Krin wrote to Shiro as they walked under the waning, orange sky.

How was it this time?

Shiro thought hard. He wanted to give a genuine answer, but he knew his sincerity wouldn't translate much to objectivity, since he knew nothing objectively valuable in the subject in the first place. All he could say was that Krin had fewer interruptions than she did yesterday, though Shiro was uncertain of whether that was the truth, or he simply got used to it all. He could also suggest she practice over the weekends, but that felt like a filler and a no-brainer to him.

In the end, he went with honesty and a dash of good-willed flattery.

"Better than yesterday. Nice to hear. Repeated many times but still good," he said, "Like it played from the television."

He waited to see the lizard's response.

Shiro regretted that final addition, as Krin seemed thrown off by the statement, but she looked gratified nonetheless; at least as much as Shiro could discern on her skull. Fortunately for the wolf, Krin never really displayed anything that strayed beyond contentment and enthusiasm, though he still had a mindful doubt on her to keep him from getting ahead of himself. He found himself looking more towards Krin's body for any indication of emotions. For that, he also retained a conscious, constant aversion from staring between her neck and her waist. He failed sometimes, to both Shiro's fault and Krin's mighty presence, but mostly on the mixed wolf's sinful lapses of impunity.

Thanks, she wrote, much to Shiro's relief, Though I think I had an inconsistent dynamic.

Shiro had absolutely no clue what Krin meant by inconsistent dynamic but he went along with it anyway.

"Y-Your speed is fine," he blurted out.

Shiro glanced towards Krin, finding her snout open and frozen. She seemed thrown off by his words. As she recovered, she went to her board and ready to write something in it when she held herself off. Whatever it was she wanted to tell, she opted not to. Instead, she shook her head and wrote something else.

Do you want me to send you a link?

Link? Shiro thought.

"Link?" Shiro asked.

It's for a video about the piece, Krin wrote, I can send it to you if you want it.

Compunction welled up inside the wolf as he felt his fraudulence surface before the lizard. He conceded and nodded.

"Sure," he muttered.

Krin then wrote.

Can I have your phone number?

It was Shiro's turn to freeze.

Phone number.

Phone.

The wolf had neither. It was redundant since you'd usually need one before the other, but he didn't even have a house number to rely on. He never realized that until now. He has his mother's committed to memory, but he wasn't sure what she would do if she saw a stranger's number on her phone. He could attach a cautionary text and an image of proof, but at that point, he was complicating things.

One thing led to another, followed by many others before he reached a conclusion.

"Give me yours," he said, "I'll send you a message."

Krin agreed without any hesitation. Shiro offered his notebook and Krin jotted her number down at the corner of the last page with a pen. Her handwriting was fluid and smooth. The ink flowed from one end and stopped on the other without interruptions. They gave their farewells at the crossroads and went their separate ways. More specifically, Krin went her way, while Shiro stayed behind. He held the notebook open in his palm, letting the page flutter under the evening breeze.

The notion of receiving a girl's number had finally dawned on him. He had done it before, but those were under different circumstances. This was simply a casual exchange, with both parties willing and eager. It wasn't as astonishing as most made it to be but it was a welcomed experience in Shiro's mental catalogue.

He stared at the page for a moment, his eyes lingering over the number. He chiselled them into his head, right next to his mother's along with others. He figured he should probably add his roommates' into the list too.

But right now, he had different priorities.

"A phone?"

Shiro nodded from the kitchen.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Romps said, dropping his book on his bunk bed as he raised himself from his mattress, "What's the occasion?"

Vox stopped whatever work he was doing on the coffee table and glanced towards the wolf, his big ears tipping inwards with interest.

"A girl," he answered as he scrubbed off a plate in the sink.

Romps' eyebrows jerked up for a moment as Vox's tail shot up.

The sheepdog quickly asked, "A girl? How'd you- Who was it-"

Then he paused for a moment.

"Wait a second," he said, "Let me guess-"

"Yes," Shiro answered.

The sheepdog sunk back to his bed with a sigh, picking his book up again. The fox returned to his business, his tail curling down in disappointment.

"I knew it," the sheepdog said.

Shiro asked from afar, "What kind should I buy?"

"Well, the fruit just released a new model. It's more or less the same but it's gotten more stylish than last time," the sheepdog answered from his bunk, "l don't think there's anything different this time around, except for an extra camera lens. Their Eastern counterpart released a special edition. I think it's for a pink cov-"

Vox interrupted the sheepdog, asking the wolf if he had a particular model in mind.

"Uh," Shiro replied, "W-With buttons?"

Vox asked what he meant by 'buttons'.

"For the numbers," the wolf answered, "Like 'one', 'two', 'three', 'four'…"

The wolf finished with the dishes just as he replied. He turned around, wiping his hand on a cloth when he met with the two. Both sheepdog and fox stopped what they were doing and were staring at Shiro.

"W-What?"

Vox asked if he had a budget

The wolf asked back, "Bud… jet?"

Romps asked, "How much do you have on you?"

Shiro told the sheepdog how much he had on him.

Romps looked towards Vox. The fox reciprocated likewise.

The sheepdog glanced back at Shiro and spoke, "You know how much a phone costs?"

The wolf opened his mouth for a guess, but no voice came out. He closed his snout, opting for a shrug.

Romps told Shiro. For a moment, the wolf's eyes widened so much that they seemed half an inch away from rolling off their sockets.

Romps asked, "You have a bank account?"

"I-I think," Shiro replied.

Vox asked if he's sure.

"Yea," he said, "But I have to-"

The wolf paused halfway in his sentence. He stared into the distance for a while, simmering within the thoughts in his head.

"Oi," Romps called out, "You good over there?"

Shiro remained listless at the moment, quiet and unresponsive.

"Oi," Romps cried out once more, "Earth to Shi-"

"We can leave tomorrow," the wolf suddenly asked, "Right?"

Romps was taken aback by Shiro's sudden question.

"Well, anyone can leave anytime, but I usually do it over the weekends," he said.

Shiro asked, "Can I borrow your phone?"

"For what?" Romps questioned, "If it's about that lizard I'm not saving her number in my-"

"It's for a call," the wolf said.

"Mine's charging," Romps said, "Go ask-"

Vox already had his phone taken out, reached out towards Shiro. It was a sleek, stylish device twice the size of the fox's palm with a silver cover on the back.

Shiro went up towards Vox as the fox handed him the phone. The wolf held it in his hands, checking it left and right as he fiddled with the machine.

He asked, "How'd I-"

Vox leaned in, pointing towards the screen as he taught the wolf how to operate it. Shiro nodded, though his expression didn't say the same. He jabbed his thumb across the device with great caution like he was handling a dangerous machine.

"D-Do I just-"

Vox reached towards the phone and pressed something on the screen.

"Oh."

