The grey-furred mouse rang her door-chime.

And waited.

Fidgeting, his eyes darting about nervously ... wondering if she'd even come to the door. Wondering if this was a mistake.

A swish.

And Advent standing there, fur matted (not having been washed today). Eyes weary. The symptoms of her flu ... very obvious now. He jaw muscles were tensed. She was trying not to let her teeth chatter.

"Hey," Herkimer said ... almost inaudibly.

"What?" she said, head throbbing.

"Well, I, uh ... "

"What do you WANT?" she growled, leaning against her door-frame.

The mouse twitched. Almost dropping the canister he held (with both his paws). "I ... I brought you some soup," the mouse stammered weakly. He held out the canister. "Ross made it. For supper last night ... I ... I thought you'd like some."

"I will throw it up," she said plainly. Not nearly as shy (or polite) as he was.

"Just sip at it ... it ... you need to eat SOMETHING. Welly said it'd probably be okay for you to have some soup. It shouldn't hurt your stomach. Not unless you gulp it ... "

Her golden, slitted eyes ... squinted. "I did not ask," she said (in her silky, predatory way), "for soup."

"I know," was all Herkimer whispered back. His eyes darted. Over her ... and he remembered all of it. Every time. Being sexually intimate with her. Kissing her. Remembered himself, weak and lacking any sort of confidence, trying to latch to her. To siphon her feline grace. To build himself up. How he'd been like a drug addict. She'd been his drug. And she'd done him so much harm ... and yet, even after having broken away, and after having found a TRUER, purer love (in Opal, who meant the universe to him ... and who he cared about more than he ever cared about Advent) ... even after all that ... he still ... certain feelings lingered. He couldn't entirely make them go away ...

A pause.

"Here," he said again, still holding out the canister.

"What kind of soup is it?" she queried. Sniffing, eyes itchy. Eyes tired. She kept blinking. Unable to hold her normal, intimidating squint for too long. "Mouse soup?" she joked darkly.

Herkimer ignored her humor. "There's no meat in it. Obviously ... "

"I only ingest soup with meat in it," she declared stubbornly. Predators were entirely capable of eating and digesting plants and the like. But their diets did, naturally, include a predominance of meat.

"It's vegetable. Mostly broth, so ... it's piping hot."

"What color is it?" the feline asked, her lazy-day tail limp behind her. Her spots seemingly not as sharp as they normally were. Or maybe it was his imagination.

"What?" A blink.

"Color. What color is the soup?"

"Red ... why?"

A head-tilt. "I like red," she said quietly. It reminded her of blood. As a predator, she was drawn to ... red. And her eyes went a bit distant for a moment. And then came back into focus. "Very well. I will take your soup." She snatched the canister from his paws. Not bothering to say thank you or anything. Simply unscrewing the lid, poking her nose in ... sniff-sniffing. Making a face. Sniffing more.

"What are you doing?" the mouse asked quietly. His whiskers twitch-sniffing, and his tail snaking. He was SO, so nervous around her. Was trying to hide it. But ... she scared him. And, plus, the resentment he felt (that he was TRYING very hard to get over ... hence the peace offering of the soup). "It IS vegetable soup ... I mean, he made broccoli soup, too, but I thought that all that cream and stuff might not go down so well ... "

"I do not doubt the classification of the soup. I doubt it's ... " A sniff. Her own whiskers un-twitching. They never twitched like a mouse's did. Hers were always still. Always contained. She always exercised such complete control over herself. And tried to extend that control ... to her surroundings. But it was obvious to the mouse's eyes (as well as nose) that she was sick. She smelled of sickness. Her eyes, also, didn't have that spark.

She kept sniffing. And Herkimer squinted. "You think I POISONED your soup?" he realized.

"I think mice are ... unstable," she said, choosing the tamest word she could think of. She was, in her mind, thinking a lot WORSE ... than ‘unstable' ... " ... given our history, I have NO reason to trust you."

"No reason," Herkimer whispered, swallowing, "to trust ME?"

"You betrayed me."

"What?" he squeaked, in high pitch.

"Bringing me this ... ‘soup'," she said, "shows your ... desperation."

Herkimer made a face. He didn't understand.

"You obviously still want me. You are giving me this soup ... in hopes that I will forgive you. But it will take a LOT more than soup to regain my favor."

"Whatever. What," the mouse breathed, "ever. Advent, you're ... think what you want, okay? I don't NEED your forgiveness. I'm forgiving YOU."

"So, this is a contest?"

