"I don't know what the hell he was thinking," I scoff, taking another bite of my cornbug. "Can't fuckin' believe Sahara's putting up this bad of a showing."

"Shit, no kidding," Marty agrees from his spot on the couch's armrest next to me. "Up until tonight, you'da convinced me Sahara had it in the bag. Now I'm wondering if these dipshits forgot how to play ball. Hey, pass the honey mustard, Charlie."

Without even looking up, Charlie plucks the bottle from off of the table and lazily tosses it over her shoulder to him. I manage to just barely catch it out of midair with a hoof before Marty ends up wearing its contents. Wide-eyed, he nods appreciatively at me.

"Nice catch," he says, giving the back of her head a crude gesture.

"Not really," Charlie responds absently, completely focused on the game. "More like a fumble."

"Thanks," I smile anyway, hoofing over the bottle, "Guess it's my inner couch-athlete coming out."

Charlie, Marty and I are over with Anneke at her and Wolt's apartment watching the ZBA playoffs on their bigscreen. Not sure where her brother is. Leaning back on the couch, I finish off the rest of my cornbug and toss the stick in the trash. Not gonna lie, this is kind of nice, even if it is a little outside my comfort zone. I'm not used to really just sitting down and socializing with my neighbors, but I guess now that I'm an "honorary" member of the Pack (as Al phrased it) I might as well try to act like it. Besides, I can think of worse ways to spend my evening, and hey, everyone's actually been kinda pleasant tonight.

Myself included.

"Oh, lookit this -- dumb fuck's gonna choke on the free shot. Calling it now," Annie cackles, jabbing a paw at the screen.

"Nah, no way." Marty waves her off. "Guy's a professional. Who can't land a free shot when they're given one?"

"Anneke's right. Spotter's the worst shooter Sahara Square's team has," Charlie says. "Forty percent isn't a solid track record for free throws."

Sure enough, Spotter whiffs.

"Glad I didn't put any money on that bet," Marty says begrudgingly as Annie pumps her fists in the air.

"Hey Cormo, you're the basketball guy among us, right?" Annie asks.

"I played back in high school, yeah," I respond, brushing some crumbs off my shirt. "I wasn't like some prodigy or anything, but I was pretty all right."

"Cool. I've always thought guys in sports uniforms look pretty hot," she says, licking her muzzle seductively. "Especially after they've just worked up a nice sweat."

Charlie clears her throat.

I nonchalantly move a throw pillow over my waistline as I look at Anneke. "Really. You, uh, you think so, huh?"

"Awww, fuck yeah. Plus basketball uniforms look so comfortable, you know?" She arches an eyebrow at me, and suddenly it's a little difficult to swallow. "Those silky kinda shorts and those sleeveless shirts, like. Soft, roomy, breathable... bet they'd be real nice to wear to bed."

Perking up from her spot on the floor in front of us, Charlie turns her squinty gaze from the TV over to Annie.

"Anneke, you know better," she says in a warning tone. Annie raises her paws in wordless defeat, leaning back in her oversized recliner.

"Well hey, hold on," I stammer, glancing down at Charlie. "I'm okay with it, I mean, we're just talking, you know?"

Marty wordlessly shakes his head and offers me an exasperated roll of his eyes, and I suddenly feel I'm missing something.

"Okay, what's -- what do you mean 'know better'? Because I didn't--"

"You're the Omega now," Annie says with a sigh.

"Not sure I follow...?" I look around the room curiously, waiting for someone to fill me in. "Like, what does me being the Omega have to do with anything?"

"Omegas can't mate," Charlie says bluntly, reaching for her drink.

I can practically hear the record screeching to a halt. You're kidding. Omegas can't mate-- the fuck? Since fucking when do these assholes -- or anyone else -- have the authority to determine who gets to fuck and who doesn't?! I'm legit floored right now -- no, nevermind. Calm down. They're just fucking with me, of course. Like they always do. I mean, this has to be a joke. But would Annie really turn down a chance at a romp in the hay with a guy like me just for a practical joke? I mean, no, she's got to be pulling my wool over my eyes, that's all there is to it.

"You, uh, you sure about that, Charlie?" I ask with a nervous laugh. "Because I'd think if I was being promoted to Omega I'd have, y'know, more authority than I already had before. Not less." That makes sense. I give Marty a 'can you believe this' elbow and he sniffs, avoiding eye contact and rubbing his forehead.

"You weren't really 'promoted' to Omega, since you weren't a member of the Pack before," he grunts, fumbling with the cap on the bottle of honey mustard as means of distraction. "That's like saying you were 'promoted' to fry cook when you didn't work for Bug Burga prior to getting the job."

"But Omegas CAN fuck, right?" I ask bluntly. "I mean, that's not -- you guys are just putting me on, right?"

Awkward silence ensues.

"You really don't know much about pack dynamics do you," Charlie asks.

"Wow. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Remmy," Annie says in an uncharacteristically somber display.

"Yeah, you guys are really fuckin' funny. Look, I'll be right back," I announce to nobody in particular, sliding to my hooves and trotting towards the front door. "I left something at my apartment."

Without waiting for a response, I quickly toss the door open and head out into the hallway, making a beeline straight for the upper level. I've gotta ask somebody to clarify this. Anneke's the type to mess with me, and Marty's probably still sore at me after I got him good over on Flock Street, but for Charlie to be backing it up, too? No, there's no way in hell this can be real. If it is, I'm revoking my own Pack membership.