The phone began ringing.

Shiro asked, "Just put it on my ear?"

Vox nodded.

"My face won't-"

The fox pushed Shiro's hand towards his cheek, shoving the phone right next to his ear. A soft, dialling tone sounding off from the speaker. Shiro waited. The sound repeated itself over and over again, waiting for a response from the other side of the line.

Half a minute later, someone picked up.

Shiro stood up and turned around, "H-Hello?"

A voice replied. It was very fuzzy, too soft for Vox or Romps to discern the words.

Shiro asked, "How'd you-"

The voice answered.

"Oh."

The voice continued.

Shiro explained, "It's a friend's."

The voice said something else.

Shiro replied, "I need to check my bank account."

There was a moment of silence after Shiro said that. The voice returned a second later, saying something else.

"I want to buy a phone," Shiro answered.

The voice spoke again.

"Don't have one," Shiro replied.

The voice spoke of something else.

"I-I don't know," Shiro said, "Asking my friends. Won't be expensive. Something cheap."

The voice said something.

Shiro asked, "Take yours? But-"

The voice cut Shiro's words short.

"O-Okay," the wolf replied.

The voice spoke again.

"They let us out," Shiro said, "Anytime."

The voice said something.

"Tomorrow," Shiro said, "Is it okay?"

The voice replied and asked something in return.

"The train station," Shiro answered, "The one next to-"

The voice said something.

"Yea," Shiro said, "The one at-"

The voice said something.

Shiro asked, "When should we-"

The voice answered.

"Okay," he said, "Bye- W-Wait, wait-"

Shiro winced as he tightened his grip on the phone, anticipating a click. It never came, however. The voice on the other end stayed, waiting for Shiro's words.

"I have something to talk," he said, "Can we meet after-"

The voice said something.

"Okay," Shiro answered, "Thanks. Bye."

A high-pitched beep sounded off. Shiro stared at the phone for a moment. The line on the other end had already hung up. He turned towards his roommates, finding them staring back at him again.

Romps wasted no time, asking, "Who was it?"

"My mother," Shiro answered as he handed Vox's phone back to him, “She’s giving me her phone.”

Romps asked, "Where are you meeting her?"

"Train station," Shiro replied.

"Why don't you just say 'on this planet' and save time?" Romps said.

Shiro had a tilted expression, "What?"

"Where do you live?" Romps asked

Shiro realized, "Oh."

The wolf answered to the sheepdog, giving the name of the country.

"Huh," Romps called out.

"What?"

"Thought you'll live somewhere more western than that," the sheepdog commented.

He sunk back into his bed, thinking aloud as he whispered the country to himself, repeating it under his snout.

"Never been there before," Romps commented, pointing a finger towards Vox, "You?"

Vox shook his head.

The sheepdog and the fox stared at each other for a moment.

"You want to?" Romps asked.

Vox shrugged his shoulder, stating he's free for the weekend anyway.

Shiro asked Romps, "How do you… er… leave here?"

"Say," Romps gave Shiro another question in turn, "Mind if we join you?"

Shiro gave the sheepdog a blank stare for a moment.

"Y-Yea," he replied, "But why?"

"Well, for one, I haven't been there before. I've heard about the place. Never had the reason to go there, until now, that is,” Romps said, “And you gave us a great reason to stay away from here, with that thing you have going on with the dog-”

Shiro kept quiet when Romps mentioned the latter situation.

“Plus," Romps added, "Who wouldn't want to meet Rormund’s first transfer's mythical mother?"

Shiro glanced towards Vox. The fox seemed to hold the same sentiment, looking up towards the wolf with great curiosity.

“Sure,” Shiro said, "Just…"

Romps asked, "Just what?"

"When you see her," Shiro said, "Don't be surprised."

Vox asked why.

Shiro didn't answer the fox.

Romps asked about something else instead, "So when are you taking off?"

Shiro turned towards the sheepdog and, with clear pronunciations, uttered the words.

"I’m going early.”

"Okay," Romps answered.

For a moment, Shiro didn't respond. He simply stared at Romps, scepticism in his eyes. Vox too joined in the fray. He turned towards the sheepdog, keeping a squint on him.

Romps looked at the two back and forth, befuddled by the looks he received before coming to an offensive realization.

“What, don’t think I can wake myself up in the morning?” Romps asked.

Vox raised an eyebrow.

"Hey," Romps spotted the fox's expression, "I was up earlier than you last week. Don't go cheeky on me."

Vox reminded the sheepdog that if it wasn't for Shiro's antics, he wouldn't have been up until noon, where his alarm was set in the first place. The wolf in question looked away in embarrassment at that statement.

"You just watch," Romps said, "I'll be flossed and showered before the sun's even up."

Vox pointed towards Romps’ shoes, where his left boot was untied.

The sheepdog glanced towards Vox with floppy ears. He responded with a drunken slack in his voice.

"...huh,” he muttered, “W-What? Oh.”

Romps leaned down to his shoes with a yawn. He reached towards the wrong side, undoing the shoe with a done knot as he remained completely oblivious. He laid back on his seat, his nose facing upwards, his snout opened ajar in a daze. He seemed content with having his laces strewn across his shoes, the strings crossing one another in a hazardous fashion.

Vox turned to the side, seeing Shiro seated just beside him. He didn’t have any problems with his shoes, mainly because he wore none. He seemed much more aware than Romps, but on the other end of the spectrum. His expression, as always, was akin to reading a brick wall. His posture spoke of another story. His fingers jolted with an anxious twitch every once in a while as his limbs laid on his side, stiff as logs. His curved tail was stuck motionless behind him, stationery in perturbation.

Vox looked to the front. An analogue clock sat on the wall across. It was a quarter to seven.

The three sat in a foyer, waiting for their transport. The room had a high ceiling, reaching almost two stories, enough to accommodate the largest of animals and then some. White marble decorated the floors, stretching from one far end of a white wall to another. Sofas were placed in the middle of the room for those in wait. The foyer had doors facing each other on opposite walls. One was a collection of revolving doors that led to a road leading towards the Girls’ Dormitory where the foyer sat behind. The other was a set of automatic sliding doors. The glass was heavily tinted, obscuring whatever sight that lies behind it.

The room was very spacious, but to the lone trio waiting for their transport, it felt deserted. No one else was in the foyer, save for the low hum of the air conditioning sitting above their heads. It was their only source of noise aside from their crippling silence.

Vox made conversation with Shiro. He figured it was something to do in the meantime. He called out his name.

The wolf looked back with an inquisitive, “Hm?”

The fox asked about his mother.

Shiro asked back, “What about her?”

Vox asked the wolf how his mother looked.

Shiro thought for a while before speaking.

“We have the same eyes,” he answered.

Vox asked if there’s anything else.