"No. No, that's not ... "

"I will win. Contest me, mouse," she assured, "and I will win."

"So, I'm just ‘mouse' ... you can't call me by my name? We were intimate, Advent. I ... I'm just ‘mouse' to you?"

"You don't deserve," she whispered lowly, "to be called by anything but ‘mouse' ... "

"I'm PROUD to be a mouse," he said, slender chest puffing up a bit. As he sucked in air. And his heartbeat increased.

"How unfortunate." She screwed the cap back on the soup canister. "My nose detects no contaminants. I will ... partake of it."

"Good," was all the mouse said. Flustered. Did she do that on purpose? Did she slyly work to get him unsettled? Knowing that ... it made it easier to manipulate and seduce him? Or was this ALL in his mind? Was he so afraid of her, so scarred by the horrible things she'd done and said to him ... that simply TALKING to her ... flustered him to the point of an anxiety attack? Better yet: WHY was he doing this, anyway?

Because, he told himself ... because it's the Christian thing to do. You're going to forgive her. You're going to erase any and all hatred from your heart. You are going to learn from your mistakes. And you are going to be better.

You can't be better when you have this horrible tension simmering between the two of you. And if healing started with soup ... well, it was worth a try.

There was another moment of awkward silence.

"You may leave," Advent said, looking Herkimer over. Her teeth chattering a bit. Her body aching. Her shoulders were a bit sagged.

"Now that I have your permission?" Herkimer joked, without smiling.

"I said you may leave. That was your permission, yes. Go."

"Don't worry," he said quietly. "I will." A pause. "Mm ... you know, I'm surprised you got sick."

A blink and squint from her.

"Predators have stronger immune systems than prey."

She hesitated. Wondering if he KNEW how she'd gotten this flu (which was through casual yiffy-intercourse with a platypus fur). But ... no. No, Welly had promised not to tell. She didn't think the skunk was conniving enough to break his Hippocratic oath. "I guess I was just unlucky," was her careful response.

"Mm." Herkimer's whiskers twitched. "Well ... feel better," he told her. "Enjoy the soup."

"I will," she said neutrally.

Though the mouse half-believed she'd simply pour it down the sink once he left, so ...

"Say ‘hello' ... to your cow for me ... "

"She has a name. Her name's Opal," Herkimer whispered proudly, making eye contact with the feline (fighting the urge to look away). "And I love her. She's my mate ... "

"Well, let us hope she knows the trouble she's in for ... after all," the feline declared, "you never know what you're gonna get with a mouse. But, normally, it's ... nothing," she whispered hurtfully, "good." Her eyes darted, as if analyzing a piece of meat. "But you're an eager yiffer. I'm sure your body makes up for any ... mental deficiencies."

Herkimer's eyes watered. Don't cry, don't cry. "Get back in bed ... before you pass out in the corridor. You look awful," he said, with a voice-breaking bite. Which was the truth. She did. She did look sick. The normally graceful, seductive jaguar. Looking so downtrodden. But ... still, as soon as he said it, he regretted it. It was just ... another spark to the fire. Another hurtful phrase hurled her way. Which would only prompt her to hurl another hurtful phrase back at him. Dammit, Herkimer ...

... and Advent did, in a way, look hurt. But what RIGHT did she HAVE ... to feel hurt? She was getting a taste of her OWN medicine! She was starting to reap the consequences of what SHE'D sowed. So ...

"I'm sorry," Herkimer whispered. And a pause. "I'm sorry ... " And he lingered. And turned. And left.

She watched him go. And sighed. Growling lightly, gritting her teeth, and ... would've clawed the wall or pounded something. But didn't have the energy. Instead, she went back inside. And ... sipped from the soup she'd been given.

She sipped, slinking back into bed. Sip ... mm ...

... it was actually good soup.

It actually, for a moment, made her feel a bit better, but ...

... ONLY for a moment.



It was an hour after lunch ... but a few furs were still in the mess hall. Eating. Sipping at their drinks. Looking at pads. Having quiet conversations with each other.

And Ross filtered among them, his vole tail (which was a tad bit shorter than a plain mouse's tail ... for he was a meadow mouse) trailing behind him. Snaking a bit. And his dishy ears swiveling. Whiskers twitching.

"Hey ... Ross."

"Mm?" He turned.

It was Lipton. A male, cinnamon-furred rabbit.

"Good lunch."

"Really?" Ross beamed, whiskers twitching.