Wait, fuck, can I do that? Is it opt-out? Can I go upstairs and just tell Al "sorry, I changed my mind, Avo's the Omega again" and go back to the way things were before? Shit, I don't want to risk pissing him off after everything that went on between us, but I've gotta know. This'll keep me up all night if I don't address it now. Gotta nip it in the bud before things get worse.

As I hurry up the stairs, I notice Avo coming back down, a paper bag from Pandora's slung over her shoulder. That reminds me -- I still haven't opened the one Pandora sent me home with yet. It may very well end up being a lifeline if what my neighbors were saying just now is true.

"Hey, cotton-butt." She waves as she passes me by on her way down. "Where's the fire?"

"Hey, Avo, perfect timing. I gotta ask you something." Stopping midway up the staircase, I try to look a little more relaxed and a little less like I'm about to pass out. "You're not the Omega anymore, right?"

"That's right," she says proudly, no trace of her usual snarky air as she puffs up her chest. "That'd be you now. I was promoted."

"But you're not the Beta or the Alpha either, right?"

"Right. Just like any other member of the Pack now," she says, smoothing her dress out. "Why, what's with the sudden interest?"

"I was just wondering, uh," I lean against the rusty banister, looking away towards the upper floor and trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, "Is there, like, I dunno... anything I need to know about being the Omega? Anything that stands out from your experience? Anything you weren't too fond of, or... you know, anything like that?"

"Hm. Downsides, huh? Well, the lack of sex was kind of a bummer," Avo admits.

Panic begins to spread through me like the fever I kicked a couple of weeks ago. I turn to face her but she's already on her way down the stairs.

I book it up the stairs as fast as my legs'll take me, peeling down the hallway to Al's apartment.

Maybe it's different for male Omegas, right? It's gotta be -- maybe the Pack keeps the females locked down for breeding in case of emergencies or whatever? Look, I don't know. But like, it's different for me! I've got buildup to deal with, okay? Maybe it's a pred/prey divide thing, like predators don't mind it. I don't know their breeding habits! But I'm a sheep. I'm exempt, right? I mean, I should be exempt. Al will understand, he's got to.

Sniffing deeply, I stop in front of the Alpha's apartment. Maybe if I ask him real nice and lay it out honestly, he'll have mercy on me and give me a special dispensation. Raising a hoof to Al's buzzer, I steel my nerves and give it a light push. I hope I'm not waking him up -- I know he's probably exhausted after work.

To my surprise, though, the door swings open; Al's standing there with a Sahara Scorchers jersey on and a half-eaten sub sandwich in his paw.

"Cormo?" he asks, raising his sandwich to his maw and taking a bite. He almost seems surprised to see me. "I wasn't expecting-- are you crying?"

"No, nope," I reply, sniffing and wiping my eyes on the back of my sleeve. Dipping my head out of respect, I press my hooves together pensively. "Can I trouble you for a moment? It's, uh, a really personal matter."

"Uhhh, sure," he shrugs, resting against his doorframe. "What's going on?"

I nod a second time to him, politely scraping my hooves at his front doormat and peering inside. The lights are off in his apartment, so I can't make out much, but he's got a small portable TV crackling black and white on his countertop. When he doesn't move aside, I slowly look up at him. "Uh, can I come in?"

To my surprise, he shakes his head. "Sorry. Nothin' against you or anything but I don't invite just anyone into the den."

"Oh. Well, I mean, I -- that's fine, I just was gonna ask something real quick anyway. It's about the Omega thing, with the Pack? I was told -- well, I was talking to Annie and the others, and she made a joke about -- well, long story, but I guess it was like a pass at me, like, uh... look, Charlie was -- she'd made this comment in response to Annie and she said that, you know, about Omegas, like..."

"Cormo, I have no idea what the fuck you're trying to say," he says, folding his arms. "Slow down."

"Everyone was telling me that Omegas can't mate," I blurt out, hooves shaking. "And I came to ask -- ask your permission and make sure it's okay. If I do? Because I don't know how much longer I can go, man! You understand, right?"

Al blinks a couple of times before his huge paw shoots out at me. For a half-second I think he's gonna clobber me for insubordination but all of a sudden he's got me by the shoulder and laughing so hard I'M shaking.

"Oh my god, I can't believe they fuckin' pulled that one again," he wheezes, slamming his fist on the door frame. "They got you good, grazer!"

I laugh out loud in relief -- probably a little too loud, probably a little too aggressively, but I'm nervous, okay? Al slaps me on the shoulder a few times, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Man, I can't believe you completely bought it! No, no, of course you can have sex!" he asks, still roaring. "I mean, you can, like you're ALLOWED. Doesn't mean you're CAPABLE. I mean--"

"Haa. Yeah. No, I get it." I grin awkwardly.

He chuckles, finally standing straight again. "Like -- holy shit, wow. I remember when they pulled that one over on Kenny."

"So it IS just a joke," I reaffirm, embarrassed. God, I feel like a fuckin' idiot now. I'm really not digging this new trend of me embarrassing myself in front of Al, but at least it's a joke at my expense rather than me having to do damage control again over some fuckup of my own.

