Morning.

The bedroom was dim. The stars, outside the windows, streaming by in narrow, shimmering streaks. The faint hum of the ship's engines could be heard, and almost felt. And the sound of breathing, too, was here.

Soft, sleepy breaths.

Volga awoke first, with a slow, dry yawn, and a little groan. She smacked and licked her lips a bit, very quietly. Her muzzle felt a bit cottony. And she sighed, deciding to keep her eyes closed. Just for a moment. Just for a little while longer. Staying still, she swallowed. She had a bit of a hangover. She'd been drinking last night, she remembered, in the mess hall. A few glasses of something. Snow rabbit stuff. Her nose scrunched as she thought of this, as her mind stirred.

What time had she left the party? What time was it now? What ...

... was that smell?

A pause. She held her breath. What was that scent? Her powerful nose breathed deeply, in spite of its hazy state. Sniff.

A few more sniffs. And her eyes opened, after all. Staying at a squint, but opening enough so that, when she turned her head, she could see the male next to her. It wasn't Ural. Her eyes opened a bit more, almost in surprise, darting slightly, and then she remembered. She remembered what had happened, somewhat clearly. Which drew an anxious sort of sigh. Her head seemed to hurt a bit more, now. Seemed to increase its throbbing. Or maybe it was just her imagination. Or maybe it was because she was in bed with a snow rabbit. Anchorage, was his name.

Volga sighed. They were in his quarters. Hence the different smells. The prey smells.

He was zonked out. His paws in her fur, gently clutching. His head, like hers, on a navy-blue pillow. His tall, slender rabbit ears, like antennae, sticking out so as to bump into the headboard of the bed, making the ends of his ears to bend over. She squinted at those ears, from up close. Delicate, fleshy-pink interiors, white fur surrounding those insides. And charcoal-black fringes at the tips. Those ears. Something about those ears.

You were gnawing on his ears, she remembered. And a flush. You kept trying to give him ear-sex. He made you stop. He thought that was going too far. She looked down. He was wearing white briefs, which matched the color, almost, of his fur. But he was wearing nothing else. She, herself, was in a bra and her panties. So, they weren't bare. They weren't in the fur, so ...

... did we have sex?

She swallowed, eyes aching. Did we?

She sniffed again, again. And patted at her fur. Semen. Dried into her fur, against her groin. Her head throbbed. Well ...

Anchorage made a little mew-sound in his sleep, body moving a bit, rustling against the sheets. His body so close to hers. She could feel his warmth. And it was comforting, actually. Very much so. His body only half-covered by the covers, as hers was. Half-exposed to the bedroom air.

Volga tried to sit up, but felt a sudden, dry dizziness, so she stayed where she was, her paws absently clutching at Anchorage's fur in return, thinking, trying to rationalize this. Going through it step-by-step. Remembering everything from the night before ...



"Would you like a drink?"

Volga squinted, turning her head, looking at the snow rabbit. "Who are you?"

The male snow rabbit held out a glass, eye-smiling. "Is that a yes?"

No response. And a hesitation. And the femme Arctic fox finally took the glass, sniffing at it. "This beverage," she said, "is blue."

"Yes."

"Does it work?"

"What?"

"If I drink it, will it work?"

"It is," the snow rabbit answered, giving a nod, "alcohol."

"Good," was the terse reply. And she took a healthy sip of it. Swallowing, turning her head a bit. And closing her eyes. She kept the glass next to her lips for a moment, and then took another sip, and then lowered the glass, swallowing and opening her eyes. Then, looking directly at the snow rabbit, she demanded, "Tell me your name."

"I'm Anchorage."

"One of the snow rabbits on the engineering staff?"

"That is correct." A polite nod. He sipped at his own drink.

"I saw you in engineering," she explained, "when I was working down there ... this morning. I believe we met eyes. You lent me your spanner."

"Correct," he whispered. His white bobtail flickered. Flicker-flick.

Volga savored the aftertaste of the alcohol in her muzzle, and looked around. Looking for Ural. She doubted he would come. A big party was being thrown to celebrate the successful relocation of the Arctic foxes to their new home-world. Arctic had just finished its final ‘ferrying-job,' and was heading back for the snow rabbit world, where the ship and crew would rest a bit after over a month of constant back-and-forth travel. Aria would meet with the admirals, and they would get their new assignment. Probably border patrol or something. Or ambassadorial functions with the Arctic foxes. Something befitting of the snow rabbit flagship.

