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Meet Charlotte

"Hey! Hey! Hello? Psssst, hey!"

While I'm a peepshow newbie, even I know that it's terrible etiquette to try chatting with the neighbor stalls. Apparently, the lady on my left isn't aware of, or doesn't care about, the unwritten rules. She is tenacious, too: I've been carefully silent for several minutes, hoping she'd give up, but this didn't deter her. She doesn't sound impatient; she shows no sign of being insulted by how I'm ignoring her, and keeps half whispering with a quiet voice. Relentless. I doubt she will stop.

Gah! I hate being here! I do not like treating flesh and bone people, whose troubles in life are likely close to mine, as a commodity... but when you're a gazelle from the Fringe and a member of your bachelor group buys the round, to celebrate being accepted in the Inner town, you can't afford to decline. It would close too many doors in your future. And it'd be unmanly, I'm already teased enough for being too meek.

Ironically, I doubt Nensephe was so keen on paying for that. He's like me: not into that traditional masculinism but stuck by herd politics. I can't even hate him for this obligation. Drat!

"Hey, you hear me? Hello?" And she's scratching the wall again. That's how I understood she was trying to get my attention, rather than to speak to the dancers.

Time to refocus on "Miss Leggy" and "the Predator". I draw a long sigh in and first survey the cramped stall. It's way too hot and smells a bit of sweat and male excitement. And bleach: mercifully no more explicit scents, we're in a clean and proper establishment. Everything is black: the cold, hard, tiling. The door, too fragile-looking for my taste, in my back, that looks like the one of a public toilet. The plastic bench I'm sitting on. And the walls, that are just painted boards --with extra scribbled lewd tags, as one would expect--; in my case with a broken lower corner that allows some unfortunate communication.

"Hello?"

I peek through the one-way mirror. On the slowly spinning platform, under reddish lights, the middle-aged but still shapely doe is arched and the muscular male hyena is grimacing as he opens his huge maw to... hover his huge fangs around her fragile throat.

It's supposed to be suspenseful, but she's very serene, as if just doing her yoga. And she's clearly leading the show: she's the one guiding him by gently pulling his shoulder and if you know anything about hyenas, his ears and tail hint that he's acknowledging her as the boss.

Her topless outfit with the candy pink miniskirt and matching garter belt, frankly, seems a bit ridiculous to me. Way over the top. But it's still better than the guy's spandex shorts, making him look like some cheapo superhero.

Overall, the duo looks perfectly comfortable in their routine. That makes me feel a touch better. It's a very crappy show, however.

With all my great principles, I have a burst of guilt when I realize that I'm disappointed it's so bad. And that I'm a little erect anyway.

"Hello?"

"Fine! What?"

That shuts her up, briefly, maybe I surprised her. Then she answers, with a lower voice_loaded_with glee: "I want to bite you."

--

I spend a long moment frozen and tensed on my bench, heart racing too fast, before remembering to breathe. She hit me right in the instincts there, and took me off guard: the quiet whispers were embarrassing, but didn't feel threatening until now.

Who is she? The first image coming to my mind is a towering lioness, but her voice lacks their distinctive deepness. She's some lighter species... a cheetah?

"Are you afraid? Hihi, don't worry, I don't mean in a bad way! And only if you want to as well!"

"W-what? I don't..."

"Like the show. Only good. The thrill of playing with our old instincts, but no bloodshed. A friendly bout of predation." She sounds so friendly and happy it'd be cute if she weren't speaking about predating on me. Even for play, come on! This is a touchy issue, you don't say such things to a gazelle you don't know! To any gazelle, in general, actually! "I caaan smeeeell you, and you're exciiited!" she sings, and she chuckles.

"Please... Lady, I..."

"My name is Charlotte. Please, don't be afraid. I know I can feel a little pushy, but I promise I won't do anything that you don't agree to. Just say 'no', and I will let you run away without trying to follow."

"Alright... then..."

"But, please! Please consider it first!"