"Yeah. Like -- how the fuck would we even enforce that? What were you thinking we'd do, slap a chastity belt on your ass or something?"

Sighing, I half-collapse against the hallway wall, running my hooves through my headwool. I'm surprised to find out that I'm actually drenched in sweat. Holy shit.

"Man, I'm sorry to bother you about it," I reply, pinching the bridge of my muzzle. "Fuck. I feel like a moron."

"Haha, naaah," he says, waving it off. "They're just having some fun. Fucking with the new guy is kind of a tradition, and you're not the first one to bite. Honestly, the whole thing's actually not that complicated, and you've got even less to worry about because you're not even a wolf."

"So like, what DOES change for me now that I'm a member of the Pack?" I ask with a hopeful smirk. "Like, am I expected to take part in the, uh, the dominance thing you were doing with Betty, or...? I mean, if you need me to, at least give me time to get a padded suit or something."

"Yeah. No. Probably a good idea if you sit those out," he smirks. Man, when was the last time I saw Al acting this friendly? "Look, basically being part of the Pack just means more than anything else that you watch out for everyone. If you know someone needs something and it's shit you can help out with, then you do it. Likewise, if you need something, then you put your need out there and hopefully it gets taken care of."

"So like what kind of needs are we talking about, exactly?"

"Day-to-day stuff, making ends meet, that sorta thing. When life fucking kicks you in the jaw and you're trying to figure out how to scrape together the thirty bucks you need to pay your fuckin' light bill, or you need someone to go with you to one of your meetings. That kinda shit. I mean it about the cash, too. You need a loan, you talk to me before you go find some shark." He finishes off the last of his sub, tossing the paper plate in the kitchen trash can behind him. "Just don't take advantage of it. Kenny took the pack for granted, started doin' shit he shouldn't have. We can't look the other way when that happens, and if cops come knocking we can only do so much."

"Right," I respond. "So keep my muzzle clean, obviously."

"Obviously. Rule #1: don't be a fucking dumbass. That said, long as you're here, you're under the Pack's protection. Anyone comes by to fuck with one of ours, that's where we get involved. You play ball, we won't throw you to the wolves. Figure a'speech."

"I see. Well yeah, that makes sense, I think. We've got a similar kind of thing going on with the herd, too, though it's more of a 'follow the leader' kind of arrangement."

"Yeah, herds are... their own kinda thing," he mutters, his expression shifting. "Anyway, it's a good thing you stopped by when you did. Saves me the hassle of hunting you down."

"Oh?" I ask.

"Yeah, I got somethin' for you. Well, two things, actually. Hang on a sec."

He cracks his neck, then turns and heads off into his apartment. After a minute or two of waiting, he comes thumping back into the kitchen with a shopping bag tucked under his arm.

"First things first. This is for the one I wrecked. I was... frustrated. At the time."

He unceremoniously thrusts a bright red gym bag into my hooves -- a proper, not-improvised one. It even comes with a freebie water bottle inside, too.

"Holy shit, Al," I reply, breaking into a smile. "Man, I -- I don't know what to say. Thank you! This is fuckin' awesome, it's even got like a little pocket for my phone charger and everything. Way better than my old one."

"Don't worry about it. It's the least I could do, considering. And here, this is the other thing I wanted you to have." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vinyl pouch, handing it to me. "As long as you're here, if ever you're in trouble, I want you to have this."

Setting the bag aside, I open up the pouch and reach inside it.

"A whistle?" I ask curiously, pulling out a shiny whistle on the end of a thick piece of cord.

"For emergencies only," he instructs sternly. "You get me? Don't you blow it unless you're in a bad way -- not even to test it."

"Emergency use only," I repeat with a nod.

"Good. Now you put that thing on and don't take it off. You're a member of the Pack now, and all of us carry one."

I hastily nod, slipping the cord on over my neck and letting the whistle slide under my shirt.

"Once if you're in trouble," he says. "Twice means 'big trouble'. Three times means 'literally fucking life or death, send everyone'. As long as you're near Pack Street and you sound that whistle, I fuckin' guarantee you someone's gonna come running."

Looking down at my chest, I lay a hoof over the whistle in realization.

This is what it means to be accepted into the fold.

"I understand," I quietly offer. "This is big, Al. I -- I really appreciate it. I promise I'll try to work hard to earn your trust."

Al claps me on the shoulder, nodding. "Good. You just pitch in from time to time, when you can, and we'll be square."

I tuck the whistle into my shirt. "Is there anything I can do now?"

"What, like right this second?" He scratches his chin, his claw playing through the snow-white scruff. "Actually, yeah. I got something you could do, if you're offering."

"Sure, I'm game," I reply, standing up and collecting my new gym bag. "What do you need me to do?"

"Actually, it's Wolter who needs you for something," he says. "He came by a half an hour before you got here, talking about a road trip. It's a long way from here, so it's gonna take up your whole day. You up to tag along?"

I hold my hooves out at my sides, scoffing. "I think I can handle that, yeah. Plus I don't have work tonight. Where are we going?"

"Bunnyburrow?"

"Crazy, right?" Wolt mutters, fumbling around in his pocket for the keys to the car we'll be taking -- a clean, late-model two-door sedan, built for a bigger mammal than either of us. Not much in the way of amenities, but it should get the job done. "I've got something I gotta go pick up. It's a ways out and I wasn't really, you know, keen on makin' a big trip like that alone."