But as for Volga, she and Ural had been, lately, ‘on the outs.' As the days continued to go by, and as they spent more time among prey, Volga, Ural was convinced, had ‘considerably softened.' "You're becoming weak," he'd told her yesterday ...



She'd slashed her claws at him, growling that he was mistaken. She'd drawn blood.

Ural's eyes had fiercely drilled into her. He'd pinned her to the wall. She'd yelped. He'd whispered, "If you were not a femme, I would hit you in return ... " He'd heaved with predatory anger. "I see how you talk to them! I see how you look at them," he'd accused.

She'd shoved him off, huffing. Repeating, "You are mistaken. You are simply jealous ... "

"I only wish I were," he'd said, and he'd lingered. Whispering, "Last night ... when we wrested for sex ... " He'd trailed. "You normally win that battle of wills. You're a very skilled manipulator, Volga. You're very strong. But ... last night, you didn't even try. Lately, you don't try." A dangerous breath. "You've been letting me control you, the pleasure, the ... motions." He'd paused, tilting his head. "I've been breeding long enough to know," he'd whispered, "when ... "

" ... what?" she'd demanded. "When what?"

"When a femme LETS me win. When she stops trying to control the breeding. When she loses her edge." A pause. "When she starts trying to ... make love with me," he'd said, squinting with resentment, "rather than breed with me. When it becomes more about emotional satisfaction ... than physical satisfaction." A disgusted scoff. "It shames me ... "

Volga had opened her muzzle. But nothing came out. No words. She knew he was right. Her mastery of their sexual grindings had given way, in recent days, to a more tender yearning. She'd been letting him win their little jousts for control. She'd been ...

" ... left with a choice. You are left," Ural had said, plainly, "with a choice, Volga. You are a predator. An Arctic fox. If you cannot act like it ... if you think you are starting to love me ... " He'd trailed, shaking his head, sighing. "I will not accommodate you." A swallow. "We are very nearly done with the relocation of our species," he'd whispered, "to our new home-world. I am going to demand a transfer off this ship. I am going to go back to OUR species. I somehow doubt," he'd told her, "you will follow me." And then had left the room, to go nurse the claw-wounds she'd just given him ...



Anchorage tilted his head, asking, in his prim, polite way, "Are you alright?"

Volga blinked, staring at him. Hard. "Yes," she said, simply. And she took another sip of her drink.

"You seemed lost in your thoughts."

"Is that not allowed?"

"It is," Anchorage relented. "I was just concerned ... "

"Why?" Volga squinted. She was wearing a dress. She looked good in a dress. She was a vixen, after all. Her bushy, white tail brushed in the air behind her. Her dress, hanging in straps from her shoulders, hung low enough to show a bit of furry, white cleavage. Her nose and paw-pads black, contrasting with the snowy color of the rest of her. Her claws sharpened, unfilled.

"Well," Anchorage said quietly, looking into his glass, and then looking back up at her, "I do not know." His own claws blunted, filed down, in the way of prey. His paws smaller than her own.

"You do not know?"

A slow shake of the head. "No," Anchorage whispered. "Do I need a reason to express concern? Are you not a friend?"

"We do not know each other." Her voice had a chill to it.

"That is true," Anchorage acknowledged, his ice-blue eyes patient. His ears standing tall. His bare foot-paws positioned a few feet from her own. Volga looked down at them. Rabbits had wonderful foot-paws, superb leg-strength. She may have been physically stronger than Anchorage, but she had no doubt that he could easily outrun her ... should he need to. "We do not," Anchorage continued, "know each other, but ... "

" ... so, we are not friends," Volga insisted, interrupting, starting to turn away. She walked to the open-windowed partition that separated the mess hall's eating area and the kitchen. And she began picking at the food trays that were set out. And a sigh.

"Do you not like the food?" Anchorage asked. He'd followed her.

Volga turned, squinting. Her divine, bushy tail swished through the air, wafting her scent. "There is no meat," she said, "if you must know."

"Oh." His nose sniff-sniffed a bit.

The Arctic fox picked at some of the fruits. "What is this?" She sniffed at the moist, orange chunks.

"Cantaloupe. A muskmelon."

A sniff. "Is it good?"

"I quite enjoy it," Anchorage told her. "Do you like fruit?"