Shiro thought for a little while longer before speaking again.

“Skinny,” he said, “Like me.”

Vox gave up and asked how she was to him.

Shiro answered without hesitation, “A mother.”

Vox inquired about what kind of a mother she is.

From Shiro’s expressions, the wolf had a definitive answer to his question. It was just that he had trouble conversing them into cohesive sentences.

Vox waited for half a minute before Shiro replied.

“She doesn’t know,” he said, “But she doesn’t push.”

Vox was intrigued by his statement, and probed further into the matter.

Shiro took another half a minute to think of the words.

“She doesn’t make things big,” he said, “She’ll ask if I want to talk. Listens if I do. Asks questions. Is okay if I don’t answer. Sometimes talk to her myself. Won’t force me to say anything.

“She doesn’t understand what I say. She asks her questions. Won’t force me to explain if she’s wrong. Leaves me alone but not like she doesn’t care. More like she doesn't know how.

Is it making sense?”

Vox gave his honest opinion and shook his head.

Shiro thought for a little while.

“She’s enough for me,” he said.

Vox’s confusion persisted, but he figured that it was, as Shiro said, enough of a conclusion for him.

A few minutes passed when the automatic sliding doors opened. It caught the attention of both Vox and Shiro. Romps was still in a daze on his seat, riding the perilous ridge between consciousness and falling out cold. His head flopped around on the sofa’s headrest like a suffocating fish out of water.

A mule deer stepped out of the door. Her hide was a smooth, light shade of brown. Her ears, as the name of her species suggested, were that of a mule's; large, oval and irregular. She sported a straight expression on her face that seemed both friendly and serious. She wore a silk red vest with a white pressed long-sleeved uniform underneath, paired with a black bowtie sitting in her collar. She was also dressed in black, fitted suit pants and leather shoes with golden linings within the stitches.

She glanced towards the trio on the sofas and asked in a soft tone, "Shiro and co.?"

Shiro quickly nodded.

The mule deer turned to her side and gestured towards the sliding door.

"Your transport is prepared and ready, Sir."

Shiro got up, taking his luggage with him, which was his usual flapover briefcase, only that he took everything out and replaced them with some toiletries, his wallet, and his passport. Everything else he needed was available at his mother's.

Vox followed suit, sliding off his seat as he carried with him a giant backpack. It was strapped not only to his shoulders but his chest and stomach too. The whole bag covered all of his head except for the ears, which peeped out from the sides if seen from behind.

Vox called out towards Romps, who was barely holding onto his bearings on the couch. When it was clear the sheepdog couldn't listen, the fox went up towards him and swung his back to a full swing, slamming his backpack onto his shins. Romps immediately shot awake, letting out an ungainly yelp as he jumped out of his seat.

He rolled up onto his knees, rubbing it as he cries towards Vox with great belligerence, "What in the bloody-"

Vox replied by nudging his head towards the mule deer waiting by the sliding doors.

"Oh," Romps replied, promptly standing up, picking up his luggage from the floor as he rushed to meet their escort.

The trio followed the mule deer through the sliding door. She led them onto a platform that sat on the side of a large, dark tunnel. As far as the canines could see, the walls made were smooth concrete, built in a semi-circular fashion. Industrial lights hung atop the ceiling, illuminating the platform they stood on. The platform was the only place that was lit up. The rest of the tunnel was pitch black on both ends, if there were any ends to this tunnel. A thick scent of motor oil hung around the space. The low, distant drone of a ventilation system did its best to clear the air, it's just that the best wasn't enough.

Sitting right in front of the platform was a limo. The car was large and muscular, with fat, curved edges accommodating the mean machinery sitting underneath its dark, glossy body. A muted growl leaked from the hood, raring to turn into a ferocious roar at any moment.

A brown hare stood before the limo. His ears rivalled Vox's. The fox dominated in terms of width where the hare exceeded in height. The hare stood next to the driver's door. His head barely reached halfway above the tinted window. His ears, however, reached taller than the car itself. He was dressed in a dark uniform, thick, cuffed and pressed. A brass name tag sat on his left chest. He had a dark cap on that, like the mule deer's shoes, had golden linings across the rim.

The mule deer directed them towards the trunk of the limo, where ample space was provided for their luggage. As they managed their luggage, Romps spoke to Shiro.

"Don't seem like the type of guy to drive us," he said.

Shiro glanced towards the sheepdog, "Hm?"

"That rabbit. Look at him," Romps said, "Doesn't seem like the type of guy to drive a full-sized limo, does he?"

"He can drive," Shiro simply replied

Romps asked, "How'd you know that?"

"He drove me here," Shiro answered.

Romps, surprised by his answer, took a furtive glance towards the brown hare. For a split second, their eyes met.

The jackrabbit said nothing and gave a polite nod towards the sheepdog. He stood relaxed, waiting patiently for the three. His gaze was composed, with his eyes hidden halfway down under his cap, seeming cool as opposed to being tired. It was then when Romps saw the hare's left eye. More specifically, his absence of one. When his eyelids opened, there was no pupil. Romps could only spot the pale red that would've been hidden by an eyeball. They inflated against the space as if the hare's flesh were eager to race out and fill in the blanks.

Romps turned back towards Shiro, "Can we find another guy?"

"He can drive," Shiro stated, "Seen him do it before."

"I don't trust him to count the fingers on my hand," Romps commanded.

The sheepdog looked back at the brown hare. His eyes, or eye, was checking someplace else, examining the tyres and the rumbling hood.

"You watch him drive yourself," Romps said, "I'll sit on the back and say my prayers."

Vox and Romps took their time arranging their bags in the trunk. Shiro simply laid his briefcase between theirs. The mule deer led them into the limo. Vox stepped in first, taking the seat on the far side. Romps sat on the corner, furthest from the driver's side, which was a good distance away. Shiro didn't step in.

Romps asked, "What are you waiting for?"

Shiro stammered, "I, uh…"

Vox asked what's wrong.

"Don't feel comfortable on the back," he said as he turned towards the mule deer, "I'll sit on the front."

"Suit yourself," Romps shrugged, "More space for my legs."

The mule deer closed the backdoor as the sheepdog flipped his legs over and slept across the seat. She directed Shiro towards the front end of the limo. She opened the door, and a familiar scene greeted him.

It was like the first time the wolf stepped into the limo.

The brown hare operated on the driver's side. His seat was boosted where his eyes met the windshield. Shiro spotted raised pedals poking up from beneath, long enough for the hare's legs to reach. The handbrake stuck out on the side like a black, glossy cane. The brown hare gave a slight nod towards Shiro. The wolf's ears brushed the ceiling as he shuffled in. When he sat, his knees sat up to his waist.

"M-Morning, Sir," he greeted.

The brown hare smiled. He spoke in a young and confident voice, yet just soft enough that it didn't wander into arrogant territories.