"Can't say I blame you. It's like, what, four hours from here? Five, something like that?"

"Yuuup. Toss your stuff in the trunk and hop in." Wolt opens the luggage compartment in the back, and I chuck my gym bag in. "Hey, do you have your phone? GPS would be nice."

"Oh yeah, good idea," I reply, climbing into the passenger's seat and plugging my phone into the dash.

"Hey grazer, check it out," Wolt says, hopping into the driver's seat with a pair of sunglasses slung on over his muzzle. "Whaddya think of my new shades? Pretty nice, huh?"

It's like, one in the morning -- should you really be driving with sunglasses on at night, Wolt? "Oh, real nice. Those Elkleys?"

"Friend of mine found a case of them that'd fallen off the back of a truck," he boasts, adjusting the seat up a dozen or so notches so he can see over the steering wheel.

"Not bad. You, uh, you might want to take the price tag off though," I chuckle. He glances at himself in the rearview mirror, blushing a little before plucking the tag loose from the right earpiece.

"I was testing you. Just deciding whether I wanted to keep 'em or not," he insists, handing me a scrap of paper with a hastily-written address. "Punch this in so we can get going. I wanna hurry up and get outta here so we can beat the downtown traffic before it gets crazy."

"Sounds like a plan." I fire up Zoogle Maps and type in the address, letting the software give us directions. "Been a while since my last road trip."

"Same here. Anna and I used to go on 'em a lot," Wolt replies as we take off down Pack. "Right after we moved here. Mostly to visit relatives and shit for family gatherings when we were young. Not so much these days. How about you, fluff? Planning on visiting the herd come the holidays?"

My wool bristles a little. I make a show of adjusting my seat.

"Nah."

Conversation kind of stalls for a minute; I think Wolt just naturally expected me to follow that up with some kind of commentary, but I've got no idea where to go from there. To his credit, he doesn't press me on it. Thing about Wolt is he's so laid-back, I'm not really used to his personality. Ozzy's practically hyper by comparison, Marty's hostile, Al's gruff and scary -- but Wolt just sort of IS. Seems like his sister or someone else is usually around for him to kind of play off. Hell, even having Charlie here kind of brought out a different side of him, even if it wasn't necessarily his best side.

"So, uh, I'm the Omega now," I remark with a snort, fumbling for something to talk about. "You jealous of my sweet new title?"

Wolt cracks a smile that slowly inches across his face. "Man, I totally am," he says with an approving nod. "Shame you won't be able to shag any babes until we get a new Omega to replace you, though."

"Nice try. I already talked to Al about that one."

"Shit," he chuckles, grinning lazily. "Anna, right? Man, you shoulda seen the look on the face of the last guy we pulled that shit on. He was in fuckin' tears."

I take a deep breath, scratching my nose. "Can't imagine."

"So I gotta say, never thought I'd see Al accept a ram into the fuckin' Pack, but you know what? I dig it," Wolter says. "How you likin' it so far?"

"It's not bad," I admit, pulling my whistle out and flashing it to him. He nods, reaching under his shirt and doing the same -- his whistle's a bit tarnished and the rope necklace has faded with age, but it's still very much the same kind. "Any tips or taboos I should know so I don't have a repeat of, well, you know?"

"Uh, well, I'm sure you've heard Rule #1?"

"'Don't be a fucking dumbass' if I remember correctly."

"That's the one," Wolt snickers. "Honestly, man, I think you're probably makin' too big a thing of it in your head. Just showing respect goes so far with Al and the others, man. Like, so much of that 'pack dynamics' stuff is just ancient rotes and shit -- nobody touches that stuff anymore. It basically just boils down to like, play nice together, show some respect, and pitch in. And yeah, don't be a dumbass, of course."

I lean my elbow against the window, watching Wolt talk as he focuses on the road. "And what about the traditions and stuff?"

"There's little things, sure, but like, they're little, you know? Like Al's not gonna bite your head off if you don't do the little wolf-gesundheit-dance every time you sneeze or some weird shit like that. And most of it's just reserved for wolves, so they won't expect it outta you any more than they do outta Marty. Hell, it took me and Anna forever to pick up on that, but it feels a lot better once you realize you only really have to focus on the big stuff."

"So what, you guys have to do the full song and dance, but I'll get by with the abridged version?"

He furrows his brow a little as we take a left onto Grass Street. "No no, like I just said, it's really easy. Me and Anna don't have to worry about dominance displays and all that weird stuff."

I scratch my head. The simple lesson is seeming more complex by the second. "No, you just said wolves have to do the whole shebang."

"Right," his brow unfurrows, and his sleepy smile returns.

I pause for a long second, till it becomes clear he won't be continuing that thought without help. "But YOU GUYS are wolves."

"Nah, we're aardwolves," he corrects, taking the next turn. "Common mistake. Last stop before the highway, you alright with grabbing Bug Burga on the way so we can keep going?"

"Yeah, that's great," I reply, licking my lips. "But like I was saying, aardwolf, regular wolf -- that's the same thing, isn't it? Wolves are still wolves, right?"

He pushes his shades up onto his head to make eye contact with me. "We're actually, like, hyenas, dude."

