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The

sidewalks of lower Boston were teeming with deer. Not your regular kind, I should say, but with bodies more human than the stark normality of our

Earth. They walked about, their furred forms clothed by garments of various

color, their hooves an endless parade of clacking that dictated the day as

quite busy. Indeed, even in this animal-run reality, things were always quite

as busy as you would picture them here. Even the traffic (which were driven by

many humanoid versions of everyday animals) was choked, its exhaust cloaking

the city in a slight haze of gas. Amidst the sea of fully clad red-orange came

a large grey; a wolf, upright like the rest, pacing normally, his slick tail

bobbing slightly in the wind. He wore a black business suit; unbuttoned to show

the white collared shirt he wore underneath, and carried a heavy briefcase. He

was James Ian Fawkes, youngest of the Fawkes pack, and he was panting with

thirst. As he rounded the corner, he spotted an antique-looking bar, crossed

the street and entered into the dimly lit restaurant.

            This

was The Tawny Doe, one of James' favorite hangouts. It was where all the

herbivores came to socialize on lazy Saturday afternoons. As it happened, it

was around that time, as James could spot a beaver, deer, horse or ass sunk

into a chair at every corner. He spotted the bar towards the back and strutted

forward, taking his seat between two antlered bucks, both whitetails. The one

on his left was taking a heavy sip of Budweiser.

"Hey, Andy," James asked the deer to the

left, "How's it goin'?" The buck stopped mid-drink, his brown eyes wide in

surprise. He put his beverage down and turned his head to James, the corners of

his mouth wide in merriment.

"Hey," the buck said, "James! My wolf. How's it going, dude?" He

thrust out a hoof-adorned hand. "Good, man," he answered, taking his shake with

a paw, "very good. Just sacrificed

another boring hour of listening to my dad to come here." Andy's eyes went wide

at the wolf's comment.

"Oh yeah?"

James sighed. "Yeah..." His ears folded back. "I mean, you would not believe the shit that comes flying out of

my dad's muzzle. He's, like, all for Brian Cheney in the mayoral race for

2016." The deer's eyes squinted in an ugly sneer at the name. "Ugh, that bobcat? He's gonna' make things worse

for us plant-eaters all over again!" "Exactly,"

James agreed, shaking a finger, "and d'you know what my dad said when I told

him that? He said, "Anything that'll keep predators

above herbivores is a good thing.""

The wolf shook his head, scowling. "Lord Almighty!" The buck looked at his

canine friend with concern, his ears half-flattened.

"You don't believe in that much, do you?"

James glanced at Andy with his green

seething eyes. "You're damn right I don't," he hissed, "'cause if I did, well, it'd be the Civil War all

over again." Andy, after a second of silence, resumed drinking his beer, his

eyes watching the pretty lean doe that bartended the joint on Saturdays. He

called her over.

"What d'you want, hon?" The doe was darker

furred, her black mascara complementing her orange hide quite well. "Um,

actually," Andy sputtered, pointing back to James, "it's for my friend here." The

doe met James with a hard glare.

"What do you want, wolf?"

James crossed his arms and calmly answered,

"Heineken, please." The bartender walked away without acknowledgement. When she

had fully disappeared, Andy once again laid eyes on his friend. "So how'd you

get out of work this time? Same trick

as last week?" The wolf nodded, smirking. "Yup. Just said to my boss that I had

to see a friend, and away I went." He swiped his paw at those last words. Andy

could see his tail wag slightly, perhaps in contentment at his past decision.

After another silent moment, the buck decided to speak.

"Hey, James," he questioned, "Do you ever

think that your dad may catch you hanging out with us plant-eaters one of these

days?" The wolf (who had been watching the bartender bring his drink) furrowed

his brow in thought, his paw rubbing his whiskers, before giving thanks to the

doe. "No," he replied, picking up his glass, "Why would he? I've been telling

fibs for, what, four weeks now?"

"Five,"

the deer corrected, taking a sip of his own, "and a quarter, to be exact." The

wolf downed his glass of beer and set it on the table. "Whatever," he said, "my

point is: dad's not gonna' find me

anytime soon." He leaned closer to the buck. "Andy," he asked his friend,

"what's the time around here? I have a feelin' it's around dinner." The buck

set down his empty glass, glancing at the bulky watch on his right arm.

"It's 'bout 5:30."

"Oh, shit,"

James cursed. He sprung up from the stool, paws fidgeting at the suit buttons. Andy

glanced up at the hurrying wolf. "Gotta' go somewhere?"

"Yeah,"

James responded quickly, "Don't you remember? My dad loses his cool whenever he

finds out I've been away past six." Without hesitation, he rushed to retrieve

his briefcase and sprinted out the door, heart hammering in his chest.

The Fawkes mansion lay on the corner of Chelsea

and Warren, first one in the small suburb to the right of the bridge. Its

location was convenient for James, as it made trips home from the South easier.

As he marched up the stone steps, his lupine ears caught snippets of inside

activity: pots and cans clanging, along with friendly chatter. He rapped on the

door. An elderly wolf answered, his muzzle twisted into a smile.