"Likewise, Sir," he said.

The mule deer closed the door and returned to the platform. The brown hare reached towards a console sitting on the car's dashboard and pressed some symbols Shiro couldn't understand. Shiro felt the soft rumble of the engine coming to life. The headlights lit up, digging deep into the darkness before them. It didn't pierce far enough to see to the end, though Shiro knew that place was far to come.

The brown hare leaned back on his seat and stepped on the accelerator. The limo kicked into gear and ran into the tunnel.

The hare drove like it was a cruise around the park at an easy weekend, though the sight outside the windshield told a different story. The road seemed to grow more narrow the further they went into the tunnel, closing into a near claustrophobic experience if it wasn’t for the speed. The limo barrelled down the tunnel at highway speed, as Shiro deduced from the passing grooves of the road. The darkness persisted, unwilling to give even a slight glimpse into the secrets they held, leaving the brunt of the responsibility to the limo's headlights, though it only showed a fraction of what’s before them. If there was a turn, they were well on their way to trade paint with it before they could even notice.

Another story happened, though. The hare seemed to see through the dark. Whenever Shiro could catch a glimpse of the tunnel's concrete walls closing in from a turn, the limo would've already been steered far away from it, maintaining its speed and trajectory.

This, Shiro had seen before. He experienced this first hand on his first trip. He sat on the same seat as he did at the moment, watching the turns loom over in split seconds, only for the brown hare to make that decisive turn with much ease. He soon grew numb to the worry and trusted in the jackrabbit's skills.

Now, Shiro's focus was less on the drive and more on the driver himself.

From what little Shiro could see, the brown hare had coarse fur, wrapping around his stubby fingers. His snout was short, with a great deal of his hide hiding the top of his nose. He had a small mouth, arching inwards with thin lips to boot.

Shiro glanced towards the brown hare's one good eye. Though it seemed relaxed, the wolf could still tell its size. It was huge. If his eye was opened in full it would look to be in a constant state of panic.

The wolf did his best not to look at the other side.

Then, as if blessed with clairvoyance, the brown hare spoke just as the thought passed Shiro's head.

He asked, "Interested in my eye?"

Shiro was taken aback. He glanced towards the jackrabbit. His gaze remained on the tunnel, not once had it swivel away from the road.

"Your friend," he said, "He looked at me a lot."

Shiro drew a silent sigh of relief. He replied, mildly delighted that the silence could be broken.

“Y-Yea, Sir,” he said.

“Please,” the brown hare pointed to the name tag on his chest, “Call me Cooper. You knew that already.”

Shiro replied, “S-Sorry, Si- Mr Cooper.”

Cooper glanced towards Shiro from his good eye.

“That’s fine too,” he said.

The hare kept on with the drive for a moment, ever so gently steering the limo as it hurtled down the darkness without so much of a care.

“So,” Cooper spoke, “Your friend wants to know about my eye?”

Shiro nodded. He wasn’t sure if the hare saw him do it, so he spoke out.

“I think,” the wolf answered.

Cooper asked Shiro instead, “Do you want to know?”

The wolf inquired, “C-Car accident?”

The hare’s snout shot towards Shiro’s direction, his eyelids shooting upwards. Shiro could see the pulsing flesh behind the empty socket that would’ve been Cooper’s left eye. Just as the hare turned to the wolf, a corner came tearing out from the darkness, pouncing onto the windshield with great vengeance. Without looking, Cooper flicked the wheel by a notch and steered clear away from it as if it was nothing.

He stared at Shiro with both his good and absent eye, drawing a stunned expression. He slowly turned back towards the windshield, his eyelids drawing back down on his eye.

Cooper asked, “The President told you?”

Shiro nodded. Before he could speak out, the hare continued.

“He’s the only one that knows that story,” he said, “Didn’t know he’ll spill the beans, much less on you.”

Shiro muttered, “S-Sorry.”

“No, no,” Cooper said, “Nothing like that. I don’t mind people hearing that story. I just never had the reason to tell anyone else.”

He drove in silence for a few seconds.

“So,” Cooper spoke, “You know my full saga?”

“No,” Shiro answered.

“No?” Cooper asked in surprise.

“Justice didn’t finish the story,” the wolf replied, “Told me you were-”

Cooper cut the wolf off, “Justice? What justice?”

“I-It’s Mr President,” Shiro replied, “His name. Not real. He made it up. Wants other people to use it.”

“Seems like him to do that,” Cooper replied, “He’ll probably send a decree to the staff soon enough. So, what did ‘Justice’ say?”

“Said you got chased,” Shiro answered, “Crossed a dealer. Drove away. After that, you lost- uh...”

Shiro decided not to finish that sentence.

“That’s all,” he said.

“That’s all?” Cooper asked.

“Y-Yea,” Shiro replied.

“That’s all he told you,” Cooper asked, “That I drove away from a lion and lost my left eye, just like that?”

“Is what Mr President said,” Shiro answered.

Then, at that moment, Cooper leaked out a tiny snigger from the corner of his lips. It was swiftly followed by a collection of giggles, snorted out from his twitching nose. His snout almost broke down into pure laughter when he regained his composure, taking in deep breaths as he calmed himself down. Shiro had never seen a hare laugh before. As peculiar as it was, this was the wolf’s first encounter with a bemused jackrabbit. He watched with great interest.

“Oh, that cheeky bastard,” he said, “I knew humans are capable of evil but damn.”

He drove for a while, steering through another set of corners in silence.

“You want to hear the rest of it?” Cooper offered Shiro.

The wolf turned towards the hare. He stared at the space that was his left eye socket. The hare seemed to have grown accustomed to the loss, letting the flesh beneath his eyelids fester at its own will. It could’ve been the illusion under the dim lighting from the limo’s dashboard, but for a moment, Shiro saw it breathe. It rose and fell in soft tension within its eviscerated space, its tissue pulsing against a thin layer of skin. It wasn’t erratic nor was it completely dead; it was simply being as it was, in peace with its current state.

“Y-Yea,” Shiro replied.

“I turned back,” Cooper said.

Shiro listened attentively, waiting for more from the brown hare, but that was where his words stopped. He no more, keeping his eye on the tunnel.

Shiro wanted to know more, but he wasn’t sure if inquiring was appropriate. It was Cooper’s lost eye, after all. His curiosity wrestled with his civility, culminating in a stormy battle in his head where his desire to know challenged ground with his qualms against aggravation. The battle was loud, so much so that Cooper caught wind of it.

He asked, “Wasn’t enough for you?”

Shiro turned towards the brown hare. He hesitated to answer with honesty, though he suspected that Cooper already knew the answer, seeing a slight smirk under his snout.

