Dove hadn’t been back to the library for the rest of the week. Shiro hadn’t even heard of the Doberman’s presence on that matter, much less seen him. Not in the Academy halls, not in the dorms, not anywhere.

Not until two days before the weekends, that is.

From Romps’ help and incessant insistence, Shiro got himself an account in the Academy forums. The sheepdog convinced him that it would fare him infinitely better if he had a sliver of knowledge towards the Academy’s happenings. He left his profile anonymous, opting for an alias and an empty picture. He filled in the least amount of information he could. By the end, his forum browsing history would go under a name he can’t pronounce, followed by a string of meaningless numbers on the back. One couldn’t simply find this account unless they were actively searching for it or stumbled on it by accident. Anyone venturing to find out about this stranger would be met with no birthday or specified sex.

The first thing Shiro found was a photo of the Doberman.

It was a blurry photo, with various shapes streaking and shaking across the frame like a viscous rain of colours. Though the focus wasn’t ideal, Shiro could still make out the setting and the figures within. From what little the wolf could see, it was a backdrop of a gym, as inferred from the faint contours of what seemed to be a barbell at the corner of the frame.

A rhino stood on the far end, facing the frame, his giant size taking up a good third of the fuzzy image. Most were guesses, but as far as Shiro could tell, the rhino wore boxing gear, sporting headgear and a pair of boxing pads on his arms. He stood in a crouched posture, his elbows meeting just in front of his abdomen.

Dove stood in front of the rhino. That, Shiro had no doubts about. The silhouette, the shape of his ears, the docked tail sticking out from above his sweatpants, the harsh bulges dominating his arms, the violent ridges riding off his back as it swelled from beneath his shirt; all radiating a degree of sheer intensity that rose the fur on the back of Shiro’s neck. The Doberman’s mere presence from that single, still image triggered the wolf’s reflexes. Shiro could recall Dove’s scent from his mere presence in that photo alone.

The photo also reminded Shiro of something else.

This was real, and it’s going to happen, sooner or later.

If that wasn’t enough, the photo itself was captioned Who’s next? The first reply was a video preview of Shiro’s meeting with Dove in the cafeteria from weeks ago, captured from a low angle.

Romps spoke nothing of it. Vox remained just as silent as he’d been before. They had dinner and the day ended without a fuss.

Before tomorrow morning even arrived, Shiro went out into the Academy’s park, still dressed in last night’s tracksuit. The snake was there in the lobby when the wolf stepped out, with most of its gargantuan body curled behind the counter as its head stuck out like a sentient, emerald tree. Lucille was nowhere to be seen. The two made eye contact. The snake asked no questions, giving nothing more than a bow from its SECURITY cap and a scaly smile towards Shiro.

“Goods morningsss…”

The wolf reciprocated with a simple nod and stepped out of the entrance.

Under the pitch-black sky, the temperature bordered on being sub-zero. Shiro could hear the distant waves crashing against the far-off cliffs in the distance. The wind brought with it a salty scent. It snuck into every opening it could find on Shiro’s tracksuit, blowing through his fur, brushing against his bare skin. It stung, like microscopic needles jabbing from underneath his flesh.

A familiar sensation.

The wolf pulled up his collar and went on his way.

His mind kept at a constant limbo as he paced through the familiar path. It tried to contemplate a problem while running away from it, attempting to leave the solution to time while finding it impossible to forget about it. He wanted it to happen, so it could be over as soon as possible. He didn't want it to happen either, so that he wouldn't need to deal with it. He frequently shook his head in hopes of physically casting the dilemma away from his mind, only for it to creep back in from his subconscious, and find himself repeating the cycle once more.

Before he knew it he was already far from his neck of the woods. By the time he came to his senses, he already walked past the fountain, and had ventured into an area he rarely visited. The greenery riding the sides of the pathway were gone. The only thing surrounding the wolf was the vast, flat expanses of nothing but grass. The trees and bushes were not completely eradicated, however. They were only substituted from a major role to an obscure backdrop sitting against the horizon. There were also a half dozen trees sprinkled across the land, but they served no purpose greater than visual variety. Above, signs of sunlight began to crawl in, clashing with the muted tint of the cloudy sky, painting a cold blue that permeated throughout the landscape.

Shiro was unsure of the motivation behind his actions. Without a second thought, he stepped off the pathway and entered the field with his bare feet. They brought a whole different sensation to his soles. The solid, chilling concrete was a polar opposite from the soft, moist blanket of grass. Individual blades would poke through between his toes, cleansing the minute debris of dust and rocks he accumulated throughout his walk.

It didn’t elevate his mood nor did it save him from the dreaded thoughts, but at least it was a fine change of scenery.

He made his way towards one of the trees closest to the pathway. From underneath, it seemed to be a giant bush propped above a massive plinth made of hard, solid wood. He reached out towards the tree, tracing the trunk with his fingertip. It felt rugged under his skin but was devoid of any natural cracks or naked stump. He looked up. Every branch extended upwards, pointing up towards the sunlight.

The wolf took a stroll around the tree. He reckoned it’ll take three of him, arms outstretched, to even cover half of its diameter.

He reached towards the tree once more, pushing his fingers in for a feel. There was a thin layer of bark no thicker than two sheets of newspaper. Beneath it laid the wooden equivalent of a brick wall. Whether there really was life breathing within it, Shiro couldn’t tell. The tree’s body held a degree of toughness that the wolf doubted even a climatic disaster could present a dent to it.

Shiro retracted his hand, stuffing them into his pockets. Keeping a close stare on the tree, he pushed himself against the tree, lining up all six of his toes to meet the trunk’s base where the roots begin to branch out. In slow movements, he drew one foot to the back of the other, positioning one behind while maintaining contact between his toe and his sole.

He then left the tree, never breaking either touch with both of his feet or sight of the trunk as he backed up. He repeated the process thrice, ending with a short distance between the tree and himself.

Shiro stood there in the field, beneath the tree, under the glowing sky, motionless for as long as time passed. His breathing was sharp, his chest rising and falling at incredible volumes in quick successions.

He kept his eye on the trunk.

He took one deep breath, cleansing the great storm raging in his lungs with a large gasp and a soothing sigh.

Then his left pocket exploded. It rested above his hips, once wrinkled and bulging from the mass that was Shiro’s whole hand sitting within it. One moment, it was choking on a wrist too big for its shallow throat to swallow. The next, its body became vacant in an instant, the shock so stunning that it left a permanent gape in its mouth.

There was a fist facing the tree; four fingers curling into a palm, sitting on a thumb. There was no sound. The bark could’ve blinked and be met with black, fur-covered knuckles without another second to comprehend the situation.

The fist held an abnormal structure. It seemed to be trapped in a prison of pressure, forced by a neverending feed of physical tension. The amount of visible strain and stress was enough to cultivate bones into diamonds. The flesh only seemed to grow tighter, struggling to push against its phantom confines as if it’s stuffed in an invisible box. Heat began radiating from the pores between the fur as the blood beneath it reached near boiling point from the pent up force, so much so that it seemed as if individual strands of hair would begin to fall, giving way for jetting fountains of red.

Yet, the fist maintained its shape. The skin was stretched but just as stiff, if not tougher under such conditions. It was in this perverted state where the fist seemed to be at its most natural, alluding to both a definite extremity and a common norm at the same time.

Shiro kept his fist against the trunk but left the bark untouched. They merely grazed the surface, applying only a minuscule fraction of pressure, not enough to even push a dent on the bark’s soft depths.

He pulled his fist back, drawing it under his snout. He pulled out his right hand from his pocket and ran his digits across the knuckles. From his fingers, his knuckles felt like stones. There wasn't any elasticity to his skin either. They were pure, solid objects with as much flexibility as a metal block. Beneath the fur was a pulsing warmth much akin to a crackling fire blown by short, mild gusts.

From his knuckles, he felt nothing. All he could sense was some sticks and tips toying around his skin, tugging against his fur and glazing across his skin. They sensed neither warmth nor chills. He couldn’t tell if they were fingertips tapping on his fist or nails digging between the stretched parts of his skin. He doubted if he could feel a difference if his knuckles were chopped off and stitched back in the wrong places. The extent of his sensation was their presence, and anything beyond was a static, buzzing channel that barely played any discernible noises, much less clear images.

