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"I want to reenact the taking of Westerwood Hill," said the cadet.

"Aroo?" replied a classmate.

"You heard me. I missed my Morris Dance; I was in hospital with a broken foot. I cried all day ... they all told me, 'It's okay, Timby, we all know you would have done well; we all accept you as an adult now,' but it just doesn't feel right. And two years ago, at Wester Wood, they didn't invite me to help with the dance. So I want to do this dance."

"Here? On the station? In front of the Academy?"

"Why not?"

"Who will play the parts of the wild cousins?"

"You woofs."

Timby's older classmates and Timber and Fox looked at each other.

"Nuh-uh! I'm not pinning any bells on!"

Timby took a breath and paused a moment. With deliberation and trembling slightly, he said, "You'll put them only on me. You don't need them if you don't want them. In fact, it might work better that way."

The other woofs furrowed their brows as they considered what Timby was asking.

Timber spoke up. "Timby, that's a fine idea and I'll make it work for you. I know how much it hurt you to miss the dance and you should get the opportunity to dance for us. You'll bring honor to the Wester Wood and all of us."

The other cadets considered his words and gave quiet barks of assent. Soon the whole cadet-pack was brainstorming the situation.

"We're going to have to choreograph and rehearse in secret: We can't let the Tarkels know what we're up to. And ... "

"Do we have bells? Ribbons?"

"Those we can get; the Tarkels have a source. What we need is hooks."

"We can use surgical needles from the medical supplies. I'll ask the healer. I'll have to be completely honest with her about what we're doing."

"Ask for her advice on how to do it cleanly."

"Perfect. And I do trust her to keep our secret."

They looked at Timby.

"Timby, are you sure you're up to this?"

"Y- Yes."

"You know we can't let you fail. Cadets don't let each other fail."

"I know. That's why I asked you."

"So how do you want to work this?"

"Well, I walk onto the stage, prancing, into the hilltop. A wolf--one of you--jumps out and challenges me; we trade taps left, right up high, left right mid, and left, right low--no, mid, low, high, and another wolf comes behind me for a challenge, and we repeat that pattern on that side."

"Let's block this out."

"Okay... "

In the space of the evening they had worked out Timby's initiation dance. The woofs decided that Timby would be naked, of course, and they would wear brown coveralls. This would mask their differences in fur coloration. They would handle only staffs; they would not wear bells or ribbons; Timby would get those.

•••

Timby sat in his dormitory room going over some correspondence with his family packmates back at home. He regretted not being able to come home for the Festival this year...

There was a commotion outside in the hallway. Some woofs were shouting, "Where's that young woof? Bring him to us! It is our right to take him!"

"What the hell?" someone asked. "What's going on?"

Timby heard a loud banging on his door, which opened with a crash. Four woofs in brown coveralls burst in, and one shouted, "We've found him!"

Aww, fuck, Timby thought, this is it. His moment had finally arrived. He felt his stomach knot up and his heart race. He was in for it now.

The four woofs, heads covered by sacks or something, grabbed him and carried him out of the dormitory. He struggled--he was not faking it--but they overpowered him. They blindfolded him and carried him down the hall. Though he squirmed and fought, he heard some worried and some not-so-worried voices.

"What the fuck?"

"Nothing. Someone's pranking Timby. I think Timber's in on it."

Timby was hustled into a ground vehicle which sped off to some secluded part of the station.

"Okay, little puppy, today you become an adult, and we're here to make sure you go all the way."

Timby couldn't make out who was speaking; he felt himself lifted out of the ground vehicle and carried a short distance. Someone undid the fasteners on his boots and uniform; they were undressing him.

"Stop struggling, puppy, relax. Breathe deeply. Are you ready to become a woof?"

Naked and vulnerable, Timby gulped, nodded.

"What's that, puppy? Are you ready?"

"Yes; Yes, Sir. I'm ready. Sir."

"Good puppy. Now hold still."