"Mm-hmm," went Lipton. Saying, with a hushed tone, and an eye-dart ... " ... better than what Chef does."

Ross giggle-squeaked. "Well ... Chef and I are doing alternating shifts, so ... like, he does one day, and I do the next, so ... "

"Well, you're a good cook," Lipton assured. "And you do great things with cheese!"

"Thanks." Again, the vole beamed.

"Now, you know, I'm not pressuring you or anything," Lipton continued, his long ears waggling. "But, uh ... if you could make a steamed carrot or something. A steamed, sugared carrot ... "

" ... oh, I can do carrots."

"Steamed? Sugared?"

"ANY way."

"Mm ... " The rabbit tilted his head. "So ... "

" ... don't worry," Ross said, giggle-squeaking. "Mm. I'll put it on the menu."

"Thanks," the rabbit said, smiling warmly.

The meadow mouse nodded, and bid the rabbit a good day, and ... wandered to some of the other tables. Feeling pretty good!

Until he was stopped by a wolf. Advent wasn't the only predator aboard. There were, like, six or seven others. But, still, they made up LESS than ten percent of the crew compliment. There weren't many of them. Solstice, like Luminous before her, was a prey ship. But fleet regulations (and the predators on the Furry Council) demanded that there be SOME sort of predatory representation onboard (to ‘keep the prey in check' ... and some predators even spied for the predators on the Council, reporting everything the prey did).

But, in the end, yes, the predators and prey ... needed each other. For survival. To keep society running.

But it wasn't easy.

"You made this food?" the wolf asked. A lone wolf. Sitting alone. With a stoic look on his muzzle.

"Yes," Ross said quietly. As a vole, a mouse ... his voice was always quiet. Wispy. Male mice were well-known to be ... a bit effeminate.

"You used to be human?" the wolf continued. More a statement than a question.

Ross just nodded this time.

The wolf squinted. "I object to it."

Ross blinked. As if having been slapped. "M-my food?"

"No. You."

Another blink. "I ... I don't understand," he stammered.

"You are HUMAN. The Captain made an error in judgment," the wolf declared, "when he allowed you asylum. When he made you a part of this crew." An unhappy shake of his head. As the wolf continued, "You should've been shipped back to Home-world in a box ... and put in a lab. And dissected. Your people are attempting to DESTROY all furs. To mutate us into ... hybrids. And you? You will NEVER be a true fur," he declared. "And how can we trust you? Knowing what your species is capable of?"

"I ... I'm not them ... I ... I like being a fur. Just because a few humans are ... "

"A few? ALL humans are a threat. That includes you ... if you weren't so heavily-protected by the snow rabbit and ... your fellow prey," the wolf said, "you would ‘dealt with' ... "

"I'm ... I'm a fur," Ross stammered proudly. "I'm a meadow mouse."

"You're a human. And ... you do not belong here." The wolf stood. And shrugged. "Even if you make a good meal." And he turned and left ...

... leaving Ross to swallow, his eyes watering. Mice were the most fragile of furs. Emotionally. And ... and ...

... his sharp worries and fears, and ... those words.

Hurt.

And he, making sure none of the remaining furs in the mess hall got a good look at his muzzle ... retreated into the very back of the kitchen, slumping against a wall. And slowly sinking to the floor as he sobbed. Paws covering his face.



Tess's fingers nimbly danced over the helm console.

"A mile to your left."

"I see it," she said quietly, staring at the viewer ahead. But seeing nothing. Nothing but stars. "Well ... you know what I mean," she added, looking back down at the forward sensor display before her. It showed the anomalies. Solstice was out of warp for a bit. To maneuver through a small, minor anomaly field ... little spatial distortions that, when in contact with a star-ship, could short out systems and distort the hull. Warp things until they broke. Even hurt furs.

Advance was in his ready room. Too nervous to sit in his chair and simply watch ...

... though, as Aria had declared upon spotting the field ... " ... it should not be a problem to traverse."

And it wasn't.

But, still, Tess was only the back-up helm officer. Say what you wanted about Advent, but she was a bold pilot. Tess ... was also a good pilot. When it came to shuttle-pods. Solstice was much bigger than a shuttle-pod.

"You okay, Tess?" Audrey asked, form Comm. The squirrel's brown, bushy tail flagging a bit in the air behind her.

Tess, who was also a squirrel (and whose tail was ALSO flagging), nodded. Paws still dancing. "Yeah ... I think so. I'm ... is there an anomaly to our left? Center-left?"

"We should reach it," Aria said, from tactical, "in thirty seconds."

