I guess you’re right,” Chicka stared down at her phone for several moments, secretly hoping it would ring and Feather would be on the other line, but sighed and put it away, knowing the chances of that were slim.

            Feather, where are you?

*****

            Feather laughed joyfully as river water splashed in her face.

            “Almost! Dig your claws into it next time!”

            “OK!” she hunched down slightly, eyeing the water carefully before plunging her hands into the icy water and yanked a shining silver fish out of the crystal liquid.

            “Whoa! Nice catch!” called Shut in wondrous awe of the huge fish.

            “Thanks! But could you please get a knife or the spear? I can’t hold onto it much longer!”

            “Oh! Sorry!” Shut immediately reached for the homemade spear. Feather threw the fish into the air as high as her tired muscles would allow. For a brief moment it seemed to levitate in midair before it was speared by the weapon and pinned into a nearby tree. It twitched for a moment before it went completely still.

            “Wow! What a whopper!” exclaimed Shut and yanked the spear with the fish out of the tree bark.

            Feather laughed and squeezed the water out of her ebony hair. “You weren’t bad yourself. That was a nice shot there.”

            Shut blushed in embarrassment, not used to the praise. “I’ve had a lot of practice,”

            “Apparently. I mean, I can throw a spear but my aim is always a tad bit off. I’m better with a bow and arrow, you know?”

            “Yeah. That makes sense. For a short while I trained to be a warrior in my Pack, so a spear is pretty standard, but I prefer swords, it was the weapon my dad always used,”

            “Swords? Cool! I’ve only wielded one before in my entire life, but it was kind of heavy and often required me to get too close to my opponent than I preferred. I like to take my enemies out from a distance,”

            “You seem like that kind of person,”

            “I suppose it’s just because with a bow and arrow I could end the fight and stay away from danger and still win the fight,”

            Shut chuckled. “Danger? You certainly don’t strike me as the kind of person who’s afraid of a little danger,”

            “I’m not, it’s just there are numerous occasions  where I prefer to have one of my arrows go up in flames or get torn to bits rather than me,”

            Shut laughed. “Sounds like you get into a lot of trouble,”

            “Look who’s talking!” joked Feather.

            “I’m a werehog living in a world ruled by humans; I am trouble!”

            The pair of Packians guffawed hysterically at their own jokes. Feather nearly fell to the ground with her insistent laughter, clutching her stomach for dear life and tears forming at the bases of her eyes.

            Feather couldn’t help but notice Shut’s laugh. It reminded her of a child’s laughter, so pure and innocent. The more time she spent with this mysterious werehog the less and less she believed that he could really be a murderer.

            There had to be some explanation.

            Their laughter began to fade and finally Shut spoke up. “What do you say we clean this monster and have ourselves some fish bites?”

            “Sounds good to me,” replied Feather, wiping away her joyous tears and attempting to regain her composure.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed that hard. Maybe never.

            And from the look on Shut’s face, it was probably the same for him.

*****

            Feather tossed another chunk of the salted and seasoned fish bite into her mouth and sighed in delight at the explosion of flavors. It shocked her that Shut was unemployed, seeing as how his cooking was fantastic and his carving exquisite. Most of the food she had had that day with him was better than most of the gourmet restaurants she had been to. How humbling would it be to a gourmet chef with state-of-the-art kitchen technology and access to the world’s finest ingredients to be outshined by a homeless werehog with a fire pit and a fishing pole and some common herbs?

            “Shut this amazing. I don’t usually like fish, but this is spectacular!” lauded Feather with sincerity. And not only it delicious, it was filling too. Shut should start a restaurant; he’d have a mansion in no time.

            “Thanks,”

            “Seriously, I’ve been to some good restaurants before, but you’ve got them all beat.”

            “It’s no big deal, really,”

            Feather elbowed him playfully in the side. “Come ‘on, Shut. You don’t give yourself enough credit,”

            “You’re giving me too much; I’m not that good,”

            “Shut, I’ve met a lot of talented people and eaten a lot of delicious food, in terms of talent you’re near the top of the list and your food is some of the best,”

            Shut chuckled awkwardly, trying to figure out how to process such praise and wonderful compliments. He was used to insults and beatings not praise and compliments.

            “Um, here. I’m full,” Shut offered her the roasted fish on the second spit that he had caught on their little fishing trip. He had planned to cut it up save some of it for later, but since Feather liked it so much maybe she’d like to have it?

            Feather beamed. “Thanks!” she hungrily grabbed the ends of the spit and began to devour and tears away at the flesh with her teeth.

            “I dunno what my deal is tonight, but I’m practically starving,” she explained with a full mouth.

            “No it’s fine, help yourself. I have plenty,” reassured Shut and smiled. He stared up at the stars in the sky and their unparalleled beauty.

            Dad, are you up there . . .?

            “Hey, are you alright?” inquired Feather gently and touched his arm.

            Shut flinched and smiled weakly at her. “Yeah, I’m fine,”

            Feather gave him a sympathetic look. “Oh! By the way, I brought something for you!”

            Shut blinked and stared at her in astonishment. “Y-You did? W-Wow, y-you didn’t have to bring me anything,”

            “Nonsense!” The she-wolf pulled out a plastic container and placed two freshly baked pastries in his dirt coated hands.

            Shut’s eyes widen like a full moon rising into the night sky and his mouth agape unbelievingly. “Muffins! Wow! This is amazing!” he smiled brightly at Feather and tore off a piece of the blueberry pastry and offered it to her.