She is super pushy, no matter what she says. I can't manage to bluntly refuse, I don't dare to, yet. "What... Uhm... Are you flirting with me? You want some kinky sex? Because I'm a pretty vanilla guy and..."

"Oh, nonono! I don't want sex. I want to bite you. I want to firmly hold your head down by grabbing your horn. I want to see your back shiver, and your eyes widen, and your breathing go wild. I want to make you tuck your ears all flat for me and to feel almighty for a moment. And it's all! Then we'll smile and say goodbye as new friends. It will not take long! You will like it too, I'm sure: it's the kind of experience you were searching here, coming to that specific show, isn't it? I can be _so very much_better at delivering that than Leggy and her pet predator! Believe me!"

"_Only_that? And then you'll let me go?"

"I promise! And I'll tell no one. It will be between you and me, a stranger with no part in your life. How convenient is that? If you let that opportunity slip, I'm sure you'll regret it!"

I'm surprised to find that she's striking a chord. I have my submissive side, that I have to keep tightly closeted because of social pressure, and she's offering me a brief, consequence-free, outlet. I will not lie: she's scaring me. But part of me also wants to try.

I spent too long thinking without answering, so she closes the bargain: "I'm unlocking my stall. I'll be waiting for one minute: either you take your chance and join me, or I'll leave and you'll be able to get out safely at the end of the dance. If you come, I want you to enter with your eyes closed and to lock back behind yourself before looking at me: I want my entrance to be good!"

"I'm the one who will enter..."

"It doesn't matter. I'm the powerful predator, I'm the one who has an entrance if I decide so! Now you shut up, shhh! And the minute... starts!"

_She_tells _me_to shut up? Seriously?

--

She didn't grant me enough time to rationally sort my thoughts, so, in the end, it's my guts more than my head that make the choice.

I sneak out of my stall, briefly dazzled by the colorful blinking neon of the main room. Luckily, nobody is around to see me as I close my eyes and push her door.

My hand is trembling so bad that I fumble too long with the lock. "Uh, sorry."

"Don't speak. Just obey."

I turn back and, holding my hands nervously together, try and fail to calm down. It's too late for cold feet at this point, so I draw a big breath, look up, and reopen my eyes.

I only see Miss Leggy and the Predator, through the mirror. So, next, I look down.

A rare breed in town: Charlotte is a minuscule Pomeranian dog. In her overjoyment, her little tail is wagging so much that her bottom is shaking along. She has an impish smile going from one ear to the other, and her fluffy white "mane" makes her look even more precious. "Cotton ball" are the words that spontaneously comes to my mind.

The lady that terrified me is below half my size and she's adorning the cutest business suit. I am... disoriented. But my blood is still full enough of adrenaline so the rush doesn't die right away.

Maybe she's aware that time isn't on her side, now her true stature has been revealed, because she's not wasting any: "I can't reach your horns from there. Kneel for me, and put your hands in your back." She's still serious about this, it wasn't some kind of joke.

I comply, hesitantly. It's not easy because the stall is minuscule --only one sitting person is supposed to be here--. She has to step back and to tilt the bench on its side to make room.

I'll give her that: neither the diversion nor the awkwardness damage her focus or self-confidence. She keeps observing me with shiny and ravenous eyes, without a break.

I'm a Thomson's gazelle, a "tommie" for short, as roughly two thirds of the town's inhabitants. I'm pretty banal in every way --don't think I'm belittling myself, this is a prized quality among herd species--, with my average, sturdy but delicate-limbed, physique and the standard "uniform" of my bachelor group: denim shorts and white tunic, with its coded, colorful and geometric, handmade embroidering around the wide collar. My facial markings are well drawn and my horns on the short side for a male, these are my most distinctive traits... even us recognize each other more from the voice and scent than by the look, although we're not as identical as many would assume.

Charlotte, apparently, decides that she's pleased with her catch. She has to stretch and get on her toes to grab my left horn, despite my kneeling position: I first want to help by lowering my head but she shushes me into stillness and insists on doing all the work on her own.

