There was a quiet, restrained hum that, as always, permeated the air. Almost unnoticeable. Almost. But it was something tangible enough to be there. To be here. Be it from the engines, or from this, or from that. Whatever it was from, it was soothing. It was something you grew used to. But it was also, simultaneously, a little, background reminder that, no, you weren't in natural confines. You weren't in an organic setting.

Not yet.

Not anymore.

You were back in space, on a star-ship. But not just any ship, Aria.

She is your ship.

Aria's icy-blue eyes darted a bit, looking through the glass, through the window. To the world below, with its swirls of snowy-white. Pearl-white. All kinds of white. And all kinds of pale, fading blues, too. The periwinkle, cornflower kinds, soft and pastel, but so chilled-over. And the landmasses, and the gaps of frigid, glacier-rimmed waters.

She closed her eyes for just a moment.

Home. Where her consciousness had dawned, and where her first steps had been taken. First breaths drawn. Where her family was, and her past, and things too intangible to name. Where she, over a week ago, had given birth. Oh, home. The whole sight was so much a part of her, of her consciousness and her blood. Her instinct and her being.

And she opened her eyes, now.

And she just stared at it, drinking it in. So quietly. The sight of such need and such purpose. The sight of such life.

And, her eyes drinking as much as they were, she almost forgot about all the little ship-noises. Forgot about the ...

... chirrup! The soft, tweeting sound of the door chime.

Chirrup! It sounded again.

A blink. Finally, a blink, and a deep exhale, and she shook her head lightly, as if stepping out of a revelry. And hadn't she been in a revelry? "Come in," she said quietly, turning her head slightly. Her two, slender ears, like antennae, standing tall atop her head. Her ears with the soft, pink interiors, where the flesh was, and the soft, downy-white fur, and the charcoal-black fringes.

The doors to her ready room swished open. It was Jinx, the skunk. Her first officer. And her tactical officer, as well. And, as every member of her crew had become, a friend. Her friend. Not just an officer anymore. None of them were ‘just officers' anymore, were they?

"Yes?" Aria turned around. Already knowing what he wanted. What he had to say.

"They're here," was all Jinx mumbled, sounding none-too-pleased. And, more clearly, "They docked with the station about, uh ... ten minutes ago." He absently scratched the fur on his neck. "So, I guess we should head over there."

Arctic was docked with station S-7, one of the nine snow rabbit stations in orbit of the snow rabbit home-world. There were nine stations, a few dry-docks, and dozens of ships. The remnants of the once-bigger snow rabbit fleet, which was being repaired, now, and rebuilt. The ships all drifting and orbiting and flitting about. All in a graceful, dignified fashion, moving as snow rabbits themselves moved: with surety.

And, then, of course, not viewable through her ready room windows, were the moons. The two moons. And the Arctic fox refugees still, after all these months, occupying that second moon.

A home had yet to be found for them.

Aria assumed that, once her ship was healed, she would be assigned that task. Removing the Arctic foxes from the snow rabbit system was, she knew, a top priority. As much as their relations had softened, there was still a tension.

Aria nodded a bit. And swallowed. Smoothing her uniform with her paws, her paw-pads running over her belly as she did so. Almost odd, really, to have it back to normal. To not have that weight and presence down there. To not have to waddle when she walked. Though she'd found, however, she weighed, currently, seven more pounds than she had before getting pregnant. Barrow had assured her this was normal, and that, for the moment, she should take it slow and easy ...



The doctor had advised during her check-up yesterday, "Let your body recover for a few weeks, and then ... exercise ‘til you fall down. But I want to KNOW that you're resting. You gave birth ten days ago, so, it's ... I still think you need to take it easy for a while longer. Mild, moderate exercise is fine, but nothing extreme. Alright?"

A quiet nod from her. A slight whisker-twitch. Asking, looking to his sky-blue eyes, "What about ... " She trailed, raising her brow.

" ... sex?"

Another quiet nod.

"You can have sex." A toothy, fang-showing grin.