Shiro opened up his left fist, giving them refuge as he released a colossal ball’s worth of pressure in an instant. He wasn’t offering an escape, however, as he swiftly caught it with his right hand, turning it to a mirror image of its opposite sibling. He tried the same thing once more. The results were nothing more than an echo of his previous efforts.

Finally, he let the stress go, letting it dissipate across his body. He stuffed his pair back into his pockets.

He gave the tree a final moment’s stare before turning on his heel, making his way back on the pathway.

Uncertainty hit him like a freight train once more.

For one excruciating second, the leopard came into Shiro’s head.

Admittance was a hard pill to swallow, even more so the further you ran from it in the past.

Every option was exhausted, and its realization took the wolf giving a massive, spectacular show that was every bit as predictable and clichéd as he could present.

There was no place where he could take even temporary solace. Every inch of the Academy’s property was a constant reminder of the inevitable, from the doors to the walls to the windows to the people.

Then he felt his track pants vibrate.

The wolf’s usual outfit had two pairs of pockets. The top half was for the comfort of his hands while the one beneath, sitting on a different category of apparel was used for its intended purpose. He rarely ever used the latter anyway. Any belongings he had fitted nicely in his briefcase, and he never voluntarily ventured outdoors beyond academic purposes. Even if he did, he’d bring nothing more than a little spending money that could just as easily be carried in a cub’s palm. More often than not, he’d come back with most if not the same amount he walked out with.

Now, with a new phone, Shiro found himself in an alien circumstance where up is down, left is right, and his pants pocket had one side heavier than another. It was already a peculiar sensation to put up with, and hard to relieve from a conscious mind, even more so when that weight has the spontaneous ability to jolt your thighs as a reminder of its existence.

Shiro pulled out his phone from his pockets and turned on the screen.

The phone was running on thin juices of electricity. Five percent of battery, to be more specific. The wolf had forgotten to leave it charging overnight. In fact, from the day he received the machine till now, he only ever let his phone charge twice. The messaging application took a fraction more than the energy taken from leaving the device on standby and, barring the few moments with the lizard, Shiro barely ever did anything more than checking for new texts as sending the bare minimum as a reply, lest he embarrasses himself even more with his illiteracy.

Then a notion struck him.

His phone.

Excitement began to well up in his heart.

The wolf stopped dead on his tracks, investing all his attention into the small device in his palms. He opened his contact list and read through it. He didn’t have enough names to warrant a scroll. Everything was there on the screen with room to spare.

There, sitting in the middle of the screen between Krin and Romps.

Ma

He tapped the icon resembling a telephone’s handset, or at least what he deduced it to be. His guess was right, as the screen turned into an overlay of a call. Ma showed up in big, bold fonts above the screen with the word Dialing… pulsing beneath it.

Shiro put it against his ears, hearing a sharp ringing tone blaring from the speakers in jittering anticipation. He stood there, one foot crossing the other, waiting with his tail between his legs.

Half a minute later, he heard a beep.

The wolf’s first word of the day was, “Ma-”

“It’s three in the morning,” Ma replied with a lethargic voice.

Shiro's previous elation was quickly dampened with a pang of guilt.

“S-Sorry.”

Nothing else could be heard; no sonic backdrops or subtle ringings otherwise expected to follow in rooms of silence. The only thing between Shiro and Ma was distance and mobile service.

Ma soon asked, “What do you want?”

Without wasting time, Shiro went straight to the point.

“Can we talk?”

“We are,” Ma replied, the fatigue gradually fading from her voice, “Aren’t we?”

“Face to face,” the wolf added, “This weekend.”

Both parties fell quiet for a moment.

Then the cat asked, “Is everything okay in school?”

Shiro didn’t answer.

At least directly.

“Will tell,” he said, “When we meet.”

“Where do you want to meet?” Ma asked.

“Train station,” Shiro answered, “Like last week.”

It took a while before Ma gave a response of hers.

“I have an idea,” she said.

Shiro’s already perking ears twitched from the cat’s words.

The wolf asked, “What is it?”

“We,” was all Ma answered with.

What followed was more silence so pure and potent that it felt like a needle threading through his eardrums.

Shiro waited, clasping the phone tight to his head in case he missed anything.

Anticipation became confusion when a whole minute passed by without any words.

The wolf called out, “Ma?’

No response was given.

Confusion then became alarm, and soon, apprehension.

“Ma?”

He brought his phone down in panic, only to be met with a dark screen and a blinking symbol of a battery being sliced in half by a slim, diagonal line.

From there, Shiro made a mad dash back to the Boys’ Dormitory for his charger.

Even after a whole day’s worth of time for contemplation, Shiro still couldn’t swallow the situation he found himself in.

He looked to the side of the car window.

A blue formed a sky, while another blue formed a sea. The former was a clear, giant curtain spread above, forming an infinite expanse that stretched to who knew where. A small round spot was cut from the curtain, spreading rays of white across its surface. It was as dark as The latter was a calm blanket, rippling and waving over itself in miniature, orderly rolls. Between them was a white line, forming a discernible horizon.

He turned to the other side, finding Ma on the driver’s seat, out of her usual work attire and in a white dress. The dress’s design is composed of the bare minimum of what could be called “fashion”. If public opinion was gathered, the consensus would be universal; it was a dress, and nothing else. It was a simple one-piece that hung over the cat’s neckline from a pair of elastic straps wrapping around her shoulders. The fabric itself was adequate; thin enough to be a comfortable wear and thick enough to obscure the body underneath. It wasn’t a long dress, draping just below her knees, leaving her rather svelte legs exposed to the open air. It was barren from any form of decoration. One could argue the thin belt on the waist that separated the bodice from the skirt could be considered, but even so, it was a stretch at best.

Shiro wasn’t the one to judge, however. He was in his usual tracksuit. Any artistic peak its design could muster were two pairs of white stripes running down the left sleeves of his suit and pants. Like the dress, it served function more so than form.

Ma herself seemed indifferent. Her expression was sustained throughout the two-hour drive she’d been in. Any form of emotion was imperceptible. Whatever that may be simmering inside her chest was a mystery.

For the wolf himself, though, it was different. The thing boiling in his chest, he knew what it was; utter shock and surprise.

Never would he think that Ma would call him back at half-past seven in the morning, announcing a sudden vacation at a beach for the weekends sixteen hours before the arrival of said weekends.

Even after those sixteen hours, he was still stunned by the sudden news. He couldn’t remember the sequence of events that occurred after that call. He could vaguely remember stepping into the library, being there for a while, and going back to the dormitory when the evening arrived, but those were only by association with his daily habits.

And now he’s in a car heading down a remote inn. When questioned about the inn, all Ma told was that she had been recommended there by a stranger in a drunken stupor who sat at the same table during a co-worker’s wedding party almost a decade ago. He called it a great location for a honeymoon getaway with her husband. Somehow, the memory stayed fresh in her mind. She never found a reason to go there until now, which the reason now found was that “we’ve never had a family vacation before”.

In the barest sense, Shiro and Ma together formed a family. An incomplete and unconventional one but still a family nonetheless, at least to them.

As for the inn itself, the cat managed to remember the front desk’s number after all those years. If that wasn’t enough of a miracle, the number itself was still in service. Even more of a miracle, the inn had vacant rooms for the weekend. They even recommended a couple’s room with a seaside view, much to their convenience.

Even then, Shiro still wasn’t even sure if the inn even exists. It didn’t have a website and had no official listing in any phone books he could find.

Half an hour later, his certainty was shattered.

The inn very much exists, sitting on a cliffside next to a small beach. It was a small, two-story structure with sun-blemished walls and wooden stilts propping an unwashed tiled roof. There wasn’t any entrance towards the inn; it was simply a dirt path on the side of the road that led to the building. The signboard was a collection of hand-painted words the wolf wouldn’t be able to read for his life. As far as Shiro could see, there wasn’t any other shop or stall or any establishment belonging to a civilized society within an hour’s driving radius. If it weren’t for the one staff member manning the front desk and the two cars sitting in the open parking lot, the wolf would’ve thought the building was abandoned.

He liked it a lot. The wolf was looking forward to the rest of the weekend. He got out of the car and volunteered to take all the luggage: a plain, black suitcase and a tattered, orange plastic bag.