I feel her stroking the ribs with her thumb to experience their texture, then she yanks down with all her strength. She's petite, but makes it up with how enthusiastic she is; somewhat brutal, even.

Given her height, she bends me down until I'm prostrated low with my head tilted. I'm stuck against the door, which forces me to further curl, and I have to spread my knees for balance. It's uncomfortable, humiliatingly humbling, and some of the rush is coming back.

"Ooooh, yes," she murmurs as she pushes me further down and back. I grab my wrists behind myself, to sturdy my arms, as her free hand comes stroking one of my ears. First, I believe she's petting me, but when she licks her lips and then move her fingers to rub the side of my neck, I understand that she's picking her target.

The rush comes back for good. She's _trully_serious about this, and handling me in a way that triggers an instinctive near-panic no matter the fact I could easily send her flying against the mirror.

My ears and tail tuck for good and I believe my facial expression triggers her. End of the foreplay: she tugs my tunic's collar out of the way and bites me hard between the neck's side and shoulder.

"Aaaeeep!"

It hurts! These sharp little fangs pierce my skin and hot blood dribbles along my chest. I'm tetanized with my mind all blank, trembling as she holds me down there.

And she lets go. "Oops, a little too hard?" The relaxed cheerfulness is back in her voice, yet I'm not sure if I'm allowed to answer and I keep the pose. Much to her satisfaction.

She puts a tissue onto my wound. Well, wound is an overstatement: at the moment, I had the impression she would leave a huge mark and that I was bleeding profusely... but checking the actual damage after the act, I'd find one tiny puncture that leaked a few drops.

I'd feel the bruise for a couple of weeks, on the other hand.

--

We both left the peepshow and she's watching over me while I recover from the shock. Eventually, I come back to my senses; enough for a reproachful look at her: "You bit me hard!"

"Yes, I know! It was awesome!" Her tail is wagging like crazy again. "Oh my goodness! I was needing that so much! I feel so much better now! Thank you! You were perfect!"

"Uhm..."

"How did you like it? It was a rush, right? I didn't lie to you, right?"

My bruised ego wants to complain, but I have to admit I feel lighthearted and oddly happy and fulfilled. "I... am not _too_angry at you. Brute."

"Hihihi. What is your name, by the way?"

"Mhara."

"Alright, Mhara, I need to rush back home or Father will make a scene."

"Ah, you live with your family? Pack lifestyle, daddy's the alpha?"

"Yep, and an overprotective one too. You owe him the bite: he's the reason why I had to blow out some steam."

"Uhm, say thanks on my behalf, then?"

"Hihi. It's better for you if it remains our secret, he'd bite you harder if he knew. Anyway: can I have your phone? It was hard work to find a submissive gazelle, so now I caught you, I want to be able to call you anytime I need to bully someone to pass my nerves."

"You're a no-filter girl..."

"Don't you try to divert me! Give me your phone!"

I give her my phone number.

--

This was about two years ago. She never bit me again: we never caught back the mood of that first meeting. But we became good friends.

She teases me a lot, yet never with a trace of meanness, and it feels good to be able to share my dirty little secrets with her. Or to listen to hers. She's also a bundle of fun when not in her predatory moods.

A loveable spoiled rich brat, it would turn out: what do you know, I didn't imagine I would encounter one that I'd like.

At this point, I had never met her family: severe and stern pack ways, old school and unbending. Charlotte, from what I understand, is a hard-working business woman with the destiny of someday replacing daddy resting on her tiny shoulders... but the one I know, the one I meet: she's an eternal escapee, slipping out of the golden cage for a few hours of unauthorized being herself.

Sooner or later, a few hours were bound to stop being enough...

Painted Dogs Suck at Small Talk

The whole town feels half asleep today. It is said that the sun always shines on Pastu; today, it shines especially hard. The ground is burning your feet and the air feels heavy. Everybody's clothing are glued on their spine by the sweat and everybody is sluggish.

We don't mind. It's not a good place for folks who can't take a bit of cooking, here, so the ones of us who strive... we don't hate that slow and lazy atmosphere, sometimes. As long as there isn't hard work to do.