"Alright." Tess adjusted accordingly.

Right now, it was just the three femmes on the bridge. And Audrey, to diffuse any tension ... asked, "How's Handel?"

"He's good." A few beep-beeps from her console. And Solstice slid by another anomaly. Only a few more left. And they'd be free of the field. And could resume warp-speed. And head for the next inhabited planet (to explore and see and ... et cetera). Prey were often wide-eyed. And loved exploring and seeing new things. Predators ... not so much. But now that there were more prey ships in the fleet, more exploration was being done.

There were predator-heavy ships ... used for border patrols and such.

Certain species, even, had their own ships. The otters had the Riparian. Which, according to sensors, was the nearest furry federation ship TO Solstice ... looked to be about five days away (in the opposite direction).

In space, distances were vast.

"Um ... how does that work," Audrey continued, "exactly?"

"How does what," Tess asked, the claws on her paws tapping at little panels. Steering the ship. There was a joystick-like attachment (that one could steer the ship with) ... but she was used to using consoles (as the pods used consoles). "How does what," she finished, "work?"

"You know ... with a porcupine."

Tess smiled, biting her lip, her back to the other two. "It works awesome."

"Yeah, but ... how?" Audrey asked.

"His, uh, quills," Tess said, getting Solstice past another anomaly, "uh ... well, they stay flat and snugged. Beneath his fur. So, they don't hurt me. I mean, they're pulled erect ... only when he's frustrated or mad. Or threatened. So ... and, when we're, uh, ‘being furs' ... he's not threatened. So, the quills are safely tucked away."

"Oh ... "

"Bet you wanted more detail, though ... than that ... "

"Was hoping," Audrey admitted, giggling.

"Alright. Alright, then," Tess teased. "I'll tell you about us ... if you tell me about you and the Captain. He have any quirks? Make any ... cute sounds? Have any special moves?"

Audrey giggled. "I can't tell you that!"

"It's only fair ... "

"If Advance finds out ... "

"Who's gonna tell?" Tess asked, grinning. Two more anomalies left. "Aria?" Tess asked, not turning her head. But speaking to the snow rabbit (who had gotten quiet ... during the past minute).

"If you two wish to brag about the yiffy abilities of your respective males ... you may do so. I will be discreet. However, my ‘furry expressions'," she said, "with Ross ... will not be put forward."

"Aw ... Aria, you're no fun!" Audrey said.

"I do not believe my mate," the snow rabbit continued, keeping her eye on the scanners, "would appreciate me discussing our yiffy acts in public."

"ALL furs talk about their yiffs. That's what friends do," Audrey replied simply.

"I know," Aria said. "However, Ross is ... still new to being a fur. His human modesty about sexuality ... he would be embarrassed if I told yiffy stories about him."

"We're not gonna tell."

"That is not the point. I love him. He wants our yiff life kept private ... "

Audrey nodded. She could respect that. But ... " ... Tess and I are still gonna talk about ours, so ... "

"Well, hey," Tess said, with only one anomaly to go. "I only agreed ... if YOU agreed," she said of Audrey.

"I agreed!" the squirrel declared.

And a swish. A blink. "Agreed to what?" Advance asked, reemerging from his ready room.

"Mm ... story-time's over," Tess muttered with a girlish grin.

"Yeah, before it even STARTED," Audrey added grumpily.

The male desert mouse blinked, looking at the two squirrel femmes. And looking to Aria (for help).

"It is beyond me," was all the snow rabbit said.

And Advance blinked again, whiskers twitching. Looking to his mate ...

... who gave him a playful wink and a silent, air-blown kiss.

Advance flushed, smiling ... " ... mm ... well, uh ... um ... "

"You made him yiffy!" Tess accused.

"I think he already was," Audrey replied.

"Um ... well, uh ... are we out of the field yet, Aria?" Advance's ears were blushing a rosy-pink now. His whiskers twitched.

The snow rabbit tapped at her controls. "Five seconds ... four ... three, two ... one." A nod. And she looked up. "We are out."

"Okay. Okay." A pause. "Um ... good. Tess, take us back to warp, then. For the next planet, and, uh ... Aud?"

"Mm?" The squirrel looked up, smiling innocently at her mate.

"In my ... ready room," the desert mouse panted. "Now."

"Yes, sir," she said, grinning, and giggling as she followed him in, tail-waving at the other two femmes ...

... as she and her desert mouse disappeared from sight.

The stars on the viewer were streaking by now. Warp-speed stars.