The lobby was constructed out of wooden planks, panels and not much else aside from some chairs and tables and complimentary bottles of water for guests. There was a fat, ancient TV propped against a stand in the corner of the lobby, showing forecasts of the local weather. They were presented by none other than Mrs Ezo the Ezo wolf. She was dressed in a bleached, office shirt in a black suit jacket, pointing towards symbols of suns and clouds while reciting predictions of their conditions for the rest of the week in a professional, calming tone.

The wolf figured she was standing in for Ma.

A pang of guilt hit Shiro for a moment, but he smothered it for Ma’s sake. She wasn’t the kind to make plans without rhyme or reason. She was an adult, rational and responsible, who knew what she was doing.

The least the wolf could do was to respect that.

He needed a breather from the Academy, anyway.

The front desk was an inconspicuous table sitting on one end of the lobby with nothing more than a table lamp pointed towards its surface, Operating it was an elderly sea duck dressed in casual clothing. Her feathers had a warm, brown tinge, with frizzled streaks of white running through the strands of her frail wings. She had a white ring circling her sagging, tired eyes, forming a great contrast with her dark feathers. A white streak followed behind, running down to the back of her head where a furious display of feathers stood out, punching out from behind like frills as if they had lives of their own.

Ma approached her, tossing out a collection of sentences Shiro wouldn’t be able to repeat word for word but could understand on a basic, fundamental level as an inquiry for a made reservation.

The sea duck then shot a slow reply in an accent so thick that despite its speed, all Shiro could understand from everything she said were the words “wolf” and “partner”.

Ma gave a response. Shiro understood none of it, but the sea duck did, and then some. After the cat spoke, the sea duck’s eyes widened for a moment. She leaned to the side, taking a good long look at Shiro before drawing her gaze back at Ma.

The sea duck leaned in towards the cat and began whispering in an inquisitive tone whilst making furtive glances towards the wolf.

By then, Shiro understood the gist of the situation. It was something he always kept in his mind when he became aware of the optics between him and Ma. He never brought it up, but he had a hunch she knew it too. It was only a matter of time until it manifested in reality.

It was only when the sea duck began examining both Ma and Shiro’s eyes when she finally understood. She broke to a wry smile with her dark, bronze beak and made an apologetic bow to Ma as she spoke in a penitent tone. The only word Shiro could make out of her speech was “sorry”.

Ma shook her head without a change in her expression. The sea duck heaved a sigh of relief.

After signing some papers and leaflets with Ma, the sea duck raised her head to the side and called out to something, or someone. It could’ve been a name or a command, for all Shiro could understand.

Suddenly, from behind, Shiro caught a series of steady pattering growing from behind. He turned to his back, only to see a duckling rushing into the lobby. The duckling was like a miniature version of the sea duck on the front desk; she had the sea duck’s colour, looks, clothing and all, with the exception of a more youthful, burning glint in her eyes, smoother feathers and a height that barely stood above Shiro’s knees.

Vox’s face came into the wolf’s head for a moment.

The duckling sprinted across the wooden floor as quick as her webbed feet could carry her. She went up to the front desk that was twice as tall as her. She spoke in an accent as heavy as the sea duck’s and just as indecipherable to Shiro. The sea duck turned her head back to the front in surprise and leaned over the front desk, meeting the duckling from above. With a free wing, she reached under the front desk and pulled out a small keychain. Dangling over the tiny, metal ring was a small wooden block with numbers inscribed on its surface and, of course, a key. She dropped it onto the duckling, which she caught with her outstretched wings. The keychain was almost big enough for the duckling to string her beak through. Along with it, the sea duck also gave some instructions, which the duckling responded with earnest nods.

The sea duck turned towards Ma and spoke some words. The cat nodded and turned towards the duckling, meeting her eyes.

With a nervous squeak, she announced something to the cat. Once again, Shiro caught the word “partner” out of the string of illegible sounds coming from her beak.

Slowly, the sea duck leaned down from the front desk again and whispered something to the duckling.

The duckling’s black, beady eyes shot wide in shock as Shiro watched a scene repeat itself. The duckling drew surprised glances to Ma, and Shiro, back to Ma, and back to Shiro again.

She exploded into a flurry of peeps and cheeps, giving deep bows towards the cat and the wolf and the cat and the wolf again.

Shiro figured this wouldn’t be the last he’ll see of this.

Ma replied with a calming voice before the duckling melted into a puddle of panic. The duckling nodded, gave one last series of bows before extending a wing towards a corridor behind the front desk. Without a word, Ma nodded. The duckling reciprocated with one and began walking towards the corridor. Ma followed from behind. Shiro didn’t need further instructions to act. He picked up the luggage and caught up with the two.

The sea duck gave him a warm smile as he passed the front desk. The wolf returned one of his own.

A smooth, warm, glowing mattress, inviting for all to bask within its radiating embrace. It was what the beach seemed to Shiro when he looked atop the cliff.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. Each grain of sand from the alluring blanket seen from above was coarse and rough, even beneath his thick soles. Every step he took got them everywhere across his bare feet. The radiating embrace also turned out to be just a mirage; light veils of heat obscuring the hellish inferno that it really was.

Still, it was better than his previous location.

The duckling brought both him and Ma to the smallest room he’d ever seen.

The wolf felt dim-witted. He should’ve seen the signs when he stepped into the lobby where the ceiling was barely half a head away from pressing against his ears. Even when he was walking through the corridors, he still didn’t notice; the crown of his head barely scraping across the wooden ceiling throughout the entire journey. He had to tuck his ears every time a ceiling light fixture came crawling towards him from above. By the time the duckling had brought him and Ma to their room, he’d already accumulated enough dust above his head to make a bunny out of it.

He couldn’t even stand straight. The options he had were to either keep his neck tucked between his shoulders or walk on bent legs. That was just the foyer. It led to a corridor to the right and a small living area on the front. The corridor to the right led to two doors sitting next to the entrance. The duckling introduced them to the toilet and the bathroom, with the former being akin to a stool with a wet hole cut in the middle and the latter like stepping into a smooth, porcelain fruit crate. Shiro couldn’t even fit through the doorway unless he squatted through them with knees tucked beneath his chin.

The living area was more forgiving, though the improvement was nowhere monumental. He could stand with a straight back, but only with a paid price of having to support the weight of the light, tiled ceiling above his head. It was also a crowded ceiling, with the lighting and air-conditioning already taking one-third of the space. It fared the wolf much better to just walk on his knees. As for that, there wasn't much space to walk either. The floor itself had a foldable, low table in the middle and a pair of small, legless chairs set across one another. There was a closet set in the corner of the room for their luggage and a sliding door next to it, which opened up to a cabinet housing several sets of futons and blankets for the night. Shiro wasn’t even sure if that was possible, as he only needed one casual step to reach from one far end of the room to another.

Shiro had a feeling Ma missed out on some information regarding the stranger who recommended the place to her.

The only place he could even stretch his legs was the balcony sitting opposite the foyer. It opened up to a roofless deck where a pair of rocking chairs sat, surrounded from the front by the calm, ocean view as far as one could see. It was akin to watching a landscape being painted live before one’s eyes.

The duckling then squeaked out something as she watched Shiro retreat into the room from the balcony, his back hunched from ducking underneath the ceiling. Even with his lack of understanding, the wolf could tell the duckling was nervous. It was to the point where her tail was quaking from anxiety as if she’d committed a grave mistake. Ma replied with a tone of gratitude, which seemed to pacify the duckling some. She then gave a quick word, took a bow, and left the room with the door closed behind her.

As soon as Ma dismissed the duckling, she swivelled her crosshairs towards Shiro, telling him to go on without her. When frantically questioned about the luggage by the wolf, Ma simply told him she could handle it herself. When frantically questioned about the luggage again, the cat gave Shiro a stern reminder that this was a vacation and that the weekend, starting from then, would be treated as such by the wolf.

Incapable under higher power and authority, Shiro sighed and followed the duckling’s footsteps. He didn’t know where to go at first, but then the salty whiff of the air gave him an idea.

Miraculously, he found his way towards the beach without any help. He doubted he could get anything from the front desk anyway. He found the pathway easily enough; a dirt path sat beside the inn’s parking lot between some bushes.

After a few minutes’ worth of walking, he found himself on the beach, albeit with circumstances that exceeded expectations by great distances, though it could be argued that only the wolf’s expectations could be at fault.

He’d never been to a beach before.