"Hello, son," he said, "glad you could

make it. Come on in." He led James through a velvet hallway to the dining room.

Occupying the chairs was his family. His mother sat at one end, while his

brother Miles and sister Catharine sat on the left. James sucked in a breath

before seating down into a vacant spot next to his wife Arlynn. The family's

heads were all turned to Mr. Fawkes as he gave grace. Then, when the elder wolf

had finished, the family immediately began digging into their meal of lamb and

roast rabbit. Halfway through the meal, Catherine struck up a conversation with

their father about her day. James initially paid no mind to it, focusing on

eating his supper. However, when his left ear cocked to the side, he heard

something that froze him still.

"...And when I was driving into the south

end," she had said, "I saw James go into the Tawny Doe." The whole family's

eyes were on him now, lupine eyes staring into him with pity. "What?" His ears

were drawn back, tail curled inwards in fear. "I," he stumbled, "I was just

seeing a friend..."

At the head of the table, his father

glowered at him, fangs bared. Without hesitation, he rose and marched over to

his son. The family looked on as the elder wolf took James' ear and dragged him

to his room, his yelps fading along with the feeling of disappointment.

"What I need to know," the elder Fawkes

demanded, "is why you were in the southern end this afternoon." He was seated

in a wooden chair across from his son. The latter sat upright on the edge of

his mattress, staring down at his feet.

"I told you," he muttered, keeping his

head low, "I was just seein' a friend." Light played on his muzzle, twinkling

with shadows before vanishing. Then, his father leaned forward and hissed,

"Who? Is he a herbivore?" He spat the

last word with such vehemence that James did not initially look up. But when he

remembered his father's past threats against restraint, he lifted his head,

meeting his eyes, yellow like fire. He nodded slowly, watching his father's

visage morph into an ugly scowl.

"You sicken

me," the elder wolf growled. He sat up in his seat, fur bristling on end. "All

those weeks," he scolded, "you told me this friend of yours was from

our end!" James said nothing in rebuttal, staring at his father blankly. He

didn't need to; the truth had been spoken, and it would get worse from here. Predictably,

it did, as his father shot out of his seat and gave him a hard cuff across the

muzzle. His nose dripped with blood, long red strands reaching (and staining)

his pants. "That is what you get for lying,"

the elder wolf growled. He stormed out of the room immediately, leaving James

to his own devices.

The following day, James returned to the

Tawny Doe in hopes of finding Andy. However, the buck was nowhere to be found,

so he sat himself at a booth near the bar. He ordered two beers as he waited, mostly

out of kindness for his friend. At this point, their friendship transcended the

roles of predator and prey, highly disregarding the animosity that would

usually exist between such species.

As time stretched on, James touched his

nose. It had healed from yesterday's events, but there was still a tiny blot of

dry blood near his right nostril that covered the hole. This made James angry. All

he wanted was his friend, not another traditionalist lesson about who not to

hang around. He sighed. I'll just forget it

for now.

Andy finally appeared just as the drinks

arrived, dressed in the same jeans and tank top he'd worn the day previous. The

deer stopped, smiled at the doe handing out the glasses and sat down, sliding

into the seat in front of the wolf. "Hey," he asked, "how're you doing?" He

spotted the Budweiser glass in front of him.

"Is that for me?"

"Yes," James replied, taking his

Heineken, "and I need to talk to you about something." The buck blinked. "Okay," he breathed out, "'bout what?"

The wolf took a swig of beer, returning it to the table. "It's about my dad.

Last night, when I got home, I sat down with everyone for dinner, and

everything was fine for a while. Then I overheard my sister telling my dad that

she saw me coming here." Andy glanced up from his beverage, gulping his fill

down. "I bet that didn't go over well with everyone else."

James nodded. "No," he admitted, "it

didn't. And to make matters worse, my dad dragged to my room and slapped me in

the muzzle for being a liar." Andy winced at that last detail. "Ouch," he said.

He sighed, watching the scenery beside them. After a few seconds, he turned

back to his friend and asked, "What do you, um, think he's gonna' do next?"

"I-I don't know," answered Jake, "but I have a feelin' it's probably gonna' be

something worse. I just do."

When James came home that night, it was

still over twenty minutes before curfew. But that didn't stop his dad from

preventing entry to the mansion. The elder Fawkes had installed bumps on the

steps. Incidentally, James had tripped upon those, landing with a heavy crash

upon the wooden planks. "Well, hello, son," crooned a familiar voice, "let's

begin our plan, shall we?" His muscles, numbed from the fall, were barely

operable. Despite this, James gazed up and saw his father. His form towered

over the splayed out youngster, a coiled up whip in his paws. "Fuck you," James

cursed. He could barely say the obscenity, coming strangled out of a beaten

muzzle. His father drew back and kicked his son hard in the head. "Get up," he

growled, "now." With a bit of

struggling, the young wolf forced himself up. Once he was on his feet, the

elder grabbed his lapels and pulled, drawing his offspring closer to his

deathly eyes. "You are not permitted back into the Fawkes pack," he snarled,

"until you kill your herbivore friend."