"Wait, what?" Blinking, I shake my head. "So wait, you're -- you're a hyena? Like Ozzy?"

"Yeah man," he straightens up with a smile. "Me an' Ozzy are like cousins. Didn't they teach you any of this shit in school?"

"Dude, fuckin' look at me, I'm a ram," I deadpan. "That's why I'm asking. But like, okay, you're all -- you know what I mean. Even if hyenas don't have the pack, you're still canines, right? So like, you and Annie got the whole--"

"Felines," he quietly corrects again, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing.

"Fucking hell," I sputter incredulously, pressing my hooves against my head like I'm trying to hold my exploding brain in. "You guys are called aardwolves, living on Pack Street where all the canines are, and you're FELINES."

"That's about the long and short of it, yeah."

I stare blankly over the dash. "You and Annie are felines. Like, cats."

He sniffs, failing to stifle a grin. "That's sorta what feline means."

I sit there like a dumbass, trying to work through it in my head. "Ozzy, too. You're telling me Ozzy's a fucking cat. Like a tiger."

He pantomimes a clawing gesture. "Me-yow."

"Well I guess there goes that point I was trying to make then," I admit, leaning back in my seat with a dull whump. "So the pack shit's bizarre to you guys too then?"

"Oh, abso-fuckin'-lutely," Wolter replies immediately, shifting lanes to pull into Bug Burga's drive-thru. "I mean traditionally, we're supposed to be loners. But like I said, you get used to it. Just basically think of it like a company, you know? Where you got the CEO -- that's Al -- and then you've got like, the manager -- that's Betty -- and then all the other guys on bottom, and that's us."

"Right," I nod.

"Except you. You're the unpaid intern," he clarifies with a snicker.

"Fuckin' joke's on you, I got a sweet new gym bag today," I boast. "Al hooked me up."

"No shit. Al's a good guy, man."

I nod, having finally gotten to see what the others have been trying to tell me for weeks. "Yeah, I think he is too."

"That's why he's the CEO."

Pulling in behind a pickup truck full of tired beavers in construction gear, Wolt cranes his neck to look around at the cars, counting them off slowly.

"Six deep... that's not too bad. Probably won't be any faster going in," he muses. "What do you want?"

"They have fish?" I ask.

"Fish?" he says, turning his head to me with eyebrows raised. "Holy shit dude, you eat fuckin' fish now too?"

"Just started recently," I admit proudly. "Neil's taco truck came by and I had a fish taco. Good stuff, isn't it?"

"Wouldn't know. We don't eat fish -- and before you say anything, hey, not all felines are into it," he says. "I dunno, something about it, it's like -- it's off-putting, man. It's too 'alive'. Too close to 'real' meat, which just... makes me queasy."

"But you don't mind bugs?" I query.

"Fuckin' love bugs. I'm an insectivore, man," he says, shifting the car into gear and pulling forward in the queue. "That means I only eat bugs. Which is funny, because that shit they teach you in school about preds having to sorta 'compromise' on bug 'meat' doesn't even fuckin' stick to me."

I know he's just talking to talk, but something about that makes me turn it over in my head. "No shit," I murmur.

"Like, even tens of thousands of years ago, back in the fuckin' wilds, my ancestors were eating ants." He turns, smirking to me with teeth that seem plenty sharp all the same. "Not sheep."

I laugh in disbelief, holding my hooves out. "Thanks? That makes me feel way safer."

"So really," he hums, slouching comfortably in the driver's seat, "If anything, I should be the one lookin' over my shoulder for you."

I'm tempted to fake a predatory lunge, but I wisely let the dumb gag die in my head, instead. "I think fish is probably my limit. I'm good with bugs, anyway."

"Mm. I'd eat bug meat every day of the week and not think twice about it. Anna too -- that's why she was so pissy about that slider you owe her."

"Oh god, she's still on that? I thought I'd settled that tab," I grimace. "How many fuckin' sandwiches do I have to buy your sister before she lets me off the hook?"

Wolter shakes his head, slumping over the steering wheel -- like that's somehow comfortable. "Anna gets shit in her head, dude, and there's no talking her down."

"I'm starting to see that."

Once it's our turn in the line, both of us end up going for the Double Roach Deluxe combo with their new signature Beetle Juice drink (which apparently's just sparkling limeade in a fancy cup). To my surprise, Wolt springs for dinner as a thanks for accompanying him, even though I offer to pay my share. We grab our bags and hit the road, not even pulling over to eat.

"So. I gave you a biology lesson -- prolly way more than you wanted to know," he quips, popping a sweet potato fry in his mouth. "Your turn. Gimme the straight dope on wool, man. That shit looks fuckin' involved."

"It's a lot of effort to keep maintained, yeah," I admit, taking a bite of my own burga. Just not the same without firefly sauce. Or fish. "I mean granted I'm probably not the best one to ask about it. It's coarser than fur. Thick and curly, but warm and soft, too. I like it short because it's easier to deal with, but when it's winter, last thing I want to do is give it up."

"Can I, uh... you mind?" he asks, licking his lips as he gestures to my head.

"Uh, if you really want to," I shrug as we pull up to a stop light. He quickly runs his clean paw through my headwool, eyes lighting up.

"Daaaamn," the insectivore marvels. Finally he backs off, and as we pull onto the mostly-deserted highway I stare out the window, watching the city lights start to dip behind us.

