By the will of instinct

A story of friendship and relationships in a world where morphs, humans, and animals have learned to coexist. In their search for themselves, the characters find each other and lose everything they had. And all they need is to trust their instincts. And just a whole lot of cuteness:3

Based on the original “По воле инстинкта” (in Russian) by AnanaSeek4Jam. Translated and edited by ChatGPT and AnanaSeek4Jam.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

From Max’s perspective:

Feelya and I were sitting on the couch in the living room — she was scrolling through messages on her phone with her hind paws propped up on the coffee table. I sat beside her, working on a presentation for my university talk.

She looked utterly worn out today, a cloud of worry, tension, irritation, and sadness hanging over her. The messages flashed by on her screen; she wasn’t even reading them properly, yet every now and then she’d let out a sad sigh, hiss in frustration, or produce that low feline hum she could manage so well. Finally, she dropped the phone onto her stomach, slid lower down the couch, and buried her muzzle in her paws.

“He drives me crazy sometimes, you’ve no idea. It’s like he’s dating me just for fun,” she began, her tone sharp. “He forgets about me, never understands my feelings, everything is such a struggle…”

Her voice started to tremble. She swallowed a few words and fell silent. One more word, and she’d burst into tears. She dropped her head on her knees and whimpered, ears flattened, curling her long tail around herself.

I set my laptop aside and rested a paw on her back, reading her body language to see if she was okay with it. It hurt to see her like this — damn that boyfriend of hers. Usually she’s a smiling fluffy ball of optimism and energy.

I can’t deny I’d been drawn to her for a long time. I mean, we’d been friends for over ten years, but about a year before this moment I’d started feeling something deeper: every time I saw her, a soft smile would creep onto my usually grim tiger face, and I found myself seeking out her company more and more. But I never wanted to stand in the way of her personal life — surely a lively cheetah like her wasn’t meant to be with a solitary tiger.

When she met that fox — handsome, muscular, a little cocky, and every bit as energetic as she was — I was convinced they’d be perfect together. Sometimes, when I saw them, I even thought the fox was somehow more dazzling and restless than Feelya herself.

I didn’t want to do anything invasive or out of place, but I wanted to give myself the chance to help her. I stroked her back with the utmost care, watching her reaction. She didn’t push me away; she even went still for a moment before starting to sniffle louder.

I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her gently without saying a word. She pressed her cheetah muzzle into my chest, hugged me tighter, and broke into sobs.

We met back in primary school. Our parents used to visit each other often, and Feelya and I would play, get into trouble, groom each other, and curl up together like proper kittens. That’s why we’d always been close, and hugging felt natural. As we grew older, of course, we toned it down to make our partners comfortable. Neither of us was particularly experienced in relationships though, so spending time together still felt like pure joy.

From Feelya’s perspective:

I was holding back my claws with the last scraps of my energy so I wouldn’t scratch Max — though judging by his reaction, I wasn’t doing a great job. My tears were flowing like a river, the current never slowing for a second.

What was wrong with that fox?! I loved him so much, did so much for him, thought about him constantly! Was I just a flirtatious actress to him? A soubrette? A toy? As if deep feelings and love were something completely alien to him. Not once — NOT ONCE — had he invited me anywhere on his own. Initiative clearly wasn’t his thing. How did I even fall for him? Sure, he was handsome…

My attention shifted back to Max when I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying like a little girl anymore, and he was gently stroking my back, holding me close. He must have laid us both down on the couch in his living room and was quietly comforting me… I buried my muzzle into his neck, and he let out a quiet chuckle.

“Feeling better?”

I nodded without letting go. He kept speaking softly, telling me that everything would be okay, that I’d get through it. But then something reminded me why Max was here holding me in the first place, and the tears started to rise again. I began sniffling into his chest.

“Free your mind of everything but the sound of my breath,” he said gently, stroking my head. His voice changed — it was softer, more tender, unlike anything you’d expect from a tiger. He wasn’t like most tigers to begin with — far more delicate — but I’d never heard him sound quite like this.