Luckily, there isn't. In fact, another reason why it's quieter than usual is the incoming holidays. Since we're not a touristic area, many are leaving for vacations and the business is slowing down to a crawl.

My job for today is super easy. It's mostly about waiting for someone. The bad part is that I have to stay at an exposed location; luckily, I was given a big cardboard piece with a name on it: "Umenzi". It's currently perched on my head, resting onto my horns, and I'm sitting on the dirt, beside the road, under its shadow. Good enough!

I'm in the middle of ruminating my breakfast's herbs when a dusty SUVfull of painted dogs stops in front of me. There's little traffic, and I'm the only likely reason for a stop here, so I get up, smile, and take my cardboard in my hands to be more presentable.

Thecaris filled up to the brim, they must be fifteen, all looking about the same age and wearing the same, dusty, beige safari outfits; all males safe one female. She's the one who raises two fingers to her hat to salute me. "Yo."

"Hello! Umenzi?"

"Yep."

"Welcome to Pastu! Hum, Miss Charlotte didn't tell me you were this many, I'll have to phone her to get you all more rooms."

"Nah, is okay. My brothers can take care of themselves."

"And watch the car," adds one of them, the driver, who is chewing on a non-lighted cigarillo.

"Lil Madame ordered just me, so just me she gets," she continues, "Is okay, Tommie."

"It's Mhara."

"So, how it works here? Heard of predator quotas in town. Need paperwork to get in, Tom?"

"Oh, that's only for Inner town. You can freely enter the Fringe."

"Fringe?"

"Here, the outer crown of the town. Inner town is the part behind the walls and barbells."

"Okay. Good." She gets off the SUV, has a brief exchange with the others in a language I don't know, and they leave to explore on their own.

I raise my cardboard high: "Shadow?"

She taps her hat and some dust falls off. "Nah, am good. Thanks."

I fold it to make myself an improvised hat, then. "If you would please follow me, Miss."

We start walking and I have more time to observe her: I'm bad with painted dogs, their spots and masks sure make each unique... but in a messy and complicated way that gives me nothing to focus on. So, when they all wear the same outfits and all smell the same after being squeezed together in a car...

It will help that one of her huge ears is traversed by a wooden moon crescent, engraved with the word "howl". I saw various wood or bone piercings on the others. She's tall and athletic, with a pretty stern expression.

--

As we go on foot, we can take shortcuts. The Fringe is part shantytown, part cheap little house blocks, with some richer commerce, hotels and even mansions here and there. Lots of narrow, colorful, and noisy streets, and part of them change every year: for an outsider, a guide can prove very useful.

Lots of tribal street art for the ones into that, too, from the old folks. Graph is not a youngster thing here, most of us don't get the hidden messages anymore but it makes the dirtiness more beautiful.

Umenzi is unimpressed. That lanky gall is walking at a stiff pace and I have to match. She's only curious about the mansions: "How comes there're splotches of rich in ya poor, Tom?"

"It's Mhara. That's because you need money _and_the right connections to grab yourself a place in Inner town."

"Okay. So _you_ain't going there anytime soon..."

"I... I might! You never know!"

"Yep. 'Might.' Powerful word to keep the nobodies tame." She has an amused smirk at this, that drills on my nerves. I may be hired to be nice, but if she keeps pushing...

"Was this supposed to be about me?"

"Ya tell me. What are you, Tom?"

"First, I'm Mhara, not Tom. And I'm a bachelor."

"Bachelor?"

"It's... The Fringe's economy is not super good, but luckily we herd species are solidary. We have good welfare. But not individually: you must be a group of at least ten. That's a bachelor group. And a bachelor is a bachelor group's member."

"Okay. Nothing to do with singles, so?"

"No, technically, not. We don't use the word this way here."

"Technically?"

"Well, in practice, almost all bachelors are single males."

"So, town gives welfare not to the individuals but to the group."

"Exactly, and it's up to us to split it. Or to get collective things, like a rent."

"And conditions are about the group too."