"That is good to know. Because we have been," she said, meaning her and Ross. Oh, they had been.

"Mm-hmm," was all the bat did, chuckling to himself, and he tapped some things on a computer pad. And then put it aside. And then opened a scanner, running it over Aria's body. The snow rabbit sitting on the edge of a bio-bed, her bare foot-paws not quite reaching the carpeted floor. The black claws on her white-furred toes having been filed down.

"It does not bother me," Aria assured him.

"The weight gain?"

A nod. "I am in no rush to ... lose the weight," she assured again.

"Well, it bothers most femmes. I mean ... at least, when I was in medical school, it bothered the ones there. The ones I watched over."

"They were not snow rabbits. A little extra weight," she said, "on a snow rabbit ... is beneficial. We come from a cold environment."

"So, you don't care if the pounds stay on?" the bat had asked. "You really don't?"

Aria had given him a look. "No." A pause. "But they will not," she assured, "stay on. I can lose them if I wish."

"Ah. Okay. I see ... that so, huh?" A smile. And he stretched his winged arms. "Well, I'm not questioning your determination, or your regimen, or ... well, all I'm saying, Aria, is that ... your body's not going to be exactly the same as it was before. I know you're only twenty-two, but ... even so, in a lot of ways, you're ... I mean, stretch-marks beneath the fur, your, uh ... breasts," the bat said, flushing a bit, happening to look at them. And then looking away, and then back to her eyes. "It's not gonna go back, entirely, to a pre-pregnancy state. Over time ... you can lose the weight and all, true, but ... you know ... "

She frowned.

" ... it's nothing to get down about, you know. I mean, I wouldn't expect you to get depressed about it."

"I am not ‘depressed'."

"So, why the frown?"

"I am not frowning. Snow rabbits ... "

" ... do not frown. Uh-huh. Sure." A patient smile from the periwinkle-furred bat. He waited, waited. His swept-back, angular ears listening.

Aria let out a breath. "I had just assumed that ... that I would have the baby, and my body would return to its previous state. I would give birth, and then everything would go back to normal."

A small shake of the head. "Not the way it works," the bat whispered gently. "Having a baby's something that's, uh, gonna stick with you ... in more ways than one."

The snow rabbit said nothing.

"Doesn't bother Ross, does it?"

"Of course not. He enjoys my body ... enthusiastically," she said.

"Enthusiastically. Mm." A grin. "Well, there you go. If he doesn't care, why should you? It's all in your head. You just need to make sure you don't have unrealistic expectations ... about perfection. I know snow rabbits are all about keeping things crisp and logical, but the body isn't always as logical as the mind. Having a baby is a life-changing event. It's not, like, a ... you know, things are going to be different ... "

"I am well aware of that," Aria assured. "You do not need to repeat yourself. And I do not need to be patronized."

"I'm not patronizing you ... I'm just saying that you should be realistic about your body, and your new responsibilities, okay? Don't get frustrated. Just go with it, okay?"

A sigh through the nose. "Okay." She swung her foot-paws a few times, through the air, very softly. And said, "Is there anything else I should know?"

A definite nod. "Yes. Uh ... you're lactating. You're nursing the baby, so, uh ... now, lactation does slow down ovulation, but don't listen to anyone who says it completely stops it. You can get pregnant again while lactating, so ... when your heats start again, be careful. I know you and Ross might want another child someday, but you don't want another one right NOW, I'm sure. So ... "

A nod. "We will be careful," was her assurance.

"What else, what else ... " The bat put his scanner aside, and then sat beside her on the bio-bed, looking to her. To her eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were a bit overwhelmed."

She met his eyes, in return, and said, "I am not overwhelmed."

"No?" he whispered. "You're the Captain. And you're a new mother. You have more responsibilities than any other fur on this ship ... and snow rabbit or not, mentally able to handle it or not, it's ... still a LOT of stress."