Through the wave of tears and flooding memories, I took a shaky breath, pressed closer, and listened. He was breathing slowly, deeply, as if savoring each inhale and stretching out the pleasure. When his lungs were completely full, he exhaled just as slowly and deliberately — like a true hunter, almost silent.

I had to press my ear firmly to his chest to hear it, which only made him chuckle softly.

I realized I’d stopped crying. I looked up at Max, but he had his eyes closed, stroking my head, neck, and back in slow motions. Finally, he looked at me, smiled, and murmured:

“You purr so sweetly, I almost fell asleep.”

Only then did I notice my tail was wrapped around his legs, and I was purring loudly, smiling.

“Remember how we used to make snow vixens and cats in your yard when we were little?”

He made a drowsy affirmative sound.

“And how we climbed trees in the park, looking for a wide high branch to lie there and watch the visitors?” I ran my paws lightly over his back.

He nodded almost imperceptibly. I couldn’t help but smile wide, climbed up a little higher, rested my head on his shoulder, and purred right into his ear. He melted instantly, loosened his embrace, and smiled in his sleep. I giggled, closed my eyes, and quickly drifted off, still stroking his back.

Chapter 2

From Max’s perspective:

The alarm clock woke me up. 7:50 — time to get ready for my classes at the university. Today was a project presentation, then linear algebra, programming fundamentals, two hours of team collaboration…

And only after mentally running through my schedule for the day did I feel the warmth of soft fur and hear the quiet, blissful breathing of a sleeping cheetah. Feelya… she was still purring softly, right into my ear, making every worry and care vanish, leaving only one desire in the whole world — to hold her tighter and stay like that.

The alarm woke her too, just a minute later. She yawned wide against my shoulder, patted my back, and reluctantly pulled away to look at me.

“Morning, Maxie.”

“Morning,” I smirked. “You put me to sleep yesterday.”

She grinned broadly, but then seemed to either remember something or decide to keep it to herself.

“You’ve got first class today?”

I nodded and added, “I’ve got that presentation today, remember?”

My words struck her, and she immediately began apologizing — for disturbing my prep for the presentation, for letting her problems interfere, saying it was all nonsense and now, because of her, I’d mess up my work…

I didn’t bother listening to that bullshit — I reached out with my paws, pulled her into a tight hug, making her squeak in surprise, and began to purr.

She instantly fell silent. I couldn’t see her face, but I was sure she was surprised. I spend a lot of time on my work and studies and take them very seriously, so of course I prepare thoroughly for every project and speech — especially with my pedantic streak and love for what I do.

“You’re not going to prepare?” she asked, surprised, nuzzling into my neck, making my purr deepen.

“Later. I’ve still got time to spare.”

Feelya shivered, and I could tell she was uncomfortable, so I loosened my hold and let her get up.

“Still, you’ve got classes. And so do I. Let’s have breakfast and go.”

We studied at the same university, but in different majors. Funny coincidence that we both ended up moving to the same city. When we found out, we naturally moved in together. I slept in the living room, she in the bedroom. Sometimes we swapped, sometimes we both slept in the bed — the couch was pretty hard. Not that we weren’t used to it: we’d spent much of our childhood sleeping on wooden floors, but in our teens and early adult years, we’d quickly grown unaccustomed to that.

When she got a boyfriend, she moved in with him rather quickly. Whether because she’d fallen head over heels or because he, upon learning she lived with some guy, demanded it — I didn’t know; I stayed out of her personal life. Still, she often came over. She kept some of her things here, and, well… her best friend from childhood.

We often played games, watched something, talked, and had the usual cat business like in the good old days. Sometimes she just came to get away from her fox and sit with me. She still had her own key, so I’d often come home after class or a walk to find her on the bed or couch. She rarely stayed the night, so I’d gotten used to sleeping in the bed — and if I found her there asleep, I’d set up the couch for myself.

We very rarely allowed ourselves to cuddle or pet each other. Being felines, it was hard to resist, but she had a boyfriend, and we were no longer the constantly playing kittens we once were. When it did happen, though, it was long, tender, and deeply felt. I’d grown to value that closeness with her more and more, and to enjoy it more, too.