They also seemed mythical to Shiro. The sun-bleached shores and the bright, near translucent waters, the coconut trees nodding from the push of the brine-filled wind towards the horizon. Even from a fuzzy television screen, they were a replacement for heaven, perhaps one itself, blessed by the powers that be as a gift from its omnipotence. Then, as he grew up, his sights were drawn to the scantily dressed visitors that would wrestle against the beauty of the scenery for attention. Exposed cleavages, swinging hips, swaying tails; it was one of the formative settings for his pubescent fantasies.

His reveries were lessened as time passed, reducing the impact the reality check had on him. Still, it was as hard-hitting as it could get. For one, the feverish heat was nigh unbearable, so much so that his own shadow sat perfectly underneath his feet, unwilling to step one unnecessary foot out. The wolf was never compatible with heat, much less so in his tracksuit which fared him well back in his old home. Old home, this was not. It was like hell with heaven’s setting draped over it behind a flimsy curtain. There wasn’t a single piece of shade he could sit under. It was either the waters, or the sheer cliff standing behind him. If that wasn’t enough half his body was stinging from the saltine conditions of the air. As if a wayward prank from Mother Nature herself, the spontaneous breezes made it hard to predict and brace for the waves of aches.

By then, the room was starting to compete as a lesser evil. It would’ve won by a small margin if it weren’t for the sea.

The sea.

The blue, rolling sea.

As alluring as it was hypnotizing, it made everything Shiro had to endure to bear witness to the sea an insignificant price to pay. A soft, fragile tarp covered its body, rising ever so slightly from the tension pushing it from below. The wolf watched as he walked, both hands in his pockets. As the tension neared land, it broke through the surface, sending overlapping waves in an orderly rhythm, crashing against the conspicuous rock standing amongst them. Coils of foams were washed against the shores, bringing with it a muddled grey shade filled with drifting particles before dragging some back to its infinite bowels; a process that has washed the bright tinge off the sand from a bright surface to a mild shade.

He could watch the scene for days-

Rock?

Shiro peered closer.

There it sat, half-submerged in the middle of the sea, a large stone contesting against the tides. A giant piece of geology, dried to a dim colour under aeons of exposure from the sun, its exteriors washed smooth to a near metallic sheen, save for a third of the tip, which still retained its rugged texture. To top it off, as if it wasn’t odd enough to have a random piece of rock standing in the middle of the ocean, there was a thick, nylon rope tied across it, connected to a wooden pole sticking out of the sand, close to the water.

It intrigued Shiro quite a bit. His mind was drawn away from the harsh weather and the itching aches across his body, focusing solely on that one oddity turning an otherwise tranquil scene into a surreal sight to behold.

A series of dull quacks then emerged from behind the wolf, throwing him off for a second.

He turned to his back, finding another sea duck standing behind him. He simply showed up out of nowhere without a hint of his arrival as if he simply manifested out of thin air. His appearance was drastically more different than the other sea ducks Shiro met in the inn, though he was about the same height. This one had pure, black fur with a white patch on his chest popping out from his unbuttoned, plaid shirt. He carried a filled bucket on one hand while an old, tattered sling bag dangled from the opposite shoulder. He wore a straw hat, shrouding his smiling face under an umbrella of shadows. Even then, it couldn’t mask the vibrancy of his beak. It started with a tinge of light, moss-like green underlining his beady eyes before spotting a sharp bright yellow as a base amongst a black frame. It then made a steep fall, ending with a dull, round red tip.

The sea duck spoke some more in an accent that rivalled the one from the front desk. It masked the words themselves so much, from the pronunciations to the tonalities, that it was akin to hearing a different language. It was by no means a product of illiteracy; his swift articulation signified anything but. Shiro just couldn’t keep up with all the words, much less with his bare understanding of the language.

The best Shiro could do is assume he was just a friendly, chatty local and return a greeting to the best of his abilities. He figured a simple “hello” would do the trick; it was the only thing he had confidence in speaking anyway. And so he did, giving the sea duck a smile, a nod, and his bare regards.

Then the sea duck’s expression changed, going from a cheerful expression to one of mild startle.

Shiro held his tongue and his silence. He recalled the past few seconds and found nothing wrong with his words. Perhaps it wasn’t customary for greetings to be exchanged, or some regional taboo the wolf didn’t know of.

The sea duck smiled and asked, “So you speak the northern tongue?”

This time, it was Shiro’s turn to put the shock in his face.

“Your accent,” the sea duck explained, “Small guess. Was I right?”

The sea duck’s voice remained intact, but he had a different air to his words now. He sounded as if he lived his whole life speaking the language, complete with the niches and intricacies. He still had a tinge of his usual accent in his speech, but that did nothing to dampen the bewilderment Shiro felt.

The wolf held off for a moment before nodding.

The sea duck asked, “You live there?”

“U-Used to,” Shiro replied.

“I too,” the sea duck replied, “I was there as a foreign language major. A brief stint as a lecturer. Went all over the place. I might have stumbled upon your place before. Where’d you stay?”

Shiro didn’t find any reason to keep it a secret, though there was some reluctance in his voice as he said it.

“Ah, never been there,” the sea duck said, “I heard it’s rough there.”

“S-Sorry, but can we switch tongues?” Shiro suddenly asked.

The sea duck was somewhat surprised by the sudden request, but he kept his smile still.

“Depends if I know how to speak it,” he replied.

Shiro spoke, “How about this?”

The sea duck gave a hearty laugh, “Who hasn’t heard of western speech before?”

A passing silence blew against the two, washing them over with its saltine stench.

The sea duck asked, “What made you move out?”

Shiro remained quiet.

“Forgive my old habits,” the sea duck extended a wing, “Don’t want to get off the wrong foot.”

“S-Shiro,” the wolf took out a hand and shook it gently with the sea duck’s feathers between his fingertips.

The sea duck then made a series of noises that prompted nothing but further confusion from Shiro.

“Or you can just call me Uncle,” the sea duck said, letting go of his wing.

Shiro was glad the sea duck added that last statement. All the wolf heard before that was what he could only infer to be his name. There was no other way the wolf could interpret whatever it was the sea duck just said.

“I see you met our local rock,” the sea duck pointed to the ocean behind Shiro.

The wolf didn’t need to look to know what the sea duck was talking about, “Y-Yea.”

The sea duck asked, “Where’d you think it came from?”

Shiro shrugged, expecting an answer from the duck himself.

“Yes, neither do I,” he said, “It was here when I was born. I played with it a lot, racing with my friends from shore to touch it. I forgot how long ago that was. And then I left for my career. I moved back here twenty years ago. The only change the rock had was that it got brighter and smoother than before.”

Shiro began to wonder how long twenty years really was. The wolf himself barely reached three-quarters of that period. Those three-quarters felt like decades to him. He turned to look at the rock. It didn’t seem so sturdy. He reckoned a good storm would tear it away into the lower depths of the sea bed.

“It never moves,” the sea duck continued, “It’s like it grew roots and got stuck in the sand. I’ve seen earthquakes and tsunamis turn the cliffs into mountains and the mountains into cliffs. The rock stays every time.”

Shiro reckoned wrong. The rock began to take a fascinating hold on the wolf.

“Anyway, it’s part of the ocean now. The rope’s really there so visitors who can’t swim can reach there. It’s like a tourist attraction if you can call it that,” the sea duck said, “When the tides are strong I usually swim to the front, hold the rope, and let the waves hit my back. They’d either set your hips back or break them. You’re a big wolf. You can probably take on a boar. The waves would be a breeze for you.”

The more the duck spoke the deeper Shiro’s curiosity got. It wasn’t enough to convince the wolf to step into seawater, but it was enough to leave him imagining.

“Well,” the sea duck said, “Shiro- was it Shiro?”

Shiro nodded.

“Right, this old bird’s got to go before his wife turns all his feathers grey,” he said, “You take care, yes?”

Shiro nodded again.

The sea duck turned on the heel of his boots towards the other direction where the wolf came from.

“Goodbye, you, Shiro,” he waved as he walked off.

Shiro returned a wave as well. He stood there, watching the sea duck’s silhouette shrink as he walked. He disappeared behind a cliff as the beach curved inwards against the ocean.

He then turned his eyes back towards the sea.

More specifically, the rock sitting within it. He watched the waves as they served the rock one helpless slap after another, their efforts amounting to a mere splash before joining the rest on their journey ashore. The rock was unfazed; no matter how big or frequent the impact, it remained stationary and motionless as if it’s been nothing but mild breezes that’s been hitting it for the last who knew how many years.