“There’s really not much to say,” the hare said, “I turned back thinking I could make another deal with the lion. It was a horrible idea. If it weren’t for the President I would’ve been fertilizer by now. My eye was a warehouse sale compared to what I would’ve become.

“I could’ve run then but I didn’t. Then I run when it’s too late. Like the idiot I am, I forgot I was a bunny in a lion’s den and went back thinking I could fix things.”

Cooper drew a sigh.

“Hindsight’s like an ex-girlfriend,” he said, “She gets on your nerves but you can’t say anything back; it’s your fault in the first place.”

Another turn flashed itself for a bare second before disappearing away into the darkness. It was as if the limo steered itself away from it, and Cooper was simply managing the machine’s leash.

“Should’ve figured it out when they called me ‘Wild Coney’,” he said.

Another corner came sprinting down towards the windshield. He flicked the limo’s steering and turned the machine with no effort, leaving it whizzing far into the rearview mirror.

"Sorry about that," the hare said, "I don't get to talk much at work. Got a tad bit carried away there.”

“It’s okay,” Shiro said.

“Say,” Cooper suggested, “What about an exchange? Can I ask you something? If you don’t mind.”

Shiro thought it was only fair that he gave something too.

“Sure,” he said.

"Why won't you sit on the backseat?" Cooper asked.

Shiro stayed silent.

"You don't look comfortable from here, it's too small for you," the hare said, "Your knees will go sore sitting like that. Your ears too."

Shiro stared at the windshield for a while.

"Bad history," Shiro said.

The wolf watched the tunnel run past in a constant, glowing streak of grey. There wasn't much to see beyond that. There was only the mild rumbling of the speeding engine, the cold whiffs of his breath and darkness.

"Lie down if you want. There's space," Cooper added, "It's going to be a long trip."

"I'm fine," Shiro said.

He kept his eyes on the darkness, letting it wash his vision clean of colours. The sight before him eroded his sense of space, deforming into a dark, static image, interjected with occasional, dim flashes of grey whipping from the corner of the picture. Even that started to blend away into the formless blackness.

Shiro could've fallen asleep anytime and he wouldn't have known.

The wolf stared out of the windows. It was pure white. He could see details forming within, he just didn't care to make it out. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It's just that he couldn't. The world seemed to have lost its colour, reduced to varying shades of black and grey.

Or was it that he couldn't see colours anymore?

He didn’t care enough to know.

The sight was accompanied by a ringing silence singing into his ears, drowning him in a hypnotising soundscape, so much so that it almost sent him to sleep if it weren’t for the musty smell fogging up his snout. Fumes of dust and cheap, baked leather muddled his nose, stinging the unpleasant parts of his head.

He pushed himself from the empty landscape and leaned back on the car seat, turning his gaze straight ahead. He stared at the black, iron bars caging the back seat from the front end. Beyond the cage sat a walrus on the driver’s side, beer-bellied with a brown hide; his whiskers drooped from his snout, brushing across his dull tusks. He sat uncomfortably behind the wheel, his flippers barely wrapping around the steering as he drove. His seatbelt wrapped across his chest. It seemed constrictive to his breathing, though it was hard to tell.

The wolf sat diagonally across the walrus, watching his face from the rear-view mirror.

"That lizard," the walrus said.

The wolf remained silent.

"That bear," the walrus said.

The wolf kept quiet.

"They were all you, right?"

The wolf didn't answer.

The walrus asked, “Was that some way of compensation?”

The car made a sudden lurch forward. The walrus wrestled with the stick shift as he turned right, yanking it back as it accelerated again. He moved his flipper back onto the steering wheel, sending the car back on its track.

"Too late, then," the walrus said.

The wolf didn’t respond.

“I would shoot you right now,” the walrus growled.

The wolf didn’t reply.

“But I wouldn’t desecrate a dead man’s wish,” the walrus said.

He slammed onto the stick shift. The car violently swayed to the back as a growl burst out from outside the car, blowing out the silence like wind to a fog.

“He just had to be right, every time,” the walrus muttered.

He threw his flipper onto the stick shift and pushed it forward, sending the growl to a roar, shaking the car to its seats.

“You couldn’t prove him wrong,” the walrus muttered.

The car kept speeding up, with no sign of stopping whatsoever. If there was a wall between the vehicle and its path, there wouldn’t be a wall nor a car left.

“You couldn’t prove him wrong,” the walrus repeated.

The wolf spoke of nothing at all. He remained hunched over his seat, his body devoid of any energy to move, much less come up with a response. It ached all over, his receptors blaring alarms from his deepest muscle to his thinnest layer of skin. Though it wasn’t pain that caused his suffering.

It was regret. A dark, seething regret, foaming in his heart, taking away his automation, stripping his will as it took its place, claiming residency without as much as a hint of subtlety. He only moved because regret told him to. It made him breathe, so he could live to regret more. It made him eat, so he could live to keep regretting. Whatever it was that wasn’t required in the act of regretting, it saw no need for them, and tore away the wolf’s ability to conduct them.

He need not speak. He need not see. He need not feel. He only needs to sit in that dark corner and brood until regret fills every joint, nerve, tissue and pore it could occupy. After that, he need not live. By then, there was no ‘him’ left to speak of. Only regret taking physical form, searching for an even darker place to reside.

The wolf held his breath for a few seconds.

For a moment, he saw that darker place flicker in his head.

Then he remembered.

He remembered the lizard.

He remembered the bear.

He remembered why he did what he’d done.

Before he could notice, the regret retreated. The wolf was unaware where. He only knew that its grip had slipped past him and squatted down someplace else, blending into the shadows, waiting for its chance to pounce when the moment is ripe.

The wolf sat back up.

He wasn’t giving it a single spark of a chance.

“Stop the car,” the wolf suddenly said.

The walrus glanced towards the rearview mirror, staring right at the wolf.

“What?”

“Stop the car,” the wolf repeated.

He could tell the walrus was confused. He couldn’t decipher the wolf’s intentions at all, with nothing but scepticism and befuddlement in his pupils as he tried to find an explanation to his words. He couldn’t come up with any. He could only make furtive glances between the windshield and the wolf as he desperately tried to figure out what the canine meant.

In the end, the walrus came to a simple compromise. Whatever the wolf needed, he wouldn’t lift a finger for him.

“Go screw yourself,” the walrus scoffed.

He heeded no notice of the wolf after that. His focus was then fully committed towards the windshield, giving no space for any distractions.

The wolf looked towards the door on the side. It was a flat surface, without a handle to open it from the inside or even a latch to grab onto, save the grab handle sitting atop. He looked around some more, looking for anything worthwhile to think about.

There was nothing to look at, save for the sight outside the window.

The sight outside the window.

The wolf stared at the sight outside the window for a moment. White, blurry, and featureless.

The wolf took a deep breath, sat up, and smashed the window with his elbow.