A shake of the head. And she looked away, and downward, to her foot-paws. "Perhaps," she finally admitted. "Perhaps you are right." A breath. "I am simply realizing how much ... this," she said, "entails." A pause. "The ship, also, is like a child of mine, and to see it so scarred ... it hurts."

"Repair teams are fixing her right up. She's almost as good as new."

"Yes." A sigh. "And the baby. The baby often cries. It distresses me, because I feel ... I feel he is crying because I am not doing a good enough job with him."

A warm smile. "Babies cry, Aria. Even half-snow rabbit babies. That's how they ... communicate. It's how they let us know they're hungry or uncomfortable. It's ... just what they do."

"I know that. But I had assumed that, because of his emotional freeze ... he would be calmer."

"So, you think he's got your emotional freeze?" the bat asked.

A little nod. "I believe he does. I wish for you to scan his mind ... "

"Scan? With, like ... the computer, or ... "

" ... your telepathy. That would be a better barometer, would it not?"

"I suppose so."

"I want to know," Aria said quietly, "if he has it."

Barrow was quiet for a moment. Whispering, "Do you not want him to have it? You sound ... tense."

A breath, her breasts swelling. And then sagging as she exhaled. And she swallowed. "I am not ashamed of my instincts. If he has the freeze, I will love him. If he does not, I will love him."

"Maybe he'll be in-between. He is a half-breed."

A quiet nod. "Yes." A breath. "I would just, in some ways ... I do not know," she ended up whispering, trailing, her eyes darting a bit. "I do not know," she whispered again. "Emotions can ... lead to great pain. But not being able to express those same emotions ... it can lead to a hurt and frustration of its own. I have seen one kind of hurt in myself, and I have seen the other kind of hurt in Ross, and ... " She trailed again. "I just want my child to be safe."

"You don't want him to ever hurt?"

No answer.

"He's gonna hurt," Barrow whispered. "That's ... part of life. But ... regardless of whether he has your freeze or Ross's anxious, mousey scurry ... you're both good furs. You'll make good parents. I think that's what's worrying you more than anything, isn't it? You're afraid you won't be able to protect him enough, teach him enough?"

"Is that not what one wishes for her child?" Aria asked quietly. "For his life to be better than your own? For him to flourish?"

A quiet nod. "Yes ... but you're only a fur, Aria. Only a snow rabbit. And you can't do everything. You can't BE perfect, or make your baby's life perfect, or ... you can just do your best. And ask that God may watch over you, and ... "

" ... that Christ may walk with us, and that the Holy Spirit may fill our very breaths," Aria finished, taking a slow, slow inhale. Holding it. Nodding. And slowly exhaling. "Yes," she whispered. And she paused, admitting, "Creating and raising a new life is no different ... than living a life of your own. It requires faith."

The bat nodded gently.

"I have faith," Aria assured.

"Then you will be fine. You, and Ross, and baby Sterling ... I have a feeling you'll be okay." A breath. "It'll be worth it. You know it will be ... "

"Yes. It already is," she assured, looking back up, and giving him an eye-smile.

Barrow smiled back at her. "Good," he said, taking a deep breath, and then slipping off the bio-bed, and padding over to a console. "Well, your check-up," he announced, "is complete, and I'm glad to say that you are, once again, in perfect health."

"I may leave, now?"

"You may. But ... day after tomorrow," he reminded, "I want you back in here. For another few weeks, at least, I wanna monitor you regularly. And bring the baby next time, okay?"

"Very well," Aria agreed, standing, smoothing her uniform. A new habit of hers. Smoothing her uniform. Where, used to, she'd put her paws on her belly, she hadn't as big a belly, now. So, instead, she'd smooth her uniform. Run her paws down her belly, and then tug at the fabric.

"Aria?"

"Mm?" A blink, and she looked up.

"When you're done playing with your clothes, you can go," Barrow repeated, smiling.

A quiet nod. "Thank you," she said, taking a deep breath, and she left, her bobtail flickering like a furry flame.