"Sometimes." She put a piece of cantaloupe into her muzzle, and chewed, chewed. Tilted her head. Eventually swallowing.

Anchorage raised his brow.

"It is ... adequate," the Arctic fox admitted, shaking her head. "But I prefer meat."

"You can use the food processor," the snow rabbit told her, "if you wish."

"I believe I will," she said. "However, it is not programmed for many meat items. Only certain types of fish, bugs ... shrimp." A pause. "I believe," she announced, "I am in the mood for shrimp." She looked into Anchorage's eyes. "Barring the lack of redder meats."

The snow rabbit's muzzle scrunched a bit. Being that he was a vegetarian. His stomach couldn't even process meat.

And Volga showed her teeth in a sort of grin, brushing past the snow rabbit. Thinking she'd successfully repulsed him. So, she went to the food processor, sighing, demanding, "Shrimp."

And it whir-whir-whirred, and her shrimp appeared.

She took the plate, turned around, and blinked.

"May I eat with you?" Anchorage asked, his tail flicking with eagerness.

"I thought you were leaving." A frown.

"I do not recall saying that." He took a big sip of his alcohol.

A sigh. And Volga fidgeted, looking around. Making sure Ural wasn't here. No, he wasn't. Of course not. And she looked back at Anchorage. What was the harm? "Very well," was her eventual reply. "You may eat with me."

"I shall get us more drinks," he said, moving off.

"That would be a good idea," was all she said, mostly to herself, as she went for the nearest, unused table. She sat down, smoothing her dress. Looking at her plate of shrimp. It smelled good enough. Looked good enough.

Anchorage came back into view, setting two new glasses on the table. As well as their old, unfinished ones. And he left again, coming back with a plate of fruit, and a bowl of salad. And some buttered wheat bread. Finally, he took the seat across from her. He eye-smiled.

She just glared back at him. Saying, "Why do you look at me ... like that?"

"Like what?" A blink.

"That ... eye-happiness."

"Eye-smile? I cannot smile any other way ... I have an ... "

" ... emotional freeze. I know. I know about snow rabbit physiology." A pause. And she reached for her nearly-finished drink-glass, finishing it off in one big gulp. She tilted her head back, and then lowered it. "I was simply wondering why you were ‘eye-smiling' at me."

Not answering the question, Anchorage replied with, "Arctic foxes do not have freezes ... as strong as ours."

Volga looked him over. "No," she whispered. "We do not ... we have them, to some degree. Technically. But our demeanors are ruled more by simple predatory instinct ... our emotions kept in check more by the belief that showing emotion is a weakness."

"I suppose, on some level," Anchorage whispered, "I envy you. You can express what you feel ... better than I ever could." A pause. "On the other paw, while you have the ability to do so, you choose not to. Your instincts get in the way. You are afraid to show emotion ... because you equate it with vulnerability, which to you," he said, "is weakness."

Volga hesitated to respond to that. But, eventually, nodded, whispering, "Yes. A weakness ... "

"My emotions are restricted by genetics ... yours by instinct."

"I have no more control than you do," she insisted, "on the matter. Instinct cannot be changed," Volga insisted. "You, being prey, should know that ... for instance," she declared, "I do smell your fear."

"I am not afraid of you," he insisted. A bit weakly.

"You are," she assured. "Maybe not as much as you would've been ... a few weeks ago." A pause. "Our species used to be violent enemies. We have been at each other's throats since ... time began," she whispered. "Of course, that changed when you won the war. But more so," she said, "when our sun was destroyed. When we were forced to lean on you ... your kindness," she said, "in spite of your personal feelings ... " She trailed, shaking her head. "I do not know," she finally said, sighing. "But I do feel that ... as peaceful as our relations have become, I do not believe the fear and mistrust will ever truly go away. In fact, in the future, relations could very well break down again, and as the generations forget what has happened now ... our histories may repeat themselves. We may war until time ends."

"That is a distinct," Anchorage admitted truthfully, "possibility."

"We are predators," she stated, "and you are prey. My instinct is to hunt you. Your instinct is to be afraid of me."

Anchorage said nothing. His ears waggled just a bit. His whiskers gave a singular twitch. And he eventually admitted, "I am afraid of you, yes ... " His voice was very quiet. His eyes darted across the untouched food on the table. Neither of them had started eating yet. Perhaps they weren't hungry, after all.

"It is good," she whispered back at him, "that you are. I would be concerned if you were not."