A glass flower bloomed across the surface of the glass, with a dull crack snapping across the interior of the car. The walrus cranked his head to the back, eyes widened with his jaw hanging ajar.

The wolf threw his elbow back and slammed it onto the window again.

The flower was ripe and almost three-dimensional, attaining a near-physical presence, blossoming outwards as small shards of petals fell onto the seat.

The walrus cried, “What the fu-”

The rest of his words were drowned out as the wolf shot his elbow onto the window once more.

The walrus slammed both his heels on the brakes, sending the car on a full pitch frontwards. The seatbelt barely managed to hold the walrus as it was strained to its maximum. The wolf was flung face-first towards the front, slamming his snout straight towards the iron bars.

Though that was before he broke a massive hole across the window. The cold, chilling air outside blasted through the empty space, blowing the dust and dirt clean from the interior. Thick glistening shards sparkled as the sun laid its rays upon them. They shone like sparkling dust as it sprayed outwards, decorating the dull sight outside like frosting on pastry.

The brakes screeched as the back wheels lifted for a split second, sending the car staggering on its two front wheels.

A breathless second passed before the car decided to return to the ground, landing with a torturous cry from the suspension.

The walrus fat neck snapped back in place as the car returned to the road. He remained on his seat for a moment, stunned by the sudden turn of events. He turned his head towards the back seat, only to find the wolf’s body already two thirds out of the window. The remaining shards of glass tore through his tracksuit, ripping and shredding through the fabric as he squirmed his way through the open hole. He pushed himself out, kicking his bare feet against the seat.

The walrus yelled, frantically undoing his seatbelt as he reached for the door handle.

“Hey!”

The wolf was out of the car, landing his feet on the cold asphalt. His eyes were yet to adjust to the sight outside. He felt something else under his toes. He brought up his foot and felt around it. Glass, stabbing through his soles, and now rolling across his palm, having picked up some during his antic in the car. The discovery prompted sudden spasms to erupt across his body. He could feel things stabbing his skin, under his clothes. His elbow started to swell, forming a boiling lump big enough to bend his joints.

He ignored the sensation and let the cold wind run through his head. It stung the many cuts and bruises across his body, but he ignored those too. He smelled the wind, only to find himself sniffing in blood. He brushed his hand across his snout and dabbed his wet fingers on his tongue.

It had a bitter taste, with a pang of metal and iron with it.

A taste he was all too familiar with.

A voice rang out, “What the hell did you think you were doing?!”

The wolf turned towards the source of the voice. The walrus was now out of the car, holding a matte black gun in his flippers. The machine had a boxy exterior, complete with sharp edges and a square chute sticking out of the base. The wolf could spot a barrel sitting within the chute, pointed directly towards him.

The walrus aimed down the sights, the wrinkles on his forehead folding down his eyes as he raised the barrel closer towards the wolf’s head.

The wolf looked away, ignoring the walrus as he walked towards the front end of the car. He dragged his feet through more piles of glass, picking up some rocks from the road while he was at it. The walrus kept the barrel aimed squarely on his head the whole time.

The wolf reached towards the passenger seat and tried the door handle.

It didn’t budge.

The wolf raised a fist.

“WAIT, WAIT, WAIT,” the walrus screamed.

The wolf looked up, watching the walrus reach towards his open door as he kept the gun up, pointed towards him. From his ringing ears, the wolf could catch a dull click, ticking from within the car. He tried the door handle again. It worked this time.

He opened the door and sat himself down on the passenger seat. It was significantly better than the place he’d just been, save for the collection of sharp debris that somehow made their way into his pants, stabbing him on the bottom. He shut off the part of his brain responsible for the sensation and nestled himself onto the seat. Aside from that minor inconvenience, the rest was an improvement. The seat curved inwards, accommodating the wolf’s posture. The headrest was just right that he could lean his head against it and not send his snout to a right angle against his neck.

More importantly, he could see the view now.

He found himself staring at the city streets. Dull buildings littered the sides as signboards advertised all sorts of goods and services upon their faces. The walkways on the sides were jammed with pedestrians. They should’ve been walking, but instead, were staring at the wolf from outside the car, holding a combination of shock, terror and amazement in their expressions as they gawked. One owlet, in particular, pointed an eager feather towards him in fascination while his mother shielded him under her wing and walked in the opposite direction. Her head was still turned around her neck, watching the wolf with horror in her eyes as she left the scene.

The walrus stepped back into the car, his face just as petrified as the others on the walkway. He kept his sights on the wolf, unsure of what face to put on as he pulled the seatbelt over his beer belly. He laid his flippers on the steering wheel, his gaze staring down the city road.

Instead of continuing the drive, the walrus burst out in howling laughter.

It wasn’t the kind of laughter triggered by bemusement, but one tripped by utter astonishment. It wasn’t as hilarious as it was demented. The walrus screamed at the top of his lungs as he lashed out fits after fits of convulsing barks. The pedestrians were now unsure who to look at; the wolf or the bellowing walrus having an episode on the driver’s seat.

His laughter soon died down, diminishing into simple, deep breaths. He turned towards the wolf, gazing down at him as he stared back.

The walrus suddenly reached towards his pocket and pulled out the black gun once more, raising it to his neck, ready with the express intent to strike the wolf with the butt of his machine.

The wolf simply stared back, his face expressionless.

The walrus’ eyes held conviction, but his body didn’t oblige. He simply kept the gun up, shaking within his flippers.

Suddenly, a horn came blaring from behind the car. The walrus cranked his neck towards the back. He opened the window and poked his head out, waving the gun wildly as he threw a deluge of profanities towards the back, only to be met with more horns, growing louder and more diverse. The wolf simply turned his head to the front, staring at the road before him.

The walrus turned back, slamming his foot on the accelerator before he even got his head in. He heaved a sigh as he pocketed the gun and put his flippers back on the steering wheel.

He spoke of nothing else after that, gunning the car down the road in silence. The wolf noticed occasions where the walrus made several surreptitious peeps at him. When he did, the wolf sensed no contempt in his gaze. The walrus seemed to have lost the vitality to exude hostility. He could only give glances of disgust, fueled by the need to make sense of events that transpired earlier.

The car broke through the concrete jungle and towards the outskirts of town, barreling down a highway among other vehicles. The air from the fresh, open window on the back seat began tugging the wolf and the walrus by their fur and whiskers respectively as the car picked up speed. It was then when the walrus spoke again.

"She was perfect for him," he said, "Now she's stuck and wasted with an ingrate child like you."

The wolf heard him, but he didn't listen. He was too preoccupied with the passing sight on the windshield to digest anything worthwhile in his head.