"Yes. That's for simplification. It makes the system more efficient, you see?"

"Simplification, yeah." She snorts with amusement. "Wicked: ya do your own policing, push each other to work hard. Anything wrong's always your fault. Admins are always the good guys. Small money per head seems bigger grouped. Bet it's efficient!"

I pout and have a long while looking at my hooves and searching for a good come back, or rational debunk of her arguments. I find nothing to say.

"Howsabout the girls?"

"Uh?"

"The girls. Said you bachelors were males. And I saw real few of them, all well pampered with colorful bead jewelry and fashions. While you boys are all dressed the same."

"Not quite, we have different colors, and the patterns of our collars..."

"Whatevs. So, the girls, Tom?"

I grind my teeth. "The rich innerfolks are polygamous. The ladies don't stay in the Fringe for too long, unless they're picky."

"Picky, or not too keen on the Middle Ages. Visited a few grazer-founded towns. This my first gazelle one, but there's a pattern: ya stuck."

"What do you mean, stuck?"

We're walking along the Innertown's white wall. She points it. "This. Typical, ya all have it." As I'm idly looking at the familiar concrete blocks, she walks toward me, plucks and carelessly discards my makeshift hat, pushes me back to the wall and leans forward to rest both hands on it.

I'm trapped, way too close to her and she's drilling her eyes into mine. How did the casual chat suddenly turn into this? "W-what are you..."

"Tell me, Tom, why the walls? Been decades since the cubes, wars ended long ago, last wild-ways clans settled. Ya still think we'll eat you? Cause this ain't a wall against tame lil bachelors, pal, too much barbel! Nah, is a wall against the predators in ya head. Ya guys keep building yourself fucking enclosures!"

Why does she seem so angry about it? "I... I'm outside..." I mumble. It's a poor answer, but I'm starting to tremble.

She releases me and grants me a more gentle smile. "There, there. Sorry, Tommie, I get heated up. Must be the weather." She resumes walking, checking me with a few sideways looks.

There's a moment of silence, and I think it's the end. Gradually, my legs stop shaking under me. I switch the path to a longer one, that stays away from the wall.

"Sucks to be you, eh? Word's big... it so scary you can't escape your crampy enclosure, Tom?"

I sigh loudly. "It's Mhara. Mhara. And it's not _that_easy."

"Tell you what, if ya want me to bother calling you Mhara, ya got to buy yourself some fucking individuality. Tom." She's still angry after me, for some reason.

I'm_very_glad to reach the hotel. "We are arrived, miss."

"Okay. Good."

Frisbee Isn't Enough

Sunny-Meadow hotel is not in a meadow, but it tries to make up for it with abundant green in the decoration and nice vegetal-themed wallpapers. It's designed to be prey-friendly: near-ceiling ground glass windows --you can't be seen by someone you can't see yourself, and the indirect diffuse light limits moving shadows--, open spaces with most furniture near the walls --again, few hidden spots, and broad way to the exit--, great soundproofing. It makes us safe and comfy, I almost feel like a traitor bringing a painted dog in there!

They have air conditioning, with big, slow, fans above and several zones of graduating freshness so you don't get slapped by the cold when entering. It's not the most expensive and luxurious place in town, which makes it less intimidating to me, but it's a good one. It's a relief after my stressful trip, especially as I expect that Umenzi will watch her behavior around her employer.

A classy impala escorts us to a private salon, where we find Charlotte perched on a stool way too tall for her. She seems preoccupied and pensive, which is an uncommon expression on her.

Umenzi smiles, removes her hat with a polite nod, and introduces herself: "Greetings, Madame Charlotte. Gwinyai pack, trip organizers, at your service. I'm pleased to meet you." W-what? Pleasant expression, smooth voice with perfect articulation, and no omitted words? Where did my painted dog go?

The Pomeranian recovers some wagging. She's fond of new faces, and that one's interesting. "My pleasure! My goodness, you're so dusty! You must be exhausted from the road!"

"Not one bit, do not worry. The road is my life; fuel runs through my veins."