James' breathing became constrained. How could he kill Andy? He was the one

whom he loved hanging out with. The stories they told... they would all become

memories if he died.

"N-no," he sputtered out, fighting back

tears, "no." His father growled.

Letting go of his son's shirt, he proceeded to unfurl his whip. Without pausing,

he struck James across the back. "Call him," he ordered, "or you'll get the

lash again." James nodded, fighting his whimpers and tears. The youngster

groped for his cell phone in his pocket, his heart pace quickening. A beep. He

extracted the device, rapidly dialing Andy's number. When the dial tone ended,

the buck's voice emanated from the speaker. "Hey, James," he said, "are you at

home?"

James breathed in and out. "Yeah, I

just..." He looked back at his dad, who glared at him commandingly. "Just, uh,

come over, 'kay? Um, it's important." The two quickly said their goodbyes

before hanging up. After a moment of silence, the wolf started sobbing.

"Wolf

up," snarled the elder lupine, slapping James' head. He held it in as best as

he could. All the while, his mental state remained torn, divided between

pleasing his pack or his friend. On one paw, he had a family that was

persuading him to stick to the traditions of his kind. On the other, his

newfound friend had opened his eyes to the possibility of equality, where

predators could commune with prey without hunger or malice. As he stared at the

horizon, an unfinished decision hung before him. It was there in the shadows

and in the orange light that colored the evening sky. It also persisted in his

father's bated breath, miniature warm gusts that ruffled the fur on his nape. Why did I let myself suffer, he thought,

when I could've explained how nice Andy

had been to me?

Pink lines had just begun to mark the sky

when a red van pulled up into the Fawkes' driveway. In the driver's seat was

Andy, his concerned face eyeing James as he stepped out of the car. A claw

tapped the grey wolf on the shoulder. James turned and saw his dad, who was

holding a small pistol in one paw. The old wolf leaned forward and whispered, "Get

'im raw." Then, he placed the weapon in his son's paws. With much force, his

dad brought the gun right between the eyes of Andy, the elder's fingers wrapping

around those of his offspring. No. James

didn't want to do the inevitable. Tears streamed down his ruff as six weeks of

memories flashed before his eyes.

The

two discussing about the plight of herbivores in Boston just hours after meeting

each other. Their talks about politics, sports and general city happenings

(which were generally warm hearted). Andy's willingness in preferring American

drafts to European lagers. Their fondness for Patriots football, of which Andy

was a major fan. Their hands, interconnected in unprejudiced friendship. Th--

BANG!

The buck dropped to his knees, his eyes

wide with horror, focused on the hole made by the bullet. He coughed loudly and

dryly, lurching forward, his hands clutching the fatal, bleeding wound. Only at

that moment did he give up life, collapsing forth with rolled back eyes. He

closed them for one final time.

For a brief, tense moment, the world

stood still. Only Andy's blood moved, gushing out and staining the dark grass.

Then James rushed forth and hugged his friend's body, the one that his father

forced him to exterminate. The embrace wasn't long, as the murderous old wolf

tore James away from the corpse.

"No,"

he shrieked, pushing his dad aside. He straddled the body, splaying over it as

if Andy were still alive. "Son," his parent said, "let's go back inside." He strode

over, squatting by his son's side. "You did a fine job, James Ian Fawkes. Made

us proud." The young wolf sat up, his tail stiff with rage.

"I made

you guys proud? It was you," he snarled,

"you and your manipulative ways!" His

breathing quickened, tears gushing from his eyes. "If you say that your love for us is unconditional," he shouted with a

raised finger, "show it, and don't

ever, ever judge my friends for who

they are!" His father stared at him for a few seconds before heaving a sigh.

"Alright," he droned, getting up, "have

it your way." He looked at his son. "But the very next time you see a

plant-eater," he instructed, "don't ever

befriend it." With that, James' father quietly retreated back to his mansion,

slamming the door shut. Only James and Andy's body remained, the latter a

martyr for parity in an oppressive city.

The wolf glanced at the dead buck's

visage, observing a sagging mouth. He drew back his head and howled a call so

mournful that he was sure the herds of southern Boston could sense it. Then he

dropped down and sobbed. At that moment, all James wanted was equality between

species to end the senseless slaughter of individuals like Andy. But we all

know that such changes (even in our mundane reality) must take time to foster

and develop, and James' longings were no exception. As the young wolf rose, he

could visualize himself as an old, stately fellow, telling his grandpups about

the fight for freedom back in the old days.

Then he stopped, considered and announced

to the air, "I, James Ian Fawkes, will change the world forever." He knelt down

and kissed Andy's forehead. "For you, my buck," he whispered, "and all of your

kin." With thoughts of a dreamer and a revolutionary, James slowly rose up, his

tail drooping, and took in the dusk air, coupled with the slight tang of

spilled blood. He then padded back into the mansion, his prison of misery,

where he would work to expand whatever ideas he had in mind for species

equality. Ponderings bold enough to shake a city out of its segregated state.

The young wolf hoped for the aforementioned effect, but like most great ideas,

it would take time for their influence to grow, and he would be their catalyst.