And the doctor chuckled to himself. ‘Cute' was an adjective often applied to mouses, or squirrels, or what-have-you. But let it not be said that snow rabbits couldn't be very ‘cute' themselves, whether they realized it or not.



The skunk sighed, back in the present. "Do you think we'll be able to reason with them?"

"No," was her honest reply, as she stepped away from the window, away from the couch, and went to her desk. She picked up a computer pad. And then another one. They had information which she needed for this meeting. "But I have prayed about it. And I am not worried," she assured her first officer.

"So, you think God's going to soften their hearts? Just like that? They sounded pretty stubborn to me ... over the comm the other day."

"I think I am not worried," Aria repeated with confidence. "I am sure they sent predators to speak for them. No doubt they believes this will give them an ‘edge' in the talks. They will try to intimidate us, but ... we will not be intimidated."

"Is, uh ... is that, like, an order?"

An eye-smile. "Somewhat."

They were to meet with ambassadors from the Furry Federation. Several important ‘issues' were to be talked about. Some unpleasant issues.

Jinx nodded lightly. He gave a bit of a twitch. His luxurious, black tail with the great, white stripe, it hung behind him. Soft, smooth. Silky. "Well, uh ... I think you'd better do the talking. I'll get too mad, and ... I'll say something stupid ... "

"I had planned," Aria said, eye-smiling gently, "on doing the talking." And, with her pads in paw, she went for the door, leaving her ready room.

And Jinx dutifully followed.

And the planet remained in place, outside the window, as white and blue as before.



Ollie casually nibbled on some pretzels, waiting for Arianna to come back from the bathroom. They'd come aboard S-7 for some food, some fun. Something different. While the snow rabbit repair teams fixed up Arctic, there wasn't much to do, honestly. Other than wait around and do busy-work. Other than have sex and go stir-crazy.

They'd already had sex.

So, they'd come to the Promenade, and were eating at one of the restaurants.

It was early evening.

The white-furred mouse's ears swivelled. His big, dishy ears, all pink and delicate, hearing all the conversations going on at all the little tables. Hearing chairs being scooted. Hearing the sound of dishes clinking. Hearing the sound of silverware hitting plates, or ice cubes clinking in glasses.

Gnaw-gnaw. Gnaw on pretzels. He liked the salty ones. All these miniature pretzel ‘ribbons.' He fished his paw through the little appetizer dish, picking out the ones with the most salt granules on them.

And his ears perked. At the sound of pattering foot-paws, and he turned, and blinked.

A little snow rabbit, maybe seven/eight years old, darted beneath his table. And hid there. And then poked his head out, looking up at Ollie, saying, "I am not here!" His voice was very calm, very cool. And yet, at the same time, he spoke with a bit more energy, maybe, than an adult snow rabbit normally would've. It was a bit odd to hear.

The mouse smiled, almost giggled. "You're not?" he asked, swallowing. Still sitting.

"No," the snow rabbit kid insisted, shaking his head vehemently. And he put a paw to his muzzle and went, "Shh!"

Ollie wasn't sure what to make of this, but he, reaching for his glass of ice water, let out a breath and said, "Okay, then."

But he soon discovered what was going on.

As two other little snow rabbits hopped and bounded by. One of them pausing, sniffing the air, taking a few steps this way, pausing, sniffing. And two more soon joined them.

"You won't be able to find him with your nose," one of the kids insisted, quite logically. "There are too many furs in the room ... too many smells."

"I can still try!" insisted the nose-sniffer, who was the youngest of the group. His bobtail was flicking indignantly.

"I believe he went to the jumja stand," said another, pointing a blunt-clawed paw. "He likes jumja sticks."

"That does not mean," the most logical one said (he must, then, be the oldest, Ollie reasoned; for his emotional freeze seemed more developed than the others'). "That does not mean," he repeated, "that he is at the jumja stand. I suggest we split up."

Ollie watched them all, from about twenty feet away. They were hopping up and down, full of energy. Most of them. A few of them seemed sullen. As if they were only playing along so as not to be lonely.