The sky was white, windy, and snowing slightly. It wasn’t much different from what he saw from before, but at least, this time, he could see more than white, grey and black. The clouds blanketed the sky, shrouding the sun as they reduced its presence to a simple omniscient source of light. Acres of flat fields sat on the side of the highway, decorated with dead factories and warehouses lying in waste as a fitting background. It was a barren landscape, but the wolf didn't care. There was something to see.

He looked towards the window. A transition was happening before his eyes. The view was dying into the blurry white he saw before as the car sped past it, disappearing the further it went. He glanced towards the rearview mirror. There, the details were completely gone, reduced to the bright, blank canvas he bore witness to just moments before.

He looked behind, past the iron bars. A shallow indent was left on the back seat like a shadow imprinted onto the leather. Smalls shards of thick glass laid across where he once sat, rumbling around like little rocks as the wind blew and the car rushed forth.

After some time, they reached an intersection, where the walrus wrestled with the steering and turned a quick left up a ramp.

A signboard sat above the entrance of a ramp. It held a symbol of a white plane pointing upwards. Beyond it was the faint contours of what seemed to be a curved roof of a flat, round structure, growing larger as the car approached it.

The walrus drove towards the structure and passed several entrances. He slowed the car down as traffic grew frequent while the road was narrowed to just a quarter dozen lanes. It was bustling with people, all dressed in heavy jackets and overcoats, carrying large bags and luggage, rushing both in and out the revolving doors.

The walrus then stopped the car when they reached a particularly large entrance. A giant sign sat above the doors, depicting the same white plane from the signboard pointing upwards as it hovered above a horizontal line.

The walrus pulled the handbrake and turned towards the wolf.

He spoke without looking at the wolf, "Close the trunk when you're done,"

The wolf didn't reply. He simply pulled the handle and opened the car door. He shook his feet as he stepped out of the car, letting the glass shards sprinkle on the ground as he stepped out. He could see droplets of blood pooling beneath his feet. He figured he could find a restroom and deal with this later on. He closed the door and walked towards the back of the car where the trunk was already hung open. A giant, orange plastic bag sat inside, filled with the wolf's spare clothes and assorted accessories. Beside the plastic bag was a flapover briefcase, containing his departing essentials. Sitting above the briefcase was a pair of cheap sandals he brought in an open-air market. They weren't meant to last long. At least until he had reached his destination.

He grabbed his things and shut the trunk. He slid his feet into the sandals. The hard leather pushed the shards deeper into his soles. That, he ignored too. He walked onwards, briefcase under one shoulder and his other holding the plastic bag.

"Hey," the walrus called out.

The wolf turned back. The walrus had rolled down his window, leaning his head out of the door.

"Do us both a favour," he said, "And never come back.

The wolf glanced at the broken window at the back seat.

"I won't," he replied.

Time seemed to slow down some during their trip to Shiro's home. The hours they've spent in the limo had amounted to the sun barely rising above the horizon where they last saw it. It was unexplainable, as this sort of phenomenon would only occur when travelling on a plane. It further mystified the tunnel they've travelled through, shrouding its nature in a smokescreen of fallacies and deceits. It was pointless to think about it, in the end, and the curiosity moved on.

Cooper dropped the three at the place where Shiro was first picked up. It was just as how the wolf left it; the same clean, vacant alley with the same metal gate guarding the entrance. They took off to the train station, but not before the brown hare assuring them that he'll be on standby anytime they want to leave.

Shiro led both Romps and Vox through the city. They barely missed the morning rush, and what's left were traces of the early hustle and bustle. The smell of burnt gas and the muddled scents cum body odour of the passing foot traffic lingered in the air as they walked through city blocks. The sheepdog and the fox were fascinated, seeing a new place for the first time. The wolf was simply rethreading conformable, familiar ground.

They reached the train station. It was nearly empty, save for a few opportunists taking advantage of the calm after the storm, or people simply wandering across town, looking for a train to ride. The station itself led to a platform underground where people embark and get off. Rumblings of arrivals and departures could be picked up from above. It was so strong that it could sometimes be felt on the ground. The three made camp next to a collection of automated ticketing booths, scanning the sparse crowd for any familiar faces or, for Romps and Vox, making wild guesses as to who could be Shiro's fabled mother.

The morning began to transition into the afternoon, as the traffic began to swell, only in reverse. People started flowing out of the train station, making their way towards their usual cafés and restaurants. At that point, the sheepdog and the fox were tired of taking potshots and simply glanced around, waiting for the reveal to come to them instead. Shiro, on the other hand, kept with his search.

It was then when a police officer came around; a green pheasant, red-cheeked and blue-necked, approaching the three with great caution. It was apparent that the sight of three adolescents eyeing passing crowds for a prolonged period has prompted some suspicion from local authorities. Perhaps complaints from some disturbed individuals.

The pheasant, wearing a navy blue cap and a utility vest over a white pressed uniform, speaking to a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder as he walked up to the three. He spoke to the trio, spouting questions in great successions in a foreign language, at least to them.

“Uh,” Romps tried to explain, “We’re not- We no- We’re just…”

It was useless, the pheasant seemed just as confused to the sheepdog as the sheepdog was to him. It prompted even more questions from the bird, all spoken in a local tongue alien to their understanding.

In a desperate attempt to bridge a verbal connection, Shiro started speaking to the pheasant in the bird’s language. It was utterly broken, with the only similarity being the syllables whilst butchering the pronunciations and tonalities. It surprised the bird and the sheepdog and the fox in various ways.

Vox asked if Shiro could understand the officer.

“Only a little,” he said, “Wants to know what we’re doing here. Where our parents are. Told him we’re waiting for someone.”

The green pheasant spoke of something else.

Vox asked Shiro what the bird said this time.

“Wants to see proof,” Shiro explained.

Romps pulled out his passport, showing it to the pheasant.

“We no local. We outside people,” Romps said, “We no understand you.”

The green pheasant seemed to take offence, his yellow eyes crossing as he began shouting in an extremely thick accent, reaching for the walkie-talkie again.

Romps turned towards Shiro, “What did I do?”

“He can understand you. Just doesn’t speak the language,” Shiro said, “Thinks you’re laughing at him.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” Romps asked in a panic.

Vox told Shiro to just tell the bird that someone would be here to pick them up.

“I’m trying,” Shiro said.

The wolf turned towards the pheasant trying to explain things. His sentences degraded further as his tongue hitched like a stuttering machine. It was nearing the point where even the pheasant couldn’t decipher his words. This was as far as Shiro could hold the fort. The pheasant was soon eyeing him like he did with the others, and was about to pull something from his vest when something else caught his attention, right when the wolf was at his wits’ end.

It was another wolf, one with plain, light brown fur and a sharp, flat, long snout running from her forehead to her nose. Her eyes were small and piercing, yet held a friendly aura as she seemingly emerged from the passing crowd uninvited, giving a nod towards the green pheasant, catching his attention, though the bird wasn’t the only pair of eyes the brown wolf caught; for a split second, Romps and Vox were star-struck and dazed by her presence.