Anchorage swallowed. Reached for his alcohol glass. And took a deep sip. And then another. And then set the glass down. "Do you wish to hunt me ... "

Volga hesitated. And answered, honestly, "The thought of controlling you ... gives me a blood-rush. Do I wish to hurt you?" A small shake of the head. "No, I ... no, but control? It's more about pinning you down, controlling you."

"I do not wish," he whispered, "to be controlled. To be owned. To be pushed around. To be hurt. Do you wish to hurt me?" he asked again. "I want the truth ... "

Volga looked down into her drink. "Yes."

"Why?"

She looked up. "I am a predator," was her answer.

"And I am prey," he responded.

"I had noticed." She picked up her other drink-glass, and began sipping from that.

"But, even so ... even with all of this being the case," Anchorage declared, "we are much more than the sum of our genes, are we not? We are not automatons. God created us with a free will, a free spirit. Our genetics and instincts may influence us, but ... we make our own choices. There is always," he whispered, "a choice ... perhaps that is why I am approaching you. I choose to. I will not be one of those furs who uses genetics ... as an excuse to stay mired in immoral patterns. I am prey, true. But I can choose to befriend a predator, can I not? I can choose not to hate you?"

She met his eyes. "You can," she whispered, very quietly. Her vulpine features quite clear to his eyes.

He took another sip of his drink.

And, nodding at him, she mentioned, "I have never seen a drunk snow rabbit ... what happens when you get inebriated?"

Anchorage picked up his own drink-glass. And he drank half of it. And set it down, tilting his head, sighing. "You will have to find out."

A bit of a toothy grin. "I suppose so ... our food, though," the Arctic fox said, looking down. "It's getting cold. Mine is, anyway."

"Mine is meant to be eaten at room-temperature."

"Yes, but you aren't eating, either."

"I'm not hungry."

Volga nodded, feeling a bit dizzy, now. The alcohol was, indeed, taking effect. She could feel it. Feel herself loosening. And she said, staring at the male snow rabbit, "You seem very ... different. More like your Captain, and ... that engineer, and those others ... "

" ... I am a new Christian, yes. I have given up the breeding parties."

"Have you?" A squint. A throaty sound.

"Yes," was the reply. His pupils dilated a bit. He was tipsy, too. And he reached for his glass, and drank more. Maybe almost without realizing it. There was no logical reason for him to be drinking with an Arctic fox. So, why was he doing this? Why was he sitting here? Why was he drinking? Why ...

" ... did you give them up? The breeding ... the parties," she managed.

"I ... Alabaster befriended me, and ... was concerned for my welfare. I am new aboard the ship. I came aboard after the war with the wasps. I ... was invited by one of the ship's breeding parties," he said, "to join, but ... Alabaster instructed me to refrain. I do not know ... I listened, and ... I have spent much time," he said, with a bashful, admitting eye-smile, "talking with him, and Arianna, and the Christian snow rabbits on the ship. I want what they have," he whispered. "The fulfillment and ... purpose," he whispered, "that they radiate. The joy. I ... so, consequently," he said, "I have spent much time in the simulation room ... and with my paw." A head-tilt.

"I still do not understand," she continued, almost slurring her words, "why ... why'd you'd give it up. I am in a breeding party."

"Well, I was ... in one. I was in them, too. Except, when I came to the ship, I had to leave my old one ... just ... so, instead of joining a new one, I ... I came to the faith, and I want love, now. I believe that sex is only pure within a ... "

"You want love?"

" ... yes ... why?"

The Arctic fox tilted her head, holding her drink-glass in a paw. Swirling the liquid. And then leaning her head back, drinking more. Almost emptying the glass. And she put it down, leaning forward. "You interest me," she breathed.

"Do I?" his eyes widened. He was a bit more tipsy than she, herself, was. Predators obviously handled their alcohol better than prey did. "Do I ... I ... I must admit," he said, his paws on the edge of the table, "that I am ... interested," he managed, "in you, too ... that is why I wanted to eat with you."

"I am in," she repeated, "a breeding party ... "

"Well ... " His head swam. "You ... can leave it?" he suggested.

"For what? For who?"

"I do not know ... I ... " He seemed to blank out for a moment, obviously drunk. He picked up his glass and finished off the rest of what he had. "I am afraid of you, but ... I do not know ... " His whiskers waggled a bit, and his ears bent over in confusion. "I do not know ... " He sighed.