"Agreed," said another, and they divided into two separate groups. And hopped off. The youngest, the one sniffing about the restaurant, was dragged out by another. Not liking this the nose-sniffer kicked at the other kid with a slender, bare foot-paw.

"Quit it!" was the response, the other rabbit kicking back. Rabbit's having good legs and foot-paws for kicking.

When they were gone, the snow rabbit hiding under the table wriggled out, and sat in Arianna's empty chair. And he let out a sigh.

"So," Ollie said, smiling a bit, and sipping from his water again. And then putting the glass down. And then sitting up a bit straighter. "You playing tag, then? Were you ‘it'?"

A shake of the head. He was a cute, little rabbit, and his front buck-teeth stuck out just a bit. And his ears stood tall.

"No? Well ... "

"We were playing predators and prey."

"Oh." A slight whisker-twitch.

"I was the prey."

"What do they do when they catch you?" Ollie wanted to know.

"They bop you on the head. Pull your ears. Yank your bobtail. Kick you."

"Hmm. Doesn't sound like a very fun game to me," Ollie insisted, with more than a bit of worry in his voice.

"It's not supposed to be fun."

"Then why do you play it?"

The snow rabbit kid thought for a moment. "Cause it keeps your instincts sharp. In case there was ever a real hunt, and you had to hide, and if the hunters got you," he said. "It teaches you what to do."

A sympathetic breath. "I suppose it does, at that," Ollie whispered, understanding all too well the tensions between predators and prey. And how that tension was ingrained in society. How it was with you from birth. And the white-furred mouse leaned forward, asking, "How come you were the prey, though? And not one of the others?"

"Mm." A blink. "I dunno. I just was."A pause, obviously leaving something out. And a blink. "Thank you for letting me hide under your table."

"No problem," Ollie whispered.

The snow rabbit reached across the table, straining, to stick his paw in the pretzel dish. And he withdrew it, and then nibbled on the pretzel ribbons. "Mm," he went, eating with delicacy. Well, he may have been more hyper than an adult snow rabbit, but he was the same sort of ‘tidy eater.' "I like pretzels," he said.

"So do I," Ollie replied.

Nibble. Nib-nibble. "Can I have your water?"

"Sure." The mouse moved his glass in front of the kid.

And the snow rabbit sipped it greedily. "I've been running all over the Promenade, and this is the first time I've gotten a drink."

Ollie nodded, watching the kid. Finally asking, "How old are you?"

"Seven years. And eight months," he added, emphasizing the ‘and.'

"How come you're on the station?"

"Mm ... how come you ask so many questions?"

Ollie giggle-squeaked. "Am I not allowed?"

"I dunno. They always tell me I ask too many questions. So ... I guess you can, too."

"And?"

"And what?" Nibble. Blink. Sip. Squirm.

"How come you're on the station?" The mouse's tail snaked behind him, behind his chair. Like a pink, air-held sidewinder.

"It's where I live, now ... "

"Oh. Your parents work here?"

A shake of the head, and sudden discomfort. "No," the snow rabbit whispered, with a blank stare. His shoulders sagging. "I don't have any parents."

"What?" Ollie whispered.

"They were killed. On their ship." A singular whiskers twitch. "They were fighting bugs. And then me and then other little rabbits who lost their moms and dads ... we got taken to here."

Ollie's eyes watered. And he nodded very quietly. "Oh ... I see ... " He hadn't thought about stuff like that.

"How come your eyes are all shiny?" the little rabbit asked. For, as a snow rabbit, he wasn't able to cry. His emotional freeze was firmly in place, even at this age. Enough so, anyway, to make crying impossible. He didn't know what crying was. "Your eyes have water in them ... "

Ollie swallowed, blinking heavily, and forcing a smile. "They get like that, sometimes," was all he said. And he took a breath, and fiddled with his napkin, asking, "So, you live on the station?" The mouse swallowed, blinking his eyes clear. Pull it together, Ollie. You're so emotional. But he couldn't help it. He was a male mouse, and therefore, on the effeminate side. And emotional. And, oh, he felt so sorry for this little snow rabbit, not having his parents anymore. Because Ollie, himself, had lost his parents at a young age. Not to bugs. To wolverines. But he knew that kind of pain. Oh, he knew ...

