PART FIVE OF FIVE



"Didn't go well, I take it?"

The skunk looked up. "Mm?"

"The meetings yesterday. The ones last night." Aria, taking a seat next to Audrey at the kitchen table, nodded at the skunk's uneaten breakfast: some fruit and some English muffins. And an untouched glass of orange juice. "You're not eating, so it mustn't have gone well."

Audrey gave a weak, tired smile. "It didn't, no."

A pause. And the rabbit asked, "Wanna talk about it?"

Audrey sighed, paws fidgeting with her silverware. "I don't know," she confessed, at a whisper.

"Something tells me you better," was the rabbit's gentle nudge.

Audrey nodded quietly. "They voted me ... out," she said.

A blink.

"The Board for the company. They conspired to present a takeover bid. To take control of the company themselves. They're ousting me."

"What?" Another blink. "Can they do that? Can they legally ... "

"I guess so. I don't know." A breath. "I'm in over my head," she confessed, picking up a spoon. Tapping it lightly on the tabletop. Stopping. "They've offered me a very generous ‘retirement' package. Which they say, should I fight them ... the offer will cease to be. So, I'm being advised to take it and humbly step down. To leave the company in the hands of furs who are ‘older, wiser, and better suited for modern business'."

"Audrey," Aria whispered. "They can't do that to you."

The skunk stared at her cold scrambled eggs. "They can," she whispered, and she looked up to meet her friend's eyes. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. I mean, go back to school? I don't wanna back to school," she confessed. "Retire at twenty-two? By myself? Where? Doing what? I mean, I'm obviously gonna have to sell this place, and I just moved in!" she exclaimed with frustration. And a sigh. "And I'll have to let the staff go, too." She drooped, shaking her head. "I knew something was wrong," she confessed. "They told me I didn't need to attend the last few board meetings. I said I would be happy to, but ... they said they could handle it. They were wresting the power from under my nose, and I didn't see it. I was too far away. Too entrenched in the countryside here. Too distracted," she whispered, as if confessing, "by other things."

The white-furred rabbit swallowed, nodded quietly. And took a breath. "Well ... no one's gonna blame you, Aud. We'll all understand. I mean, I understand." She squeezed the skunk's paw. "I just hope you'll be okay."

The skunk nodded weakly.

"And as far as ‘being distracted' goes ... I don't think your distraction has been a distraction. If we're talking about the mouse, I mean."

Another weak nod.

"Have you told him yet?"

"About me losing the company?"

"No. That you love him."

A small shake of the head. "I mean, he HAS to know. I mean, I've implied it in so many ways, but I haven't outright told him." A pause. "Nor has he outright told me." The skunk dipped her finger in a tiny bowl of honey. Honey. Amber art. The bees spent so much time making it. She put her finger into her muzzle and sucked the honey off. And let out a sigh. "I guess I have no more excuses," she whispered, looking to her friend. "No more time, either. I guess ... I have to do something about it, huh?"

"Afraid so," was Aria's comforting smile.

The skunk leaned forward, eyes closed, and hugged her friend. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Hey ... " The rabbit patted her on the back. "I told you it was okay, didn't I? Nothing you could control. We'll still be friends."

A quiet nod.

"Now, go get your mouse," she whispered. "You need him."

"But does he need me?" Audrey asked (with a tinge of doubt and worry).



Peregrine yawned. Nine hours of sleep and STILL tired. It was always like that, wasn't it? Never rested. Because he was so afraid of the night and the dark. And of the loneliness that accompanied such things.

He'd been in the middle of eating breakfast (just a bowl of cereal) when he'd heard the knock at the door.

And he reached the door. Opened it. And blinked.

"Hi," Audrey said (almost shyly).

"Hi," the mouse mimicked, eying her. "Um ... "

" ... Perry," she whispered. "Can I come in?"

The mouse nodded quietly. "Of course." He stepped aside, and allowed the skunk to move past him. Her luxurious, bushy tail happening to brush his nose, and he sighed. His heart skipped a beat.

Audrey, in the living room, started to pace back and forth in the small space. And she paused. "I, uh ... lost control of my family's company. The Board is ousting me, and ... I'm gonna have to sell the house."

The mouse blinked.

"I'm, uh ... "

"But you just got here!" the mouse squeaked. In distress.

"I know," the skunk whispered. And she took a breath. "The Board is leaving me with ... a very nice severance package. I, uh ... but, still, I have nowhere to go, and no family, and I ... " She trailed. Shut her eyes. "I, uh ... I love you, Perry."

The mouse's eye's watered.

"I don't wanna leave." The skunk opened her eyes. "I was thinking that maybe we could ... be mates. That maybe you'd wanna take me as your mate, and ... I could stay here with you. And we could farm together, or whatever. You could teach me how to be a proper country fur. I ... I know this is sudden. I don't mean to spring this on you. And I don't mean to be putting you on the spot, either," she said. "But I really do love you. I just ... I just do. And ... "

Peregrine nodded. "I love you, too," he whispered. The words barely audible. But audible enough. And he let out a shaky breath. And a nod. "And I'd ... I've been so afraid to love anybody. But there's something about you," he whispered. "And I want it. I want ... I want you, and I, uh ... yes," he whispered. "Yes, I'll be your mate. Yes."

The skunk bit her lip. "You're not just saying that?"

"No ... I mean it."

The skunk smiled, sniffled, and went to wrap her arms around the mouse, who squeaked a light and airy squeak of soft, sleepy happiness.

The two furs, now mates, hugging beside the couch. Eyes closed. And neither letting go.