We grabbed a quick bite of whatever was in the fridge, got ready, and headed out. It was spring — April — the snow had melted, and the air was starting to warm. Feelya was still wearing a light sweater and trousers. She hated them — they restricted her movement, and for a cheetah this is vital. But it was still too cold for shorts.

My fur is thicker and my skin is tougher, so I was already going around in a T-shirt and shorts, earning puzzled looks from passers-by — humans, cheetahs, and moose alike — who were still in jackets and trousers.

We stepped out of the building and took our usual route — down the pretty narrow streets and through the little park toward the university. At the corner, someone was standing with their back to us, head bent over a phone. As we passed, he turned — and immediately bared his teeth, piercing me with a glare.

It was a fox with unusually red fur, big fangs, and very expressive, menacing yellow eyes. Feelya froze, startled, when he growled:

“So you are hanging out with him, Feeliena! You lived with me for three months and were lying so shamelessly! Well, well, well. A tiger! Who would’ve thought you liked tigers, Feelya. How — ”

Feelya stepped back with her eyes widened from fear. I took a step forward, letting her hide behind me. She stood frozen, unsure what to do. Any moment now, she’d either burst into tears or run.

I bared my teeth, but kept my voice as calm as I could.

“Feelya has probably already told you who I am. I’m Maxim, her childhood friend. We’ve always lived close to each other, but nothing more. She’s never cheated on you, never lied to you. But it’s as if you didn’t care about her at all if she had to seek comfort somewhere else.”

The fox growled.

“Insolent! She eats with you, she sleeps with you, telling me she’s at a girlfriend’s or wandered off in the park. Oh, is this your ‘girlfriend,’ dear?”

“She’s come back from you with a broken look or scared out of her wits — what did you expect? That she’d want to cuddle and be sweet with you?”

“I only got angry when she lied to me!” He stepped closer, and I gently pushed Feelya back; she moved away, giving me space to back off from this lunatic too.

“And why do you think she felt the need to lie? She told you we’re friends, but you kept getting jealous and demanding we not see each other!” I growled low and raised my voice.

“I can see how you two behave! You’re lying! Look at her — clinging to you, probably going to grab your paw next! Liars!”

Finally, he lost his temper and swung at me. But I’m half again his size, and I easily caught his wrist, letting my claws slide out just enough to shut him up. I twisted his paw; he choked and flinched. Then I let him go, turned to the trembling, terrified Feelya, slipped an arm around her, and led us toward the university.

As we neared the street, I could still hear him breathing heavily in that corner, then muttering something before stomping off in another direction.

Only then did I exhale, stop, and look at Feelya. She was clinging to me tightly and looked… not exactly ready for classes, to put it mildly. I sighed.

“Stay home. I’ll tell the lecturers you’re not feeling well today. Rest.”

She lifted her tearful eyes to me, trying to figure out whether I was joking, teasing, or serious. Poor, exhausted girl… I gave her a gentle smile and repeated:

“Better to just lie down today, watch a movie, eat something, get a good sleep. You’ll feel much better.”

Chapter 3

From Feelya’s perspective:

An earthquake, a storm, and a bombing raid all hit me at once. My eyes darted everywhere, ears scanning the surroundings for any threat, I could barely stand… I couldn’t take in a single word Max was saying. He spoke softly, smiling gently, stroking my head, smiling again.

Finally, he turned and guided me back the way we’d come, still holding me close. We returned home; he settled me onto the bed and pet my head, murmuring something soothing. But I couldn’t make sense of any of it — my whole body was tense and numb.

Soon he left. My eyes shut instantly, and I sank into sleep.

It felt like fifteen hours had passed. Cats sleep for a long time, and fifteen hours isn’t even a record, which is why we always set alarms so we don’t oversleep. But right now, it was bliss — an empty mind, no one around… Max knows better than anyone else when to leave me alone.