"Yeah ... I told you. I don't think they want us here, though. Cause, sometimes, they waggle their ears. Cause we get in the way."

Ollie just listened.

And the little snow rabbit trailed, and then tilted his head. "You got big ears," he pointed out.

A helpless smile. "I guess I do," the mouse whispered.

"How come?"

"Mm?"

"Home come you got big ears?"

"Well, cause ... uh ... well, that's just the way God wanted them."

"Oh." A pause. His little muzzle scrunched up. And then asking, "How come God wanted them like that?"

"Well, I don't know," Ollie admitted. "There's a lot of things that God did that ... I can't explain. But I just trust that He made them this way because that was the best way to make them. I like big ears." He smiled and swivelled his ears for the little snow rabbit. "Do you ever go to Sunday School?" he asked.

"Sometimes ... and to church, after. But they won't let me eat the bread and blood," the snow rabbit said. "They say I need to be older, cause ... I don't know."

A patient smile. "Well, it's a very spiritual act ... they just want you to fully understand what you're doing."

"The blood smells like grape juice."

Ollie smiled. "It probably is. Or wine, maybe. It's not really blood. It just stands for it ... "

"Hmm." Scrunched-up features. "Well ... wine makes furs act funny. I see funny furs leaving the restaurants, sometimes ... and they like to whisper and giggle. And they smell like wine." A pause. "I can't giggle. Sometimes, I wish I could, cause they make it seem so nice ... " The kid trailed. And then piped up again. " ... mm ... I can move my ears, too, like you. See?" He waggled his slender, antenna-like ears.

"Impressive," the mouse said, nodding.

"Mm." He nibbled and gnawed on a few more pretzels, and then blew out a breath, and downed the rest of Ollie's water glass.

The mouse raised his brow a bit. And then remembered, of course, that snow rabbits dehydrated a lot quicker than other furs. Had a higher fluid need. "You need more water?"

A breathless nod. And an added, "Please."

And Ollie reached for the pitcher of ice water. And poured more into the glass.

And the little snow rabbit downed half the glass, and then paused to breathe. "Oh ... I like water!" he said.

"I know," Ollie said gently, offering a smile. "You should carry a water bottle with you. A little snow rabbit like you, you might not realize how thirsty you are until you feel sick. You gotta have your water." He thought, fondly, of fetching Arianna's water bottle when they made love. Keeping her hydrated.

"That's what the big snow rabbits do. Carry bottles. But I keep forgetting mine. I keep leaving it when we play games."

The mouse nodded. "Understandable."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"I keep asking the big snow rabbits, but they don't wanna tell me."

"Tell you what?" A blink. His whiskers twitched. Tail still snaking, but more slowly, now, and ears swiveling in the slightest of fashions.

"What's ‘breeding' mean? All the big furs go into rooms and breed, and then they come out all happy, and they never say what ‘breeding' is ... I wanna know," the little rabbit demanded, her ears waggling with decisiveness.

Ollie held back a giggle-squeak. "Uh, well ... see, that's a bit complicated ... "

"How come?" A curious stare.

"Well, it's just ... sensitive. It's ... you're too little," the mouse said, "to understand."

"I can understand predators and prey. How come I can't understand ‘breeding'?"

Ollie blew out a breath. Good point. Oh, boy. "Um ... well ... alright, uh ... " A pause. And he gestured with his paws. "Okay, when a femme fur loves a guy fur, and they really love each other," he began, and then trailed. This sounded stupid. Surely, there had to be a better way of explaining it. "Are you sure you wanna know this?" Ollie's whiskers twitched.

"Yes."