And Tess, sighing, spinning in her swivel chair, raised her brow at Aria. "So ... "

Aria tilted her head. Only saying, "Indeed."



It was night now.

Ross closed his eyes. Her soft, rabbit paws on his back. On his shoulder blades. He'd told his mate all about ... his predatory encounter in the mess hall earlier in the day. About what the wolf had said.

"I will not let him harm you. Any of them. They will not lay a paw on you," she promised, in her cool, neutral way ... " ... you are safe with me, Ross."

The meadow mouse sniffled.

The snow rabbit, concerned, allowed her paws to slide down his sides. And then around his front. Her paws to his belly. Pressing her bare belly to his back. And hugging him to her.

They were in the bathroom. In front of the mirror.

Were gonna take a shower. Or, more like ... ‘take a shower' ...

The snow rabbit nuzzled the back of the vole's neck. "I love you," she whispered. "And I know," she told him, "that, even as a human ... you were a good soul. I know you would never hurt a fur. And that, now, AS a fur ... though your adjustment has been a bit uneasy," she told him, "you have made such wonderful progress. You should," she assured, "be proud. You make a wonderful fur. And a wonderful mate. And I do," she repeated, "love you with all my heart ... and all my soul."

Ross, ears swiveling, quietly cried ... swallowing. Sniffling. Touched ...

"Do not let the petty words of those who ... are lost to the light," the snow rabbit pleaded, "cause you to lose confidence. Or lose hope. Or ... anything. They don't know of what they speak."

"I never ... never did anything to him," the meadow mouse sniffled.

"Predators never need a reason," Aria said quietly. She knew. She'd been fighting them her entire life. She knew how predators worked ... maybe more than ANY fur on this ship. She knew. "They never need a reason to bite at prey. It is simply ... their instinct. An instinct which they choose not to control. But look what their self-proclaimed ‘strength' does to their hearts. It hardens them. I would much rather have a meek, vulnerable ... soul," she whispered, "than a strong, bold one. For you have no ego. You are selfless. And when you tell me that you love me," she whispered, her breath on his nape, "I know that you mean it. I know that it's a spiritual love. One of connection ... "

Ross took a shaky breath. Nose sniffling. "You're ... " His voice faltered. His mousey ears were good ones. Good ears. He heard things ... he heard how some furs on the ship talked about his mate. They said Aria was an icicle. That she had no REAL emotions, and that ... they said mean things. But they were WRONG. They were SO wrong. His mate did have emotions. They just ... were, at their core, SO passionate ... that to let them all to the surface ... would overwhelm her. The harshness of her Arctic life had necessitated their calculated control. It was a mechanism built into the minds of her species ... for centuries.

She was misunderstood ...

... and so, too, was he. The former human.

They were both misunderstood ... by many furs around them.

But they understood each other.

And understood the need each had ... for the other.

Understood the love.

And Ross, swallowing, continued, "You're ... so kind. I ... I love you so much. Aria," he whispered. Taking a deep breath. Turning around. Softly. His foot-paws, bare, shuffling on the bathroom floor. So that he could lean his head on her shoulder. So that he could hug her ... chest to breasts ... and squeeze her. And feel her lithe warmth. Her soft, snowy fur.

"I love you, too," was her gentle response. "Now ... do not dwell on what you were told in the mess hall. Okay?" She stroked his sides.

He breathed and nodded. Blinking his eyes dry.

"You are a very good cook," Aria said quietly, eye-smiling. Changing the subject to something more positive. "I have had several crew-furs come to me ... and remark how much they enjoyed the food you prepared."

"Really?" Ross smiled shyly.

"Yes," she whispered. "I am very proud of you."

"Thanks ... Aria," the vole breathed, and hugged her tight. Smiling. His dimples showing on his furry cheeks.

She kissed his cheek. And ... with her lips, nibbled on his whiskers. Even as they twitched!

He giggled very airily. It almost tickled, and ... he turned his head so that ... his whiskers left her lips. And so that his lips could ...

... meet hers.

A kiss. Eyes closed. Hearts beating. Fur warm, soft, and his tail snaking ... and her tail flicking like the bobtail it was. She of the ice. Emotions controlled. And him SO, so emotional. Like opposing weather fronts ... that, should they collide, would create ...

... sparks.

Create something.

What kind of force could they make together? What kind of art?

And kissing, groping, and ... panting ... they made their way, weakened by a growing pleasure, into the shower.

They were gonna make a love-storm. And find out.