He stared at it for some time.

The afternoon sun turned to a waning, evening glow, turning dimmer and dimmer as it sank deeper behind the cliffs and the mountains. In between, Shiro exclusively spent all of them on the beach with nothing but slow, brisk walks and sightseeing. It wasn’t until the shadows cast by the cliff had well reached past the waters when the wolf decided to leave. He turned to his back and retraced his steps.

When the rock came into view again, he stared at it once more, this time a little while longer than before.

Ma didn’t question him when he returned, only making him take a shower to rinse the beach’s stench off his body in time for dinner.

Shiro didn’t bother stepping into the bath. He simply filled the tub with water and washed with a wooden pail provided with the bathroom. He spent the whole process squatting on the floor, lest he gets soap on the ceiling.

The inn also provided laundry services and, to Shiro’s surprise, in-house clothing. Granted, it was complimentary traditional clothing; a wide, cotton robe wrapping around the whole body with a silk belt tying up the waist to keep the cloth from unfolding itself. Shiro had seen this kind of clothing on television before. He didn’t know they covered so less, or that the belt was this tight. The sleeves barely reached his elbows, and could only cover down to his shins. He gave it up and went back to his usual.

Ma was wearing the same thing too, though she looked infinitely more comfortable in it than the wolf himself. They waited at the table in the main room, with Shiro enjoying the air-conditioning while Ma skimmed through a book she brought with her, eyeing through the contents with a sharp stare from her filtered, yellow pupils.

Dinner came knocking at their door not long after. Ma called out something, and a click sounded off from the foyer.

Shiro’s eyes widened, “U-Uncle-”

“You,” Uncle the sea duck stepped into the room, his wings holding a tray filled from corner to corner with food, “Shiro! Small world!”

Behind the sea duck was the duckling from before, carrying a similar tray of food. Her size made it seem as if the tray was larger than it was, and at risk of tripping the duckling over with its sheer size. The wolf’s heart skipped a beat as she made her way from the foyer to the main room, the tray wobbling above her wings with every step.

Ma seemed suspicious of the whole ordeal between Shiro and Uncle. The sea duck caught on quick and tried to explain to her in his native language.

The cat was quick to clarify, “I can understand you just fine.”

“Ah, right,” the sea duck chuckled as he placed the tray before Ma, “We met at the beach and had a little chat in western language. I didn’t know he was staying under our roof. This inn isn’t advertised for bigger visitors, see.”

As unwilling as he may be, Shiro could testify to that. The room was quaint and as comfortable as it could get, but it was undeniable that the facilities weren’t built for patrons of his proportions.

The tray, by some miracle, remained upright and intact in the duckling’s wings. She walked around Shiro, kneeling before the table. The wolf remained completely still. The room was small enough already. He didn’t want to impede any more distractions to the duckling. The duckling herself held a steeled, determined expression as she laid the tray on the table. The wolf wondered how she even made it here in the first place.

The sea duck continued, “May we suggest another establishment down the road? We most definitely appreciate your patronage but it certainly pains us if customers can’t feel comfortable under our offerings.”

Behind the sea duck, the duckling was jolted in shock for a moment when Shiro started to shake his head with great haste. He also shot an intense stare to Ma for good measures.

The cat took a furtive glance towards Shiro and looked back to Uncle, “We’ll be fine. Thank you for your consideration.”

Shiro’s heart fell and climbed eleven floors at the same time.

Uncle gave a wide smile, “It’s our absolute pleasure.”

The sea duck then turned towards the duckling and spoke something. The duckling gave a nod and stood.

“Well, we’ll be taking our leave,” he said as he moved towards the foyer, the duckling following behind him, “We wouldn’t want to intrude the time between you two…”

There was a pause before the sea duck finished his sentence.

“…partners,” Uncle concluded.

Before anyone could get another word in, the ducks had already retreated, leaving Shiro and Ma alone. The wolf turned towards the cat, concern painted across his expression.

“I’ll explain due time,” Ma said as she reached towards her bag, sitting on the corner of the room, “Now we eat.”

From the bag, she pulled out a tiny plastic case. She opened the case with one hand and stuck a finger on one of her eyes with another. As she dealt with her business, Shiro took a good long look at their dinner.

They were given two meals, each had a bowl of rice, a smaller bowl of soup, and some side dishes, ranging from pickled and vinegared vegetables to fried and grilled meat, with some sliced fruits to serve as appetizers. They were no more filling than a small snack from a convenience store but when put together, they were very much sufficient to the average appetite, at least to customers of the intended size. Chopsticks were also provided, along with what seemed to be a white ceramic flask and some clear, shot glasses complimenting them.

Shiro could make a good guess on what the ceramic flask was filled with.

The wolf picked up a pair of chopsticks just as Ma was done with her affairs. Her red, feline eyes came into view, scanning across her side of the table as she grabbed her utensils. Without uttering words, they began with their meal.

The food tasted as expected. They weren’t amazing, neither were they lacklustre. They met the standards of their hospitality, offering nothing special without feeling underwhelming at the same time. The fruits had just the right fragrance to them, as well as the moisture to the vegetables. Shiro couldn’t comment on the meat, as he gave it all to Ma in exchange for part of her vegetables’ share. She didn’t seem to have any complaints either. She also wouldn’t decline on leftovers from yesterday’s dinner, so many of her unvoiced opinions were up to interpretation. Though, from sight, Shiro could tell they were fresh. Most of them were seafood too. They were probably the standout of the meal if the wolf had to make a guess.

He quite enjoyed it.

Halfway through the meal, Ma spoke.

“What did you want to tell me?”

Shiro bit through a piece of radish. The sour taste was diluted as he downed it with a small helping of rice. He savoured the flavour, chewed, and swallowed.

“Made a promise,” the wolf said, “To not do something.”

Ma reached towards a shrimp, battered and fried in a golden, crunchy coat of skin. She brought it over her mouth and took a light bite.

“There’s been a problem,” the wolf continued, “In school.”

Shiro grabbed his bowl of soup and took a small sip, along with a mouthful of seaweed and bean curd.

“To solve the problem,” he said, “I have to do that ‘something’.”

Ma took another bite out of the shrimp. Shiro lowered his chopsticks, leaving a poker-faced gaze towards the cat.

Her jaw moved in small motions, biting through the food without any rush or urgency.

She swallowed half a minute later.

She spoke, “You have to break your promise.”

Shiro fired a response, “But-”

“Or would you prefer if your problem persisted?” Ma asked.

Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t make a single sound.

The cat looked down to her plate, raising the shrimp to her mouth.

“It’s your choice,” she said before biting off the rest of it.

The wolf looked back down to his food, unsure of what words to put out.

Then Ma swallowed and spoke again, “If you are choosing to solve your problem-”

Shiro glanced up at the cat.

“-find the root cause,” she said, “So you only break your promise once.”

She gazed at the wolf, meeting him eye to eye.

“And only once.”

Another knock came from the door about an hour after dinner, this time the brown sea duck from the counter. She came with a clean rag and left with a dirty one, along with two trays carrying towers of unwashed plates and bowls. She did leave the flask and the shot glasses. Ma put her contacts back on again and returned to her book, taking small sips from the shot glass as she read. Shiro left his share untouched.

He sat at the balcony, watching the ocean rise and recede with great vigour beneath the growing moon. He listened to the waves, hearing the prolonged collision between the sea and the shore, the sounds muffled by the pungent wind. He stayed there, lounging over the balcony’s railing for the better part of an hour.

He reached into his pocket and turned on his phone. If he was in the Academy, he would still be in the kitchen, cooking up something for the night.

He didn’t mind spending the last of the day watching the sea, though he felt it was somewhat of a waste.

His tongue scraped against the tips of his canines.

Still, of all he had during dinner, the taste of radish remained in his mouth.

He turned back towards the main room, making his way towards the foyer.

“Ma,” the wolf called out.

Ma looked up from her book, gazing at Shiro with her tinted, green pupils.

“Going for a walk,” he said, “On the beach.”

She looked back down to her book.

“Bring your phone with you,” she ordered, “Just in case.”