"Hihihi! Great then, so we can go right into business. I must not waste time, because Father will make a scene if I stay out for too long."

The painted dog frowns with concern when hearing that the man with the money might not approve the deal. "Is Mister Tresford not aware of my visit?"

"Mister Tresford is not aware of your visit yet. He will be, but I wanted to talk with you first, so I get the vacations that _I_enjoy. Not the ones _he_choose."

"Ah, I see. That makes sense. No more plans for Tapu Beach, then? I was surprised you hired us for this place, given that they already provide excellent organization on their own."

"No, Tapu Beach was a decoy. It's father's idea... gah, again. So, of course I don't want to go there!"

I blink in surprise and can't help chiming in. "Really? I thought you loved the place! Last time, you spent months telling me how much fun you had. And the frisbee competitions! You were all over the frisbee competitions!"

"Well, I don't want to run after a frisbee anymore! I want to do something that my father will disapprove! I'm old enough to lead my own pack, it's time for me to have adult_holidays! I _deserve_adult holidays! I _demand, them!"

Umenzi is growing curious and amused. "You are right, Madame, you deserve the vacations of your choice. And I have a feeling that you have something specific in your mind, am I right?"

"Yes. Oooh, yes I do." She wriggles on her seat and hesitates, she even averts her eyes. "It's a little bit wild, however, the thing I found. That I really, really, want..."

"Try me."

There's a long pause before Charlotte faces the other canine. Almost defiantly. "Do you know what mob rugby is?"

"I know everything adventurous and wild, Madame Charlotte: you wish to see the Seven Daggers' Grand Brawl Cup, largest mob rugby event in the last 25 years. Definitely an adult trip, most disapproved by all good fathers... but also quite exclusive: you're warning me late, it will be a challenge to get you an..."

"I already have the invitation."

"Color me impressed! How did a city dog get in contact with the Dagger hyenas, if you don't mind my curiosity?"

She doesn't mind, she's sensitive to praise and is proudly straightening on her seat. "I have a childhood friend there, we speak a lot on the phone and it's how I heard about the cup. He wasn't born in the clans: he used to be an orphan, abandoned, before getting adopted by a Dagger. We became friends before he went there."

Umenzi whistles. "That's a solid contact, Madame. Nice: the Grand Brawl will look lovely on my resume!"

I take my chance to interrupt. This whole story about "Dagger hyenas" is making me uncomfortable already, and I suspect I still miss the most worrisome bits: "What is mob rugby?"

She sends a sideways look to the Pomeranian, with her usual smirk. "Shall I tell him, Madame? Or maybe it'd be a good time to dismiss him?"

"No, no: tell him, please."

--

The painted dog explains: "Back in the Dark Ages before the cubes, the Dagger clans had a festive tradition to celebrate their hunters/raiders skills and to compete in a friendly way. This would appease the tensions and sometimes settle disputes while avoiding clan wars. The game was simple: two or more clans, gathered in settlements at the same distance from some chosen point; one prey carcass dropped there... and each team would try bringing back that carcass, or the largest amount of it if it went torn, to their settlement."

I feel pale. "You got to be kidding me..."

"It had very few rules --mostly an honor agreement about non-maiming engagement of the opponents--, could last for days, and more than a hundred players were not uncommon, thus the names of 'mob sport', or 'grand brawl'."

"But this was the past, it's not as barbaric anymore," reassures Charlotte.

"Indeed. Despite their scary reputation and how late the Daggers pacified their ways, even them, overall, would find such event unacceptable today. They are dearly attached to their traditions, however, so they transform them instead of letting them die: the modern version of mob sport is mob rugby. A field game, well regulated --although it's still intense enough to qualify as a fight sport--, with two teams of twelve, arbiters, protective gear... and a live gazelle. A willing live gazelle."

I'm unsure if this is better. "Like... the ball? They are not kicking the gazelle, do they?"

"No, this is absolutely forbidden. They can push, carry, tackle, and under some condition throw him. Or her, in the male league: male hyenas being, on average, weaker than females, they use lighter regulatory gazelles."