Timby sighed, moaned in fear as he lay there: he knew this was going to hurt. He felt the cold swab at his right pectoral, a pinch, and the sharp sting of a hook. He barked in pain and twitched, but six strong paws held him securely. Another swab and pinch at his left pectoral, and another sting, another hook. Then more swabs: upper arms left and right, forearms, belly, thighs, ankles, each one a sharp, sharp sting and tug. A warm fuzzy feeling descended on him. Someone was telling him to breathe; he breathed in and steadied his world.

"One more," someone said.

"You sure?"

"Yep. I did some research."

Timby felt someone handle his cock. "Hold him tight."

Timby felt something cold swab his cockhead. He was not prepared for this. He struggled, but paws held him tightly.

"Don't move, puppy. Hold still."

"Owww, fuck, no! You're not gonna--"

"Yes, we are. Take a deep breath, and on three... One!"

Timby felt a sharp pain, worse than all the ones on his limbs and chest, though his cock on the underside. He howled in pain. There was some tugging and some jingling and he could feel the bell on his cock.

"Oh, fuck you bastards. That fuckin' hurts. Let me go!"

"Okay, Timby, we're all done. Sit up now. Okay. Can you stand? That's good."

Timby's legs spasmed a bit and he jingled. He took another breath; every movement stung a bit with the dozen or so hooks in him ... every movement jingled, every step. He stomped a footpaw and jingled; he stomped again and jingled again. He was particularly aware of that one bell...

"Timby, here's a mirror: look and see yourself." Someone removed his blindfold.

He looked. He saw a grey wolf ornamented with bells and colorful ribbons ... more bells and ribbons than he could remember seeing on the other woofs in his cohort when he had to miss his dance. Behind him stood his Wester Woofs. They were smiling.

"You look good, puppy. Now show us all you're an adult."

Timby could hear applause in the distance ... and realized where he was.

"Gentlewoofs, tonight we have a special item on the program, a bonus. Our cousins from the north asked to be included in the program, and we Tarkels being considerate hosts have allowed them on our stage this evening. Please welcome the Wester Woofs--er, the Woofs from the Wester Wood. They have a special little presentation for us."

"Condescending little shit."

"Grrr."

"You're on. Timby. Show them what for. We'll be right behind you."

This is it, Timby thought. There was really no backing out now. Someone handed him a staff; it felt good in his paw. He took a clearing breath, then stomped and jingled, jingled and stomped, naked and black and belled and festooned with ribbons, a gently whirling spectacle, onto the stage. He went through the routine he had worked out and rehearsed, and on cue a "wolf" appeared in his path. He struck; the wolf parried. He counterstruck, the wolf counterparried, mid, down up. Pivot, and another wolf: strike, step, strike, step and so through the dance, jingling with everyone, the pain of movement blending with the rhythm of the bells and ribbons and lights ... he felt unexpected power and confidence and grace as he conquered one by one the wolves of the forest. They retreated; he danced his victory--but it was a false victory, for they returned all at once and he was tested again, as was his ancestor, and he fought them off, striking north, south, east, west; mid, low and high. One by one the four wolves he defeated; they lay dead at his feet. He stood and faced the audience, saluting them with his staff--and, he realized, his proud cock which had become erect through his dance. He grinned and panted in silence.

The audience sat silent for a moment. The spell was broken by a single victory howl, and the entire audience joined in, congratulating him. Around him, Timby could sense his woof compatriots standing up and joining him. The ones on either side grabbed his paws; he clutched affirmation; together they bowed to the audience. Timber panted and sweated and the applause continued. He looked at his troupe and nodded, bidding them to bow; they bowed and the applause swelled. Timber, there next to him, bid him bow again. Timby did and there were more howls of victory. He took a deep breath, bowed again, and decided he had had enough. His woofs sensed it and turned--and waited. He led the way off the stage and they followed.

At the edge of the stage he was greeted by the healer. She looked like she wanted to hug him but thought better of it.

"Oh, Timby--Timberwoof. I can't call you Timby after seeing that. That was amazing. Simply amazing."

"Woof. Oh, let's go back to our room and get changed. I don't want to miss the rest of the show."

"Oh, yes, of course. Let's go, woofs," she said. "We have one more duty here."