The wolf patted his tracksuit’s pocket loud enough for an audible thump to be heard. He ducked into the foyer and excused himself into the corridor. It was then when Shiro realized just how rudimentary the inn really was. The brightest lighting they had were bulbs haphazardly screwed onto the ceiling, hiding inside some smoked, hard plastic domes keeping it from being exposed. They barely illuminated themselves, much less their surroundings. It was obvious that not much night activity happens here. This was more evident by the opposite side of the corridor, which opened up to the highway and the rest of the world where natural light would sink in during the day, with nothing more than a metal railing in between.

He felt the pressure relieved from his neck as he stepped into the lobby. It was the one place he could stand without bending his head or legs at some weird angle. It too shared the same lighting qualities as the corridors. There were exactly two pairs of fluorescent bulbs installed on the ceiling; the wolf counted. They weren’t as bad as the self-serving bulbs, but they were far from helpful either. They could shine the outlines of nearby furniture, but anything smaller would be akin to groping the air blind.

If anything, the table lamp on the front desk would fare the tubes better. For one, the light it shone actually reached somewhere. Too bad that it was facing against the lobby, pointing only at the desk.

Behind the desk was Uncle and the brown sea duck from the morning, their heads buried underneath stacks of papers and books, tapping away with pens and calculators. They were so engrossed in their work they hadn’t noticed the big, black wolf staring from the side for the last minute.

Shiro, adverse to interrupting the two, kept his mouth shut and retreated to the darker corners of the lobby, making silent steps towards the parking lot.

It didn’t even take a quarter of a minute before, “Shiro?”

The wolf winced as he stopped. He barely got halfway across the room. He turned to his back to see Uncle standing behind the front desk with suspicion in his expression. The sea duck beside him peered into the darkness with worried eyes.

Carrying great embarrassment, Shiro stepped out to the light.

“U-Uncle,” he greeted.

The brown sea duck’s eyes returned to their usual, lethargic state as she sighed in great relief.

“Ah, it really is you,” Uncle’s face returned to that of a relieved mood, “I got afraid for a second. I am no superstitious duck but I am a cautious one, if you catch my drift.”

“Y-Yea,” Shiro nodded, hoping they could return to their respective businesses soon.

Then he asked, “What are you doing out so late?”

And there it was.

Shiro tried to think of something to say, but by the final second, he conceded.

“A w-walk,” he said, “The beach.”

Uncle’s expression switched, turning from a hospitable delight to one of apprehensive worry.

Shiro was thrown off guard by the sudden switch.

“I won’t stop you,” he said, “But if I were you, I’d stay put in my room. You’re a big guy, that’s true, but that night sea isn’t a joke. We’ve never lost a guest staying under our roof, but I’m not looking to have a start either.”

Shiro gave his assurance, “I-I’ll just walk on the sand. W-Won’t enter the water.”

“Well,” the sea duck sighed, “I am a cautious duck.”

The atmosphere turned sour as both parties fell to an uncomfortable silence. The brown sea duck looked back and forth between Shiro and Uncle before hitting the latter on the back with her wing, catching his attention. With a heavy accent, she scolded the sea duck, handing him an earful as Shiro stood and watched, unsure of what to say.

Uncle then sighed and turned back towards Shiro.

“Promise me, not as a proprietor of this establishment but from the advice of an old man, to stay away from the sea,” the sea duck pleaded, “May I have your word?”

Without hesitation, Shiro answered, “Yea.”

“Okay, this soothes the old bird’s heart a little,” Uncle proclaimed, “Do you need me to- well, you know your way don’t you?”

Shiro nodded and gave a snappy “Thanks” before heading this way to the car park, down the dirt path, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Under his bare feet, the ground felt cool, even moist at times. Shiro figured that’s a given, considering the location. Still, it was somewhat dangerous. Even with his natural night-vision, it took most of his attention to avoid slipping off the wrong end of the incline. As he went deeper, so did his regret. It wasn’t enough to turn him away, but it was making a hell of an effort. He steeled his heart and went on.

Darkness is a terrifying tool, being able to paint the most scenic images to a claustrophobic prison. The once glistening ocean now looked like an endless abyss whose hunger had remained unsatiated since who knew when. The wolf felt a discord between his senses. His legs stood on land, but his eyes were as if they’re staring into a picture; an invisible frame holding infinite darkness, with the occasional glimmer from the rolling waves threatening to entrap any hapless victim within its boundless void in perpetuity.

The wolf took a deep breath and pressed on.

The waves, to Shiro, seemed louder under the night sky. The sand screamed in protest as its layers were dragged off by the pulling waters, grain by grain, into the unforgiving murk. Their cries never stopped, only falling softer the further they got pulled from shore. He had to focus on the sound of his footsteps, lest he loses himself to the noises. It was a conscious effort to make.

He didn’t realize how far he went until halfway through his walk.

The duckling showed up out of nowhere.

It was by complete chance that they ran into one another. The duckling came scampering up, carrying an oversized bucket in one hand whilst holding a weak flashlight with another. A dim ball of light from the far end of the beach managed to snap Shiro out of his trance. He thought it was exhaustion playing its usual tricks until he squinted his eyes. He had a split second of a superstitious hunch until he came to a reasoned mind and peered harder. It was then when he finally caught the faint outline of the duckling’s body.

The same couldn’t be said for the duckling. It wasn’t until she was face to face with his knees when she finally noticed Shiro’s presence. She barely saw as far as her flashlight shone. She stopped dead in her tracks in fright, surprised by the sudden appearance of a pair of legs on the beach. She quickly pointed her flashlight upwards, only to find the underside of Shiro’s snout staring down at her from an angle that sent her poor heart skipping beats in fear for a moment until she finally recognized the face and clothes.

Both halted against each other’s path, staring towards one another, and, at least for Shiro’s case, unsure of what to say. The duckling kept her flashlight pointed towards the wolf, her silence attributed more to shock than unfamiliar discomfort.

It was then when Shiro took a glance at the duckling’s bucket and caught a glimpse inside. Shells of varying sizes, none bigger than the wolf’s thumb. They ranged from a minuscule piece to being indistinguishable from grains of sand.

He looked back towards the duckling, whose face held a layer of fright and alarm as the flashlight in her wing jittered in panic.

Shiro responded by pinching the corner of his snout and dragging his fingers from one end to another.

The duckling’s expression glowed, though her silence remained. Shiro thawed it by giving her a slight nod for confirmation. Without hesitation, she took a deep bow towards the wolf. She whispered something under her beak as she did. Shiro caught none of what she said, but her intentions were already well telegraphed. She stood back up and made a beeline past him, scampering off into the darkness with her flashlight. Like Uncle from that afternoon, she made a turn past the cliff’s bend and went out of sight.

Shiro was returned to solitude’s embrace.

At least for a good five seconds.

A crash, louder than any other ones the wolf had heard until then, exploded into his ear.

Out of reflex, Shiro shot his head towards the source of the noise.

There the rock stood, not an inch further from where the wolf had last seen it since his return trip to the inn that evening. The tide had sunk it deeper into the ocean’s embrace, but its presence was still in no way nullified. In fact, it somehow grew more menacing under the moonlight. The tip stuck out against the obscured horizon with a wicked gleam to its tip. Its walls were pitiless and indifferent to the ramming waves. They lashed out against its body at an incessant pace, surge after surge, only to be dispersed to the side, causing no more than an inconsequential wet blast slapped against the unmoving rock. The explosions sounded less like cruel, angered impacts and more like desperate, distressful wailing to Shiro’s ears.

The longer the wolf watched, the less the rock seemed trapped in the sand, the more it looked as if the sea was unable to get rid of its presence.

Shiro traced his eyes towards the rope tied across the rock. He couldn’t see the fine details, only a long shadow slithering across the glimmering, smooth texture of the wall. He caught sight of the knot where the rope continued towards the shore. He followed its path to the wooden pole where the rope was tied to. The pole itself was already half-submerged in water, at times overwhelmed when the tide got too high.

Shiro stood there for some time, exchanging his gaze between the rock and the wooden pole.

He licked the back of his teeth.

The taste of radish lingered in his mouth.

The wolf remained where he stood for a moment.

He emitted an audible gulp from his throat.

He reached up to this tracksuit’s collar and unzipped it.

He brushed the sleeves off his wrists and dropped the tracksuit behind him.

He took a deep breath.

He stepped into the sea.