"We are enemies ... our species," Volga said, "are enemies ... predator/prey relationships have notorious rates of failure. You would get hurt. I would ... become bitter and angry," she said, "more than ... I already am," she whispered sadly, swallowing. She was bitter, wasn't she? Ural had inspired such things in her. For she had changed. She truly had changed, and Ural? Had not. He had not. "I do not know," she confessed, leaning forward, shaking her head, "why ... why I am becoming different? I came aboard this ship, and I was ... a steely predator. I was ME, and ... now, after over a month of constant exposure to prey, befriending them, and ... they are rubbing off on me. They are changing me." She winced, almost in pain. "I did not want that. I did not ask ... I was comfortable," she said, "and, now, I am torn ... "

Anchorage watched her with tipsy attention. His ears waggled.

"I came aboard, and all the prey hated me, and ... now, they're nice to me ... I ... " A growl. "If I had stayed with my own species, I wouldn't have been contaminated ... like, like this." She shook her head, feeling dizzy. Her shrimp still untouched. Just as his fruit and salad remained untouched. Neither of them having eaten a single bite. But both of them having drank everything in their glasses.

Anchorage just swallowed, tipsy, quiet.

"Do you know what ... what my species," Volga whispered, showing her teeth in a sort of grin, "call the practice of inter-species breeding ... between Arctic foxes and snow rabbits? They have a name," she said, "for ... for what that is."

"What?" Anchorage asked, head tilted.

"Glaciology ... " A chuckle. "The ... the ‘study'," she said, with emphasis, "of you ... glacial things."

"I ... I do not think that's funny," he admitted.

"Well, you don't have a sense of humor, do you? So ... you wouldn't. I'm just," she said, "saying ... "

"I ... am not a glacier. I DO have feelings ... I ... I just cannot express them," he said, "like ... "

" ... like normal furs. No, you're not normal," she spat, the conversation, with its drunken atmosphere, veering sharply toward the negative. Barriers breaking down, and baser predator/prey hostility leaking out.

Anchorage's eyes darted, pupils wide. "I ... I was ... I should not have expressed interest in you. It was a mistake ... "

" ... on my part," she said, shaking her head. "No, I ... I've had too much to drink. Do not leave," she pleaded.

"I do wish to ... "

" ... leave. Do not leave," she kept saying, prattling. She reached a paw across the table, grabbing at his wrist. "Please ... "

" ... you are hurting me," he whimpered. She was stronger than he was, being a predator. Her grip was tight.

She let go, drawing back, swallowing. "I ... I am sorry. I am used to treating prey," she managed, "roughly ... I ... "

" ... are ... we are being stared at," Anchorage whispered. "I think we are drawing attention."

"Well, a drunk predator sitting and babbling with ... drunk prey, that's ... that would draw my eye, as well," Volga stated, looking around, squinting. "Perhaps," she whispered, "we should leave ... "

"Leave?"

"You have quarters?"

"I do," Anchorage stammered, "but ... "

" ... you're a Christian. Forgot ... well ... I'm going to collapse, anyway ... you can sleep with me, can't you?"

"I can't have ... "

" ... sex, yeah. Breeding ... no breeding. Just ... I need a bed. I can't go back," she explained, "to my quarters." A pause. "I can't go back to Ural." She looked to Anchorage, as if pleading. "I can't. I ... anyway, we're ... I could sleep with you. Just sleep, just ... " I am so drunk, she realized. I'm behaving like prey. I'm begging. Ural was right. I am softening. I'm getting weak. I'm ...

" ... okay, uh ... yes, uh ... follow me," Anchorage said, as he scooted back in his chair, as he got up and went for the mess hall door. Ignoring the eyes that watched him from the chatter of the party-crowd.

Volga made a throaty sound, getting up, taking a few seconds to find her balance, and she went after him.



And the Arctic fox remembered, now. No, they hadn't bred. No sex. Though, again, she remembered how she'd pinned him down. She'd begun to gnaw on his ears, licking those lobes ...



He'd squirmed. Pleasured, but asking her to stop. How hard it was to ask her to stop! His body screaming one thing, and his mind screaming another.