"Yes?"

"Unless you want to wear those bells and ribbons in the audience."

"Oh. ... Oh, hell. Let's get on with it, then."

"Sit down, Timby. Better yet, lie down. Woofs, you know the drill. Swab to soak it a bit, then give a good yank. There's four of you, that's three each. Let's get those hooks out of him before he changes his mind."

"Yes, Sir."

Timby was too tired to do anything but comply. He lay down on the floor in the dressing room. The healer called the protocol.

"Swabs on. On the count of three: one. Two. Three. Yank!"

Timby felt the cold and ting of the alcohol swabs, then barked in pain as four somewhat crufty hooks were pulled out.

"Ow, for fuck's sake!"

"Swabs on. On my mark. One. Yank!"

Timby hadn't had time time tense up, and so it hurt less. But he was still annoyed at the deception.

"You bitch."

"That's my woof. Okay, woofs, last one. By the numbers this time. On three. Swabs on. One. Yank!"

"Oh, fuckin Arf! I didn't think you'd do that again. Fuckin' ow."

"We've got one more. But you've got a choice in this one."

"Aroo?"

"We put a ring in there for you. Our gift to you. Every time you pee or wank, you'll remember us. Take a look."

Timby looked down at his cock. Where the bell had been, there was a ring of shiny steel and a bead.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

He could feel his knot swell as he considered the jewel. He managed a smile.

"Uh. I guess that means I like it."

"Well, my woof, you're all done. Sit there quietly a moment and let the wounds close up. Then you can go out and meet everybody. Or you can put your pants on and then meet everybody."

Timby looked at the healer.

"Healer." He reached for her hand-paws. She grasped his.

"Thank you very much for helping me with this."

She smiled and said, "Thank you, Timberwoof Lupindo. It was an honor to bring you into adulthood. It really was. Now I have to go. You woofs have things to talk about."

She turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Timby's pack mates turned to him and sat in silence for a moment.

"Timberwoof. You fuckin' rock," said one of the woofs.

"Ah-roo," said another. "We brought the goddamn house down. We followed their best act. They meant to embarrass us; we knew that going in. But you showed them. They have never seen anything like what we did. How are your wounds?"

Timby held up his arms and looked. He felt pinches all over his body, but no obvious bleeders. He'd have to take extra care for cleanliness over the next week, but he'd be fine.

"I'm good. Ah-fuckin-Roo. I did it."

He looked at the woofs in the room with him and smiled.

"And you did it with me. I would have been nothing without you. Just another Wester Woof."

"And you, Timberwoof. You did it. We could never have done that without you. That was the best coming-of-age dance ever. We had it video-recorded; it's being sent to the Wester Wood now. Your pack will be proud. Now put some pants on. Let's not miss the tournament."

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

It was the master of ceremonies from earlier.

"Timberwoof Lupindo, the audience want an encore. They--"

He looked around the room and saw the bloody swabs and the pile of bells and ribbons and sharp hooks ... and realized what he had actually seen on stage.

"Oh. My. I see."

"Uh, we'll get that mess cleaned up and sanitized. Don't worry about it, Sir. We apolog--"

"No apologies necessary, Sirs. I'll have someone on staff take care of that or you. That dance was a ... special performance, yes? We've never seen anything like that."

"No one outside the Wester Wood has seen that dance before, Sir," said Timber. "And it is not likely it will be seen again. You are standing before our newest fully recognized adult. What you witnessed was a Wester Wood coming-of-age dance."

The M. C.'s eyes went wide as he realized the implications. "Sir, I ... "

He stepped up to Timby and impulsively licked his throat. Timby placed his paw on the woof's chest. With newfound courage he instructed him, "Go and tell them. You'll know what to say."

"Uh, yes, Sir. Thank you." He turned and left and closed the door behind himself.

The woofs looked at each other, smirking. All at once they burst out in laughter. Timby's piercing wounds hurt, but still he laughed and laughed as the woofs held him close and welcomed him finally and truly into their number.

"Woofs, fuck the rest of the show. I need to get shit-faced now."