He felt nothing. Between this and the open air, there was no difference. He felt no change in the temperature, only a slight increase in pressure and some general discomfort to his feet. The deeper he went, however, the more the stings started to emerge. His legs were reacting to the saltine properties of the ocean, though they would react to most things anyway. The wolf had learned to dull the sensations long ago, much to his dismay. It was a necessity for him to do so, and he bore a sizable grudge against it.

The wooden pole barely reached up to his hips, with the rope lower still. The wolf reached into the waters with his bare arms. His fingers felt the rough, fraying texture of the nylon. He could only feel it with his fingers, sometimes losing it whenever the tides got rougher. It wasn’t until he got deeper when he could actually grasp it within his fingers. By then, the waters had reached below the wolf’s chest, submerging a good two-thirds of his body. He could feel like waves dragging his feet towards its bowels as they rocked his body back and forth. The temperature remained still, but the pressure was welling from within. The wolf felt as if he’s being compressed from both fronts in thinly veiled attempts to squeeze his insides out.

He tightened his grip on the rope and pressed on.

The rope kept at the same level as the water, maintaining the same, shallow elevation under the surface throughout its stretch from rock to shore. The ground did not. Shiro was struggling to stay afloat. He had lost his footing a long time ago, co-opting his movement entirely to his two hands as he dragged his whole body along with the rope. The wolf himself was submerged, neck to toe, in a violent tug-of-war between two sides of relentless pressure, with his head struggling to stay afloat; the oncoming wave and receding tides clashed in a turbulent, never-ending battle. The wolf was nothing but innocent collateral as they collided with every surge. He hadn’t got the expense in him to react, the stings on his body were doing the work for him, from his limbs to his torso to his tail. If they felt something, they wouldn’t fail to let the head know.

He was barely halfway through his journey.

The waves only grew stronger, the pressure tighter and the stings more frequent. The wolf had to maintain a conscious fight against the current. He’d long since given up on keeping his body upright. He couldn’t even see anyway. The waves had washed over his five senses so much that he’d given up and his sense of touch to bear the brunt. The last source of light he’d seen was a brief flash coming from behind. Shiro assumed it was the moonlight bouncing off the face of the cliff behind him, and left it as the truth. He couldn’t be bothered to occupy his head any further. All that was in his mind was his wet ears, the unrelenting blows of seawater on his face, the tightening grip in his chest and the need to pull himself harder.

After a minute or an hour, he reached it. He felt his knuckles punch against something hard, so much so that his wrist was a notch’s bend away from spraining his joint. He tested that hypothesis by pulling his body frontwards. Sure enough, his knees collided with something hard enough to leave him a pair of memorable bruises. He hoisted his shoulder over the rope and wiped the water off his face with his hand. His snout was barely inches away from the wall. He pushed himself backwards and took in the view before his eyes. From afar, it didn’t seem like much. Up close, it was a monument. Its size was akin to an ancient tree, rooted deep into the dirt below and stretching tall into the sky above.

It was almost the same size as the one from the park at the Academy. Possibly even bigger.

The wolf looked around his back. He found himself in a small pocket of tranquillity within the water. The rock halted the waves, creating a miniature space of water where not a single external ripple could reach. All that came of the tides were loud noises and the occasional spurt of droplets.

It was perfect.

Shiro moved his grip onto the rope tied around the rock. He dug his fingers in between. He felt some cold slime on his fingers on the inner parts. He managed to handle a decent grip on the rope. He gave it a slight tug. It was as tight and robust as it seemed. He planted his feet against the rock’s wall and stood on bent knees, pulling torso above the water, along with one free arm.

He pulled himself towards the rock and gave it three hard knocks. He couldn’t hear the impact. All he could feel was the strength he deposited being returned in full to his knuckles, shaking his palm all the way to his bones.

Shiro stared at the rock for a moment as he felt the sensation slowly dissipate from his palm.

Then he formed a fist.

He pulled his arm back, holding the rope vice in his hand as he made a tight grip in his hand.

He heaved in a deep breath.

Before he could think of anything else, his eye was shot with a sudden rush of pain. All the air in his lungs rushed out in a deep, loud howl as he glanced away, rubbing his eye in desperation. A droplet from the crashing waves somehow shot its way towards his face, landing squarely into his eye. His salt turned his world into a blurry, burning mess.

He turned his head to the side, waiting for his sight to return.

All he could do was hold tight, wait, and listen to the waves.

Listen to the waves.

The waves.

From behind, the wolf could hear the deep thumps exploding from the front. He couldn’t feel the impact from the rock itself, but he could sense it with his body. Compared to how they were from shore, the sounds were amplified to an unbearable degree, with each audible crash sending his body and everything within to a temporary rumble before following it up with another blast, shaking his body to a perpetual, restless state. They shook his ears, jerked his tissues and sent his heart to a mad drumming session.

A thought slipped into the wolf’s head.

He dug his other hand in between the ropes and pulled himself closed towards the rock. He shimmied his way to the side of the rock, exposing himself to the tumultuous current. The waters became violent, as with every tide, he felt as if the sea had a hand on his body and was jerking him back and forth against the shore and the horizon, trying to peel him off the rock. They crashed against his face and twisted his limbs into sore lumps of flesh. The wolf tightened his grip on the rope and pulled his body closer to the rock. He kept his eyes closed and listened.

The waves rocked his head so much that the pain from his eyes began to seep into his eardrums.

He remained still and listened.

The waves crashed against the rock again with a magnified clap akin to a nearby thunder.

The wolf listened.

Another came in soon, discharging like an auditory bomb made with the sole intent to deafen in permanence.

The wolf listened.

Another erupted so loud that it felt as if the waves were hitting him instead.

The wolf listened.

Another one exploded.

In a sudden burst of force, Shiro pulled himself towards the other side of the rock and hung on for dear life as another wave came screaming in from behind.

It hit him like a truck.

It was unlike anything he’d ever felt. It was neither solid nor liquid. It was something both harder and more viscous, like a giant slab of iron slamming him from behind with the sensation of a thousand microscopic arrows. The impact staggered his body from behind, the tremor rocking through his intestines and limbs and head. The wolf barely held his grasp on the rope as the pain began to settle into his numbed nerves, waking them to their presence.

Before he could cope with everything else, the wolf was hit with another wave.

He couldn’t hold on for long. His grip held, but everything else was slipping. His elbows were forced against his abdomen as the tide pushed him by the head and rammed him snout-first onto the rock. The collision wasn’t enough to black him out, which meant the wolf was awake to feel it all. Amidst the impact, the wolf clutched onto his fleeting consciousness and raised his knees, sunk his claws onto the rock’s surface and pushed his feet against the rock’s surface. A cushion made out of his own legs. As for its efficiency, he found out soon enough.

He lost sensation in his knees. He could feel them crashing against the rock, but that was the extent of his cognition. The water rammed against his ankle, yanking them inwards, pushing his feet down from its grip on the rock. His elbows now shot outwards as his torso was slammed once again onto the rock. He managed to move his head this time, taking the brunt of the collision with his cheeks instead. He could feel his lungs tremble within his ribcage from the impact. He felt his breath getting flattened out of his snout.

He had no time to adjust his posture. The most he could do was breathe in as much as he could before the wave came along. He straightened his elbow, pushing his face away from the rock, giving space for his snout before the next impact came along.

It was then when he saw Uncle.

There he was, hanging from the side of the rock, his wet face paling from under the moonlight’s gleam. He was still dressed as he was back in the lobby with half the buttons of his shirt torn by the extreme current. He stuck one whole wing in between the rope as he reached out his other.

He shouted, “Shiro!”

The wolf forgot everything he did as he struggled to keep up with his eyes.

“Grab my-”

Shiro couldn’t catch the rest of the sentence. The bewilderment has rendered his limbs feeble and thus, unprepared. The wave crashed onto him once more, smacking his forehead onto the rock so hard that he let go out of pure instinct. The current dragged him away from Uncle and the rope, throwing him to the other side of the rock.

Shiro still had a sliver of sanity in his head. He kept his mouth shut and his breath intact. Everything else, however, was thrown out the moment he lost his grip. Everything was incomprehensible. He felt his entire body tossed across a vast, viscid abyss where nothing but chaos existed. He was being pushed and pulled against and towards the same direction from every angle. One moment his heel was behind his neck and the other he found his elbow touching his toes. He kept his eyes open, but the salt blurred his visions so much that he couldn’t even catch the barest glimpse of the bubbles gurgling right before his sight.