Ollie sighed. "It's just not something little furs NEED to know. It's, like ... a mystery, okay? Like a surprise. And you'll find out when you get older."

"How come?"

"Well, that's how it works. It's like the bread and the blood, okay? You can't have that until you're older, cause you gotta know, in your heart, what it is ... what it means. And that's how it is with breeding. You can't know about that until you're older, cause it's gotta be from the heart."

"Well ... I gotta find out sometime. How come I can't find out now? Seven years and eight months is plenty old," the little rabbit insisted. "Anyway, Valdez, one of the older kids ... he told me that ‘breeding' is how babies are made."

Ollie nodded. "That's true ... it is how babies are made. That's how I was made, and how you were made. Every one of us."

"Well, then how come ... how come big furs breed so much and they don't have babies every time? If they're not making babies, how come they do it?"

"Cause it feels good," Ollie admitted honestly. "It feels very, very good," he whispered, sighing a bit. "Especially when you love the one you do it with."

The little rabbit shook his head and sighed. "I don't get it."

"You will," Ollie assured. "Someday. Okay?" Probably sooner than you'll want, the mouse said in his head. Remembering how painful those feelings could be. When you were a teenager, young and inexperienced. Oh, the foolish mistakes you could make ... oh, how your thoughts could run away with you. How love could go unrequited. Only, in the end, it was never really ‘love,' just a one-sided crush. And on and on and ...

The little snow rabbit nodded. "Alright," he said, and he downed the rest of the water in Ollie's glass. And then a pause. And a little frown. And adding, "Well ... how come it feels good, though?"

"Uh ... I'm not even going there," Ollie said, shaking his head, starting to giggle. "How ‘bout let's talk about something else?"

"Like what?" An innocent blink.

"Like, how ‘bout we tell each other our names? See, I'm Ollie."

"Ollie," the little snow rabbit said, trying it out on his tongue. "Hmm. I never heard that name before." A swallow. "I'm Sheridan."

"Sheridan," Ollie repeated. "That's a very distinguished name ... suits you," the mouse insisted.

The little snow rabbit eye-smiled.

And Ollie muzzle-smiled back.

"I better go. In case my friends double-back and find me ... " And he slipped out of his chair.

"You gonna be okay?" Ollie asked, worriedly.

"Yeah ... thank you, Mr. Ollie."

"You don't have to call me ... mister," Ollie finished, but the kid had already hopped and bounded off, turning right, heading across the upper level of the Promenade. And the mouse sighed.

It was then that Arianna returned, daintily slipping into her seat. She was wearing a beautiful dress. With straps for the shoulders. And she smoothed it as she sat, explaining, "I met the Ops officer from the Yellowknife on my way back from the bathroom. We engaged in conversation ... I got ‘held up.' It is amazing how some furs have the capacity to talk at incredible lengths about nothing in particular." A pause. "Ollie?"

"Mm?" The mouse blinked. And looked to his wife. "Oh. That's okay," he said, smiling warmly, and reaching a paw across the table. Giving her paw a squeeze. And, looking to her, tilting his head slightly, he said, "We, uh ... we're trying to have a baby, yeah?"

"Of course," Arianna said, confused. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," the mouse assured, and he bit his lip, his whiskers twitching. "I just wondered ... it's so hard for us, anyway, and it could take months, and ... what worked for Ross and Aria might not work for us." A breath. "What if we adopted, instead?"

"Adopted?" She raised her brow.

"Yeah ... I mean, we can keep trying, you know, for a natural baby of our own. I want to keep trying, yes. One that comes from the two of us. But, in the meantime, I mean ... what if we adopted our first child, instead?" A whisker twitch. "All those war orphans," he whispered sadly.

"War orphans?" Arianna whiskered, and then tilted her head, eyes darting. "I had not seriously considered that option." A pause. "But if you wish, we can discuss it. What made this come to your mind?"

Ollie smiled. "An impromptu game of predators and prey."

Arianna blinked, her ears waggling.

And Ollie explained.