He shakes his head, glancing at the GPS. "Seriously, fluff, you're SO fuckin' soft. If I was a sheep I'd just sit at home and rub myself all day."

"Not as easy as it sounds," I blurt out. My eyes suddenly go wide and I divert all my attention to the scenery, pressing my head against the passenger-side window.

"How d'you mean?"

I cough. "Just -- it's a lot of work to maintain, is all."

"Well -- so this's probably like, super fuckin' offensive, but I gotta ask," Wolt says, stepping on the gas as we shift into the fast lane. "Where're your horns? They just not come in yet, or what?"

"Nah, I just don't have horns." I tap the sides of my head. "Some sheep have 'em, some don't. I was just one of the ones that don't."

"Well. That's a fuckin' bummer," he grunts. "I bet that hadda be awkward growin' up, getting confused for a girl and all."

"Some ewes have horns. It's uncommon, but they do."

It's his turn to look surprised. "Really? Because all the ewes I'VE seen are hornless."

"But horny, right?" I quip dryly.

"That, my friend, is entirely besides the point," he retorts with a sleazy grin.

"Well, the pornstar ewes almost never have horns. It's not considered 'sexy'."

"Shiiiiit," he drawls, gripping the steering wheel for emphasis, "I actually think that might be kinda hot. Like... built-in handlebars, you know? Woof."

I laugh in spite of myself. Wolt's too crass to take seriously. I can already tell this is gonna be a whole-trip thing. "'Woof'? The fuck happened to 'meow'?"

He wiggles in his seat, scratching his shaggy neck with a free claw. "Hey man, when it comes to the ladies, I'm flexible. I'll make whatever sound they want me to."

"You know, I think our new mayor doesn't have 'em either because I'm pretty sure she's a half-breed or something," I ponder, taking a sip of my drink. "Though I have no idea what her other half is."

"That explains the eyes," Wolt ponders. "None of the sheep girls in the parodies really come close to pulling her 'look' off, they all got those weird-ass eyes."

"Man, what the fuck is weird about sheep eyes?" I retort with a smile.

He doesn't miss a beat. "They look like they belong on a deep-sea monster."

I fucking lose it. I'm laughing so hard I almost spill my drink. All over the -- "Hey, whose car is this anyway?" I manage between breaths.

"Al's," Wolt nods, patting the dash. "He loans it out for special occasions."

"Wait, then why didn't we take it for that Tiger Oil thing? Why'd we rent a fucking beater van?"

Wolt giggles out his nose in breathy little snorts. "Charlie sorta had her car privileges revoked."

"Ah." Just 'ah'. I don't even need the rest, I can picture it in my head. It makes total sense.

"Speakin' of weird eyes," I murmur, finishing my burga.

"Oh man," he snickers. "C'mon."

"You ever wonder if Charlie needs glasses and just doesn't know it?"

Wolt bursts out laughing again, slapping the steering wheel and accidentally honking the horn.

I can't believe we're sitting here talking about ewe horns and eyeballs like it's some in-depth discussion. What's worse, I can't believe I'm having a good time doing so -- it's so weird and rare to have someone genuinely interested in sheep. The few times I've even tried to come close to broaching my species with these guys, I've been blown off.

I tuck my trash into the car's cupholder for now, settling into my seat to get comfortable. "Okay, so you're called an 'aardwolf' but you're not actually a wolf, you're feline. But a feline that doesn't eat fish, only insects."

"Right."

"And I'm a hornless ram -- a herbivore that eats bug meat and fish."

"Dude, you can forget 'herbivore' -- you're a carnivore now," Wolt cracks. "Like, big-time. More than me. Hell, you probably are closer to like, Al and Betty."

"Sure, but like, that's what I'm saying. It's what we're classified as, but you ever stop and wonder if whoever it is that comes up with the labels might be wrong?"

"Considering they broke the fuckin' mold when they made you?" he says with an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. "Yeah, yeah, I've thought that MANY times."

Grinning, I settle back into my seat, adjusting the headrest while Wolt polishes off his burga. It's gonna be a long ride out to Bunnyburrow, but I don't think I'm going to mind the trip at all.

While I've never been here, there's something innately familiar about Bunnyburrow. It's pretty much the textbook definition of "country living". Compared to the neverending onslaught of mammals coming and going in Zootopia, this almost feels like something out of a children's picture book. Miles and miles of farmland, green grass as far as the eye can see. Little fruit stands dot the sides of the road, their vendors selling everything from carrots to berries to homemade pastries, all farm-to-market fresh.

We're arriving "late" by our standards, but early morning by the rest of the world's. Farmers and ranchhands are out bright and early, tending their crops and getting their work done. Bunny families are unreal -- it's amazing to me to look at a random field and see hundreds of rabbits swarming all over it, riding tractors and wielding tools, and realize they're all related. I guess with that many folks helping out, though, farming must be a relatively easy task.

"Gotta tell ya, I dig this place," Wolter says as we turn onto what looks like a main street running through a long row of vintage storefronts. Everything from a dentist's office to a barber shop to even an old-timey general store. Bunnyburrow could almost be something out of a black-and-white movie, if not for the modern gas stations and signs offering free wi-fi. "Seems real fuckin' chill here, you know? And the people are great, too."