Shiro reduced his body to the basics. He discarded every thought he had in his body and forced his body open through brute strength. He felt a sprain or two aching across his limbs. He vacated his palms, aiming to hold a vice-like grip on the first thing he lay hands on.

It came no more than a split second after that. Something slammed onto Shiro’s shoulders. He cared not to deduce whether it's the opposite that happened. He twisted his body against the current and grabbed onto that something, introducing another sprain to his muscles.

Sand.

The ocean floor.

He stabbed another hand into it, but he was already losing ground. It was sand, the same material that made the shores where the waves enjoyed their pickings with.

From where he held, Shiro felt two currents tugging at him from both sides. He guessed one of them was towards land. He didn’t want to take a chance with the other. His breath was running out. He wasn’t certain if his grip would hold for another second. He had to make a decision.

With that, Shiro stopped thinking.

He let go, throwing himself to fate.

He figured if there was a deity that wanted him dead, so be it.

He wasn’t given time to think about regrets because that hypothetical deity wanted him to suffer just a little bit more.

Shiro’s breath gave away and, out of reflex, his lungs opened up, ready for another deposit.

His lungs rejected the deposit with much disdain.

It was air, too cold and chilling to be considered breathable. It sent Shiro to a coughing fit, forcing his snout and eyes open.

He was back on the beach, or at least that was what his eyes registered. He could be in heaven for all he knew. He may have made a mistake at the auditorium, but a slim chance was never the equivalent to no chance.

Then he felt the first pang of pain settle into his body, and the wolf admitted to his mistake.

He turned his body to the side in an attempt to recalibrate his senses. His nose, wet and soggy. His mouth, finally free from the taste of radish and now parched to the extreme. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be craving any salty food for some time. His ears, muffled and ringing. His body, aching, sore, and stinging all over. He was also feeling a slight chill, mainly on his torso. He still had his track pants on, but they were hardly of any help considering they were as soaked as him.

His eyes stared towards the night sky. The stars were sparse, sharing generous space with the gibbous moon. He could see the cliffs from the top of his head, staring down at him with great interest.

A minute later, Uncle’s face showed up from the corner of his sight, drenched and dripping. The wolf wasn’t surprised, considering the events prior.

“This your way of thrill-seeking, boy?”

Shiro took in a few cold breaths before he spoke.

“Where-”

“Save your breath,” Uncle pressed down a wet feather on the wolf’s snout, “We’re both alive. The sea washed you some meters away from your clothes.”

Shiro stared at the sea duck for a moment before nodding.

Uncle sighed and pulled back his wing, “Why forsake me like this?”

The wolf didn’t answer.

The sea duck kept his gaze on Shiro for a few seconds before looking down on his clothes. He took his top off and wrung the water out to his side. As he did, he spoke.

“She wasn’t supposed to be out here,” he said, “She kept coming out at night to collect seashells. It was the best time with the strong tide, and she’s right. But that’s no reason to risk your life, right? She still doesn’t listen, and if it weren’t for her stubbornness, who knew where you’d be now?”

The sea duck made a snickering laugh.

“Maybe she’ll finally listen now.”

Shiro watched as he ran his wing across his geriatric body. His feathers may seem smooth, but beneath it all were sagging layers of skin, worn out by the passing of time.

“Ooh, I’ll be feeling this for a while.”

“S-Sorry,” Shiro blurted out.

“You better be,” the sea duck retorted, “She’s fetching your clothes now. At least you have something warm to wear.”

“Y-You can wear it-” Shiro offered.

“Don’t push it.”

The wolf promptly shut his snout.

The duckling came running from the side a minute later, carrying her same weak flashlight with one hand and Shiro’s tracksuit with another. She walked up behind Uncle, saying something to him. The sea duck responded in kind and took the tracksuit off her hand. The duckling then pointed the flashlight towards Shiro.

She shrieked.

The wolf’s body was obscured under the night sky. Aside from the bare shapes, not many details could be seen aside from some occasional glint from his fur.

Under naked light, however, details emerge, among other things.

The wolf caught sight of the light shining on his body and that gave him all the vigour he needed to sit up. He only had a split second’s worth of exposure as the duckling promptly dropped the flashlight in her hand, the light rolling off to a different direction. He glanced towards the duckling. Their gazes met. The wolf could see her mouth agape with terror. He glanced towards the sea duck. His eyes were wide with unease and horror as he held the wolf’s clothes in his wings.

The wolf snatched his tracksuit from the sea duck’s wings and shoved his arms into the sleeves, pulling it over his shoulder and torso, shielding his body from the open air.

Shiro turned towards the ducks once more. The duckling had her mouth closed, but her expression remained unchanging, along with the sea duck.

They stared at one another for a long while.

It wasn’t a full minute until Uncle mustered the strength to speak.

He pointed a feather towards Shiro, “Those...“

He couldn’t finish that sentence.

He then moved his feather towards the ocean, “Were they from-”

“No,” Shiro answered.

The sea duck nodded, his tone weak from fatigue, among other reasons, “Okay…”

“Sorry,” Shiro said again, “You shouldn’t’ve seen that.”

The sea duck kept his silence, moving his gaze towards the ground.

He then moved his gaze towards the duckling standing behind Uncle. Her body flinched when they exchanged eye contact.

To the best of his ability, Shiro gave her an apology in her native tongue.

Shiro could tell he butchered the pronunciation, but from the look of the duckling’s face, she understood what he meant. Her terror wasn’t eradicated, but something was done to it, at the very least.

He reached into his pocket and fished something out. To his fortune, his phone was still intact. He turned it on and, to his surprise, found that he’d barely been out for an hour. He tapped past the lock screen and opened his contact list.

He figured telling her firsthand was better than the opposite.

He tapped on her name and brought the phone to his ear. It wasn’t a second until it began ringing.

Though, for some reason, he could also hear her ringtone from the other ear. He brought the phone down, wondering if he had toggled some special feature on his device. He could still hear the ringing from the phone itself, but the ringtone still played from his other ear. Weirded out, he turned his head to the side, and found out where the ringtone was coming from.

Accompanied by the brown sea duck from the front desk was Ma, still dressed in the inn’s complimentary clothes, clutching her purse in one hand. The brown sea duck had brought two towels with her. She quickly passed one towards Shiro and threw herself onto Uncle, wiping him down with many worries in her tired eyes as she let out a rapid-fire of cries and laments.

The sea duck consoled her with a smile on his face as he held the towel in his hand. He slowly stood up under the brown sea duck’s support and turned to his back, meeting Ma. He looked up to her face and spoke.

“Ma’am,” he said, “Your partner-”

“Son,” she corrected Uncle.

The sea duck choked on his words for a moment. He kept a long look at the cat before switching his gaze towards Shiro, and back again at the cat.

The brown sea duck caught the gist of it and pulled Uncle’s head to her beak, whispering something to him.

The sea duck’s eyes opened with comprehension, though there was a trace of scepticism left in them. He looked towards the brown sea duck with incredulity, and she nodded, giving him that last needed bit of confirmation.

He turned back towards Ma and said, “Well, that saves a lot of words.”

The sea duck turned to his back and picked up his wet shirt, throwing it over his shoulder while the brown sea duck held his other arm. He handed off his towel to the duckling as she was picking up her flashlight.

Uncle gave Ma his final few words of the night, “I’ll leave him to you.”

The three ducks walked off past Ma, heading their way back around the bend of the beach. Ma kept her eye on Shiro as they left, letting the distant waves run their mouths to fill the blanks. The wolf himself looked away to the ground as he wiped his chest off with the given towel.

She then walked up to Shiro and pinched him from the tip of his wet ear. She didn’t have the strength to pull him up from the ground, only enough to pull his snout towards hers.

Ma’s face was as expressionless and professional as it always was. Her eyes, however, had never burned this much before.

“What were you thinking?”

Shiro held his tongue for a brief moment.

“Making a choice.”

“Are you talking back at me?”

“No.”

A noisy silence was exchanged between the two.

Ma relinquished her grip from Shiro’s ear, moving her hand down to the wolf’s shoulder. Shiro kept his eyes on her as she sat herself down beside him.

Without a change of tone in her voice, she asked.

“Am I not doing good enough?"

Shiro didn’t answer for a moment.

Then, just a short distance away behind Ma’s head, stood something all too familiar to the wolf.

The rock, standing on where it always was, cold, unfeeling, and unmoving.

“No,” he answered, “Just me.”