She spoke to the officer in a fluid voice, soft and comforting. Despite having no prior connections to the canine, the bird replied to her in a calm manner, though he still reserved some caution.

The green pheasant then turned towards Shiro, asking him something. The wolf responded in his poor tongue, but just enough for the green pheasant to drop a solemn bow to the trio and take his leave.

The three were left with the brown wolf, face to face with each other.

The brown wolf, through closer inspection, was a proper woman. She had a shapely body, almost voluptuous in generous standards. She held a dashing yet alluring smile on her snout, with a small nose and perky ears similar to Shiro’s. Her fur was short but smooth, all trimmed to the same length, accentuating her figure where her skin showed. She wore a formal, one-piece dress that cropped down to her lower thighs. She also carried a small shoulder bag, with golden chains hanging off her elbow as she raised her arm.

Both Romps and Vox tried to express their gratitude towards the brown wolf but struggled to find the right words without coming off as a complete fool.

Vox managed to outthink Romps and figure out that a simple "thank you" was universal enough to be understood anywhere where civilization persists. Romps managed to reach the same conclusion a split second after the fox.

Then, before any of them could compete in a test of reflexes, the brown wolf blew the competition out of the water by sinking Shiro into her full embrace.

The sheepdog and the fox could only stare in incredulous astonishment at the whiplash of events occurring before them. What's the most shocking to them wasn't the seemingly brash act of the brown wolf, but Shiro's reaction to her.

He seemed not a tad bit surprised and very much familiar with the scene he found himself in.

The brown wolf stood a head shorter than Shiro, with her ears barely reaching under his chin. She held her for a tad second longer than what could be considered a simple hug out of courtesy. She had her cheeks plastered to the side of Shiro’s chest whilst he just watched, his arms pinned to his side by the brown wolf’s elbows.

She released herself from Shiro, her hands still holding his arms. She stared at him for a moment as he gazed back. Compared to what Romps and Vox saw at first glance, their eyes spoke of very different messages. Shiro’s spoke of respect and appreciation, whilst the brown wolf’s held platonic affection.

She spoke to Shiro, her tongue having switched to another language almost effortlessly. There wasn’t even an accent to it; it simply sounded as if she had a switch and could flip it at will.

She asked, “Have you grown taller again?”

“Don’t know,” Shiro replied, “Did I?”

“You definitely seem bigger from here than before,” the brown wolf said, “Or was it because I stopped wearing heels?”

Romps chimed in between the two, “E-Excuse me?”

The brown wolf turned towards the sheepdog and the fox, giving them both a smile and a nod.

“You must be his friends,” the brown wolf rightfully assumed.

“Yes,” Romps flashed a giant smile, “Yes, we are.”

The brown wolf asked, “Is it fine if I give my thanks eye to eye?”

Without a hint of hesitation, Romps pulled up his shaggy hair from below his snout and up to his forehead, revealing a pair of light blue eyes underneath, light in hue and somehow brighter than his already white fur.

“You have beautiful eyes,” the brown wolf commented, her voice as smooth as silk as if they were strings spun specifically to tug the sheepdog’s heart, “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“N-No pressure,” Romps gave a small chuckle, “It’s a pleasure, Mrs Shiro.”

For a moment, the brown wolf’s eyes widened, looking at Romps with quite a shock on her face. Shiro looked towards the sheepdog too, his expression holding much fright.

Vox kicked Romps on his heel, prompting another yelp and a shout, asking again, “What did I do?”

The brown wolf gave a slight giggle before shaking her head.

“No, I’m not Mrs Shiro,” the brown wolf explained, “Though I am a close friend of hers. I do play a close role, though. I’m more of a godmother, you see.”

Romps looked towards Shiro, “You never told me you were religious.”

“No, no,” the brown wolf quickly corrected the sheepdog, “I just play the role. I take care of him sometimes, yes, but I am not his-”

“Ma,” Shiro suddenly called out.

His voice Romps and Vox’s attention. They scanned the crowd with great excitement in an attempt to find another wolf within the crowd. They found some dogs, some monkeys, and an unremarkable cat walking towards the automated ticketing booth next to them. They found no wolf. They continued scanning the crowd but were ultimately left fruitless in terms of results.

Vox then lost his patience, turning towards Shiro, pestering him to finally tell him what his mother looked like when he stopped mid-sentence. Romps followed suit, turning towards the wolf only for his jaw to slack ajar out of surprise. Only the brown wolf remained unmoved. In fact, she was rather amused with the sheepdog and the fox’s reactions.

There, Shiro was looking down to his palms, examining a phone in his hands. It was a small machine with a white cover with some wear on its screen. Other than its age, it seemed like a well-maintained device, both competent and capable of serving Shiro’s needs.

Standing in front of him, almost a head and a half shorter, was the average-looking cat Romps and Vox thought of as a nondescript departure from the passing crowd heading towards the ticketing booth. She seemed like the result of having every other domestic shorthair in the world filtered through a machine to create the textbook example of a domestic shorthair. She seemed neither exceptional at either front. Her looks sat right smack in the middle of the spectrum. She was orange-furred, with a rather odd pair of yellow eyes, but they blended so well with her hair that the quirk itself got muted, turning into just another part of the generic colour scheme to her appearance. She was dressed in a beige, half-sleeved midi dress that cut just above her knees. She also carried a black, leather handbag that seemed to be fished out from a bargain bin of some obscure brand store.

“...formatted the phone. You can keep using my number,” she lectured Shiro, “I’ve saved my new number inside. I will take care of the bills, but I will ask if it exceeds a hundred and a half in a month. Make sure you charge overnight and never let the battery run to zero. It damages the power supply and requires another battery replacement.”

Her voice was calm and commanding, with every word uttered sounding like an absolute fact without any emotional compromise whatsoever. Not even an accent could be discerned from it. Every syllable ran as if it’s been calculated and filtered through copious amounts of logical reasoning before even being verbalized. It was the absolute antithesis to the brown wolf’s manner of speech.

The orange cat asked Shiro, “Do you understand?”

“Yea,” Shiro nodded.

‘Good,” the orange cat said, “Take care of it.”

Shiro held the phone close to his snout, staring at it for a while before pocketing it.

He spoke to the orange cat, “Thanks, Ma.”

Vox could only manage to cast an unbelieving gaze at the two as their conversation persisted.

Romps, on the other hand, tethered the edge of his mental capacity. He quickly lost his composure and subsequently, some steam.

“Ma?!”

The orange cat turned around, her gaze sharp and professional. She walked up towards the sheepdog, extending a palm towards him.

“You must be Shiro’s friend,” she said, “I am his mother. A pleasure to meet you.”