"You think so?" I yawn, watching as a tiny rabbit kit hops up and down a sidewalk with an oversized bunny-shaped lollipop in her paws. "They seem pretty normal to me. Kinda plain."

"Plain? Just wait until we get out and start actually dealing with 'em," he replies excitedly. "Like this place is out in the fuckin' sticks, right, so you'd think these guys'd be backwards fundies and self-righteous hardasses, but nah. Super nice folks. Real upbeat. Give you the shirts off their backs if you asked."

"No kidding."

"Straight-up," Wolt grins. The GPS chimes, letting us know we're within a mile of our destination. "And you know, I like it. They act like they've never seen a pred before, but not in like, a bad way."

"That sounds nice."

We turn off onto a frontage road, weaving through a neighborhood full of old-fashioned brick houses with faded paint and yards full of decaying pickup trucks and playground equipment. I'm even surprised to see a handful of sheep milling around, going about their morning routines. One of them -- a middle-aged ram in overalls -- catches sight of me in the car, offering me a friendly wave. I find myself smiling and waving back to this total stranger I've never even met before. Guess there's something in the air out here.

"So what're we out here to get?" I ask. "I figure it's big enough you needed a car, right? Otherwise we could've just taken the tram."

"Yeah," Wolter grunts, his previous enthusiasm waning a little. "Well. No. We didn't take the tram because I needed to be here, and I'm sorta banned from the tram for a few more months."

I slump, hitting my head on the dash for effect. "You're kidding me."

He coughs. "Nnnnope."

With a sigh, I draw myself back up into a sitting position. "Lemme guess. Public indecency?"

He whistles, not bothering to look at me. "Anyway, Anna actually sent me on a fetching run."

"What, something she ordered that you have to pick up?"

"Not exactly," he replies as the GPS announces that we've arrived at our destination: an unassuming green house at the end of the street with a rotting picket fence and a yard that's more dirt than grass. Shifting the car into park, Wolt glances over at me. "This is the place. You, uh, you mind going with me?"

"Sure thing."

I unbuckle my seat belt and hop out onto the sidewalk. It feels good to get out and stretch my legs after being in the car for so long. Wolt does the same, and for all of his bluster about how nice Bunnyburrow is, I can't help but notice he seems to be dragging his feet as we approach the house. Sighing loudly, Wolt pushes the fence gate open, walking up the dirt path to the front door. He draws a deep breath before irritatedly batting at the doorbell.

"Not looking forward to this part," he grumbles. I start to make a quip about how obvious it is, but I decide to hold my tongue last-second. He doesn't need me busting his chops right now. I'll save it for the ride back.

Compared to the other homes on the block, this place looks pretty run down. The eaves and gutters are full of dead leaves, and the wood by the porch is starting to give way to mildew. A mud daubers' nest hangs over the front door, the wasps inside working tirelessly doing whatever it is they do. I eye them in annoyance -- bug meat's fantastic to eat, but man, the actual insects themselves aren't my bag. Whatever their reasons, whoever lives here clearly isn't taking care of the place. Renter, maybe?

A few minutes pass before the screen door to the house opens. Standing on the other side is a tall male pig wearing a polo shirt with an upturned collar, jeans, and sandals. He's a buff, tanned piece of work -- looks like he spends more time at the gym than at home judging by the condition of his body versus his house. There's a scar right above his right eye and another smaller one right in the middle of his face. He's shifting a toothpick in his mouth disinterestedly, glaring down at us through the thick Ray-Baas on his fat nose.

Ah. No wonder Wolt brought those shades.

"The fuck you want, you little knife-eared shit?" the pig grunts. "Your bitch of a sister decide inbreeding wasn't the life for her after all?"

"Fuck you too, Rasher," Wolter replies evenly, looking up at him through his own sunglasses. Between the two of them their lenses are so dark I wonder if they can actually see each other. "You know what I'm here for."

"Sure damn don't," Rasher sneers. "You wanna clue me in?"

"Anna left a locket here. It wasn't in any of her stuff when she moved out, and I know you took it." Wolt sticks his paw out like he's expecting Rasher to have it on-hoof. "Go get it and I'll get out of your fur. Sound good?"

"Don't have fur and I sure as shit don't have any locket, brah." The pig pointedly continues to chew his toothpick, fixing it between his teeth, making no move to, well, move. "So I was thinkin' that maybe instead, you'd fuck off and I'd get about my business. Sound good?"

Wolt starts to open his mouth to retort, but I clap him on the shoulder.

"Hold up, Wolt," I interject calmly, moving forward. I know how prey think, and even a buff, brainless shithead like this pig is no different. They're all talk, but cowards at heart. Last thing we need is Wolt taking a swing at him, drawing blood by accident, and getting branded a fuckin' savage.

"Look, man, nobody wants any trouble here," I offer, turning to the boar. "I hear what you're saying, but maybe you could just go double-check? Give the place a look, see if it might've fallen behind a cupboard or something?"

"The fuck's your problem, lambchops? Too much wool in your ears?" Rasher snorts, shoving me back with a hoof. "How many times I gotta tell you stupid fucks I don't got no fuckin' pewter locket? The only trophy I kept offa Anneke was a pair of her side-ties after my little piggy made HER squeal."

"Arright, grazer, we tried it your way," Wolter snaps, darting around me and drawing himself up to his full height, fangs bared. "Time to show your stupid ass how we do it back home."