She'd wanted to force herself on him. They'd been half-bare, drunk, and she was the predator. It didn't matter that he was a male. He was still a snow rabbit, still prey. Even though a femme, the Arctic fox, being the predator she was, could easily physically overpower him. She could easily rape him.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

And she found herself clinging to his warm, furry body, sniffing him all over. And he, comfortable enough with that, hugged and caressed her in return. Sloppy, haphazard kisses, turning this way and that in the sheets. Until he, tipsy and panting, his body hot, stammered, "I ... I need to ... to go paw." He'd gone, by this point, over six hours without an orgasm, and his rabbit-ramped virile breeding-drive had cycled back into that consuming, needy stage. He needed to relieve it, to defuse it.

"I can paw ... you off," she assured.

A small shake of the head. "We'll ... if we start that, we'll ... we're already lacking control. The alcohol. If we start pawing each other, we'll ... end up breeding," he breathed.

"I won't breed with you ... look, do not," she said, starting to growl, her teeth showing, "argue with me." She worked his briefs down to his knees, a paw fishing at his bulging sheath, the pink tip of his member already sliding out. Her fingers wrapped round it all.

A heavy, pleasured sigh.

"Relax," she demanded. And, because she, too, needed release, she slipped her paw between her own legs. Eventually letting go of him, focusing on herself. Letting him masturbate.

As they, side-by-side, in the dimness of the bedroom, hazy on the sheets, pawed themselves. His release accompanied by pleasured, dizzy rabbit-mews, and hers by growls and yips. And, lying side-by-side, his seed had pelted up against her. Against her groin, right below her waist. Pelt, pelt. Spurt. And then it stopped, the scent of it driving the Arctic fox wild with arousal. But she was too drunk, anyway, to make any further moves. And too sleepy from her own, completed pleasuring, and ...



... they'd fallen asleep soon after that.

And here they were.

We didn't breed. Volga sighed, with a bit of relief. It would've been a bad idea had they done so. They didn't know each other. They'd been drunk. It wouldn't have been for love, and it would've damaged the purity of the snow rabbit's faith. It would've hurt him.

She didn't want to hurt him. Or corrupt his faith.

But Ural was right: she didn't want to simply ‘breed' anymore. She wanted to have love, make love. Wanted to know what love was. And that drive was changing her.

Ural wanted nothing to do with the emotion. If you could confine love to being an ‘emotion.' Wasn't it, rather, a state of being? A force?

Does Ural even know I'm gone? Does he even care?

He probably bagged one of the femme snow rabbits from one of the ship's breeding parties. They openly breed. If he liquored one up enough, maybe they'd even openly breed with an Arctic fox.

No, Ural does not miss me, Volga decided. Not ME, anyway. Only parts of me. And that's really not enough anymore, is it?

What has happened to you, Volga?

How did this happen?

She swallowed. She didn't entirely know.

The femme Arctic fox blinked her eyes a few times. Her hangover wasn't as bad as she'd feared. She'd just need some water, and a few hours of rest. And there was no reason she couldn't get that. They were still in transit back to the snow rabbit home-world. Nothing dramatic, externally, was going on. Ural would probably jump ship as soon as they got there. A contingent of Arctic foxes was staying on the second moon as an ‘ambassadorial delegation' and such, to coordinate relations between the new Arctic fox government and the snow rabbit High Command. Ural would probably join them, wait until he could get passage on the next ship heading back to the foxes' new world, and then she would never see him again.

Out of my life.

And how long was he in it? All those months? And for what?

She sighed. There was no use wallowing in regret. And she stared at Anchorage, who was still soundly sleeping, his whiskers waggling every now and then. He was handsome. He seemed to have a nice personality.

He's prey. A snow rabbit.

You're an Arctic fox!

True. But that's no longer the same declaration that it used to be. We need each other, our species. If we're going to survive all the coming storms.

Volga supposed this meant (the getting drunk together, and the mutual pawing, and the sleeping in the same bed) that she and Anchorage were now ‘an item.' Dating, for sure. And it was common practice for furry relationships to spawn, very, very quickly, into marriages.

She considered all the possibilities. The potentials. The ways this could go, both good and bad. And she closed her eyes. Am I less a predator for having gotten myself into this situation?

Am I less a predator, she added, more precisely, for WANTING to be in this situation?

She didn't know.

But the aftertaste of recent events wasn't so bad, she decided, as she'd first thought. And she sighed, feeling dry and weary. Definitely hung over. She sighed again, snuggling into the snow rabbit. Breathing so quietly, drifting back to some sort of sleep.

This wasn't so bad.

Was it?