"W-wow... this... wow..."

"As I said,_willing_gazelles. The best ones are actually highly recognized and famous among the clans. They are trained professionals and typically passionate about their sport: I guess one doesn't sign up for this without a vocation."

This is too much to bear for Charlotte who explodes, tail wagging and wriggling to the point I worry she'll fall from her high stool. "This is _so_awesome! Can you imagine it? Imagining it pumps me up so much that I have to scream! Aaaaaaah!"

"Yes, knowing you, I shouldn't be surprised you love it."

She "deflates" and calms down, recovering her concerned face from before. "Only, Father will never agree." Taking a big sip of air, she looks at Umenzi with hopeful, pleading, puppy eyes. "Which brings up the question: would you accept lying to him for me?"

"I deal with you, not him, Madame, and my job is to do anything necessary to give you the holidays you want."

She's recovering her smile and playfulness: "What if I wanted you to murder someone?"

"It would cost extra."

"I like you! Alright, then, I have the beginning of a plan: I was thinking of bringing someone with me. A female, obviously, because Father won't let me leave with an unknown male. But a gazelle, so he will not see anything coming: because he'll never imagine one of them would go to the Grand Brawl. I mean, there are some who go there, of course, since they play, but... how to say..."

"But not Pastu's gazelles, who are way too timid."

"Exactly! You get it! I don't know one who would accept, however. Is this something you could organize?"

"Absolutely. Give me a little time and some money to bribe her, and I'll find you an adventurous enough new friend." She smirks and nods toward me. "Or we could crossdress your tommie here, it'd be even simpler."

I'm confident this was supposed to be a joke, because she looks as surprised as me when Charlotte freezes with her ears perked. "Ooooh! But... no, Father would notice his male scent instantly."

The evil canine's smile widens and she instantly adapts. "Borrowing a female's scent for a few hours is not difficult to arrange."

"And he has an Adam's apple."

"High beaded collars are fashionable here."

"And males have longer horns."

"He has shorter than average ones. Passing him as a female with longer than average horns wouldn't be so strange."

"Won't it be troublesome for him to leave for a while? How about his bachelor group?"

"It's the holidays and the jobs are getting scarce. I'm sure vacations won't be an issue."

"Oh my goodness! I _love_the idea!"

I raise a shy hand. "Uhm, excuse me? May I have my word to say about this, maybe?"

Charlotte is nearly bouncing on her seat at this point. "Oh please! It'll be so much better with you! So much fun! Consider it before saying 'no', think of the rush! And you'll be safe! It's a one-lifetime opportunity!"

She's using pretty much the same arguments as when she convinced me to get bitten. And I'm feeling the same kind of emotions flowing in me again: I'm suddenly not entirely certain I want to refuse. Yet, this is more than a few seconds of "friendly predation" and running away, this time... can I take this much pressure?

Umenzi spies me silently. And right when my doubt peaks: "Ya terrified to leave the enclosure, Tom? Is okay. I'll find a braver girl."

"I'm braver than you think!"

The Pomeranian is troubled by the gall's change of tone and the surge of tension in the air, but she sees the opening and she wants this too bad to let it slide. "So, you will do it?"

"I... uhm... I guess... I..."

The painted dog casually puts her hat back on, and readjusts it. "Excellent. We must not waste time, then: or your father will make a scene, Madame, and we want him in the best possible mood. Please arrange the meeting with him, not before this evening so I have the time to prepare, and I'll take care of everything else for you."

"Iiiiiih... Awesome! It will be the best vacations eeeeever!"

"The only kind we provide, Madame."

--

So, yes, in a puff of misplaced male ego, I accepted to be a girl. What an idiot. Cut me some slack, please, that wicked guide is pure evil!

I can't decide if I regret it or not: I'm as terrified as I'm excited. So, I'll go with the flow and try to be positive: it _is_a lifetime chance to discover something different, indeed.

And, I suppose, the hyenas will probably not eat me?

To be continued...