"Fuckin' come at me, you little turd," Rasher says, raising his hooves as he towers over the smaller aardwolf.

"Yo, hey, calm the fuck down, both of you," I snap, wedging myself between them. A lightbulb suddenly goes off in my head, and I find myself looking up at the pig, eyebrows raised. "Hey, Rasher, how'd you know?"

"How'd I know what?" he asks, not even taking his eyes off Wolt.

"How'd you know the locket was pewter? Could've just as easily been gold or silver, couldn't it?"

He steps back, glancing at me. "Because when I got it looked at the guy said it was pewter. They got guys who know that shit."

I can't help but let a satisfied smile stretch across my face. "So you know it's pewter."

"Yeah, I just fuckin' said that."

I smugly turn to Wolt, only to see him giving me the same clueless stare as Rasher was. "Remmy, are you gonna help me out or what?"

With a groan and a roll of my eyes strong enough to give myself a headache, I turn back to the obstinate pig. "If you took it in that means you have it, you fucking meathead."

This time it clicks. He fumbles the toothpick, dropping it from his lips. "But -- no, like -- no, 'cause, like you said, it could be gold or silver, too, right, 'cause--"

Wolt leans back, and we fold our arms simultaneously.

Rasher grumbles, but it's obvious from the look on his face that he realizes we aren't buying it. "...fuck. Fine."

With a sigh, the pig deflates, reaching under his polo's collar. Lifting a chain from around his neck and over his head, he reluctantly hoofs it over; sure enough -- a small pewter locket in the shape of a heart dangles from it. Even for being pewter, it's polished to enough of a shine that it could pass for silver at a glance. Obviously he's taken excellent care of it.

Wolt snatches the necklace up without a second's hesitation, pocketing it. Without another word, Rasher storms inside his house, slamming the door in our faces. I scratch my head before glancing over to Wolter, who tosses the closed door a gesture even filthier than the one Marty used on Charlie. It's obvious there's something more to all this, but Wolt didn't press me earlier -- I figure the least I can do is return the favor. The two of us stand on Rasher's doorstep for a moment as Wolter kind of collects himself.

"Man, what an asshole," I finally offer, shaking my head. Wolt glances up at me with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah, fuck that guy," Wolt adds, unlocking the car with the remote starter as we turn back to the street. "We got what we came here for. Let's get outta here. It's a long drive back."

"HEY!" A voice suddenly barks out from behind us.

Rasher stands in his front doorway, sunglasses pushed up on his sweaty forehead. He coughs, leaning uncomfortably against the door frame in a way that reminds me of my exchange with Avo earlier.

"...so like, did she ask about me, or...?"

"Oh fuck OFF, dude!" Wolt shouts back.

"Yeah!" I join in.

"YEAH!" Wolt echoes, grinning.

"Yo, fuck you guys!" Rasher growls, biting his lip. He stoops down and plucks a loose stone from the ground, winging it us. It flies straight at me and hits the wool around my middle, losing all its force and bouncing harmlessly onto the pavement.

Wolt and I stare at in disbelief, and even Rasher seems to realize what he did only a second later.

Without even thinking I indignantly snatch the rock up and fling it back -- with much better aim, I should add. It sails in a perfect arc, and while he flinches, it misses him completely.

It does manage to hit the dauber's nest, though. A swarm of angry wasps pours out right above Rasher. It takes him a second to notice I didn't miss.

I elbow Wolt. "Drive."

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Rasher screams.

Wolt doesn't need to be told twice. In a second we're both in the car. He revs the engine and I slam the door. We give the furious swine a final glance as he swats uselessly at the wasps.

"Eat shit!" Wolt calls, cackling. He flips Rasher off as we peel out and I do the same, sticking my hoof out the window.

"YEAH!" I bleat defiantly.

As we pull out back onto the main street, Wolt and I are still clearly riding the adrenaline high.

"Holy shit," he mutters, still trying to wrap his head around it.

I've got on a smile as wide as my head and I can't get rid of it. "Shit, what a rush. Seriously though, fuck that guy."

"He deserved it," Wolt asserts.

"And then some."

"Nice fuckin' throw," he grins back.

I kick back in my seat, sighing happily. "Thanks, I thought so too."

"We got what we came for," he nods to my phone. "Wanna punch in the apartments and we'll head home?"

"You sure you don't wanna look around Bunnyburrow while we're here?" I ask, sitting back up. "Feels like a shame to come all this way just to turn around and leave."

He glances around the slow-moving street, and shoots a hesitant look over his shoulder. "I dunno, man..."

"Hey, tell you what, how about we swing by that general store over there and get Avo one of those hugeass bunny-shaped lollipops?" I ask with a chuckle. "Maybe it'd shut her up for a while. Besides, I wanna see for myself how 'upbeat' a sleepy town full of bunnies could be."

"Ha. Anna loves candy too, might not hurt to pick her up a souvenir." Grinning slowly, Wolter nods. "Yeah, man. You know, Bunnyburrow has the best blueberry pie here. You ever had it?"

"Can't say I have, but it sounds fucking delicious," I reply as we head away from the housing row and back into town.

"Oh, well, we gotta fix that," he insists. "Get a scoop of ice cream on it and man, you'll feel like you're flyin'."