            She shook her head and gently closed Shut’s hand around the chunk. “It’s all yours. I can get more muffins anytime,”

            Shut beamed and stuffed a piece in his mouth luxuriously. “Thank you, Feather!” he crammed in another piece. “I haven’t had muffins in ages!”

            She smiled as she watched him eat, stuffing the muffins into his mouth as if he were a starving animal. Crumbs and bits of muffin fell from his stuffed mouth and onto his scared chest and torn pants.

            He didn’t seem like an adult. He looked like one, but he didn’t quite seem to act like one. Feather couldn’t quite seem to figure him out. Usually males were straight forward and easy to figure out, but not Shut. He seemed . . . different, somehow. One minute he acted like a socially awkward little kid on his first hunting trip, and the next he seemed very wise, as if he had seen a lot and knew so much about the world, from its stunning beauty to dangerous secrets. He seemed so young and full of purpose, the only thin weighing him down were the cruel realities of his situation. Many times he behaved more like a young boy than a mature adult, as if a part of him was trying to make up for the lost years of childhood that had been unjustly stolen from him.

            “Shut?”

            “Yeah?” he replied with a mouth full of chewed muffin, crumbs falling out of his mouth.

            “You left off at the part when you had just met this Johnny character,” urged Feather.

            “Huh? Oh! Right. So after we had been introduced and he told me the name of the town I asked him if he knew why Branch and I had been arrested. As far as both of us knew we hadn’t done anything illegal and the officers only seemed to going after Wereians. He asked if we were both werehogs and I said yes. After that he got kind of quiet and explained to me what was going with the I Carnage.

            “At first I was shocked and almost didn’t believe him. But he told me about the raids on the Packs and the deaths of over half of the Alphas,” he sighed heavily at the recollection of the heart-splitting memory. “I almost felt as if something inside of me had died. He went on how Wereians we being imprisoned and even killed all across the nation. I asked him why all of this was happening and all he would say is that the president had managed to pass a law that stated Wereians were dangerous animals that needed to be contained,” his fist clenched tightly at the thought, so tightly that his knuckles turned white under his silver fur.

            “I remember feeling furious that someone would have the audacity declare us dangerous monsters and then imprison and kill for no good reason. I mean, he was destroying my people! Our homes, our families! Everything! And we never did anything to them! I later found out he had convinced people to believe these horrible lies about us by telling them we had been plotting to attack and take over the nation. That we were biding our time and lying low, gathering weapons and preparing our troops for the perfect moment to strike. But we never had any plans of attacking America! Or anyone else for that matter! All we were trying to do was live in peace! That’s why we never tried to get too involved with human affairs. We had no intention of hurting anyone! We were content with the territory and the resources we did have. He had no reason to attack America,” he covered his face with his hand in grief, trying to block the memory of the countless lives of his people lost to someone else’s foolish suspicions.

            Feather placed her hand on his clenched fist and rubbed it tenderly in sincerest sympathy. His eyes watered and he smiled ironically, his lips curled in a grin but his grief obvious never the less.

            “I lost everything,” his voice quavered. “Because one man thought we were plotting to kill him,” he shook his head. “We never wanted to hurt humanity. We wanted to try and live in peace with them, rather than to be bitter enemies,” his expression darkened. “But someone apparently had other plans.”

            Her ears lowered and her gaze shifted to the grassy ground. It never ceased to amaze her how one person’s decision could alter so many lives and cause so much destruction. In the Packs they always tried to keep corrupt minds from attaining too much power. That’s why Timber Pack was in such ruins; there was no Alpha. He had been killed in battle along with his children and the other possible heirs. There was no left to rule Timber Pack but the corrupt and vile Desters. But in America, it was whoever the people chose, no matter how vile or corrupt they were.

            “I-I’m so sorry,” she knew it must sound stupid, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

            He shook his head. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault,”

            “I’m still sorry all of that happened to you,”

            “I know what you meant,” he smiled thankfully at her. “But I appreciate it. Thank you,”

            She nodded and scooted closer to him and wrapped him in a hug. “I know how you feel,”

            He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

            “I do. Really. I lost everything because of a few people’s selfish decisions. Humans killed my parents and shot my sister. Humans imprisoned me and treated me horribly. I probably deserved it, but I felt as if I had died and gone to hell. I was treated like I had nearly wiped out all life on Earth,”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. And I have the scars to prove it,”

            “Wow. That’s . . . That’s horrible, Feather. But what could you have done to deserve that kind of treatment?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You said you probably deserved it. Why?”

            “Well, let’s just say I’ve done some horrible things I wish I could take back,” her demeanor had quieted and she almost seemed to have shrunken.

            Unexpectedly two arms wrapped around her in a comforting embrace. She looked up to see Shut wrapping her in a hug. It seemed . . . strange. She wasn’t used to such tender embraces. But even stranger, she found herself . . . enjoying it. She leaned her head into his chest and hugged him back. For several minutes they just sat there, embracing each other’s company.

            “So, friends?” inquired Shut and smiled a little awkwardly.

            She nodded. “Friends. Definitely,” she answered and smiled. For the first time in her life, she finally had found someone who understood her.

Author's Note

Be honest, what do you think?

Reviews

[She With Eyes Like Unsh..]

Great job! I cannot wait for the next chapter! You are very skilled, but there are a few places to watch your spelling. I wasn't able to find the sentence again, but you wrote we instead of were. So just pay attention. Keep up the great work!