To my surprise, the phone said it was only 4 p.m. I stretched across the bed, yawned wide with pleasure, and wandered into the living room. Max was probably still at university or out for a walk. He often sits somewhere on the grass in the park and works. He’s a programmer, so he can just take his laptop and do his thing anywhere. Convenient.

That’s actually how I bumped into him in the park once. I’d been running around for fun, leaping from tree to tree pretending to be a leopard, and there he was — sitting against the trunk of a willow, gazing upward, lost in thought. He was utterly stunned to suddenly see me right above him! We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, mouths open, then both burst out laughing. I was just as shocked as he was.

We never told each other exactly where we were going — just that we were “going for a walk.”

He usually came back around six, when the outdoors started feeling less cozy than home. At least, that’s how it was before I moved in with the fox… Two months had passed since then; maybe something had changed. But knowing Max’s consistency, he was probably sitting under that same willow, in that same position.

Either way, I intended to make the most of this unexpected — but very welcome — day off. On the coffee table lay a pack of my favorite meat sticks. Maxie is the best, honestly. I tore into the package with a fang and, purring softly, began devouring the snacks while scrolling through a list of movies.

I finally picked one, sprawled comfortably on the couch, and concentrated all my might on the relaxation.

Two hours later, the meat sticks were long gone, and the movie was nearing its end. Truth be told, most of the fun ended ten minutes in — right when the snacks ran out. Still, it was nice. I stretched my paws and let out a mighty yawn.

When we were kids, Max and I played a game — who could yawn the widest. I always won! I also slept longer and more soundly than he did. He always laughed at the ridiculous range of positions I could cycle through in a single night.

As I finished yawning, I noticed Max in the doorway, smiling. He was practically glowing. But he quickly brushed off his visible joy and looked at me expectantly.

“You were right — I feel much better,” I began. “I’m breaking up with him today. Enough is enough.”

When Max sat down beside me, and I noticed how unnaturally upbeat he looked, I added, “You’ve got news?”

I looked at him with a warm smile. Maxie… so kind and caring, always making me feel safe and cozy. He’s wonderful… and it’s always nice to see him happy, even if it’s just because he fixed a bug in his code or something like that. For a tiger, he’s incredibly gentle — always has been.

Finally, he blurted out in a single breath:

“Sonya agreed to go on a date with me!”

Something deep inside me jolted, flipped over, and clenched tight, but I wanted to support him, so I smiled as best I could. He hugged me, and I hugged him back — reluctantly.

Now he’d probably start spending a lot of time with her, invite her here, cuddle with her, stroke her fur… Sonya seemed like a nice lioness — calm, the type he’d be comfortable and at ease with. She wouldn’t pounce on him like a maniac, cry half the day, or race around the house… Lions and lionesses are often proud and a little haughty, but she didn’t seem as such.

At the very least, she wouldn’t bug or annoy him the way I do.

I snapped back to reality when I felt Max shaking me lightly by the shoulders. I blinked and mumbled an apology.

Chapter 4

From Max’s perspective:

Feelya was completely out of sorts today. She kept drifting off into her thoughts, and getting through to her was nearly impossible. Not the first time, of course, but today she was breaking records.

I waited until the haze in her eyes cleared a little and carefully asked:

“Is Sonya what’s bothering you? Don’t worry — I won’t invite her over here.”

“And where will you cuddle with her, then?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“No guarantee I even will. But if I do — I’ll figure something out.”

I had no idea yet what “something” would be if Sonya’s apartment wasn’t an option, but it didn’t matter. One thing was clear: inviting her here wouldn’t be fair — not without Feelya’s okay. After all, she used to live with her fox.

I tried to reassure her again, but she pulled away, gave me a sad smile, and said:

“Now that you’re in a relationship, don’t cuddle other girls.”

That caught me off guard, given how close we were, but I kept quiet. She didn’t seem in the mood for my company, but when I stood to leave, she caught my wrist and tugged me back down. I sat, met her eyes, but she quickly looked away and lowered her head. I sighed silently and waited patiently for her to speak — but she didn’t.

Suddenly she got up and bolted to the bedroom, where I heard a soft whimper. Tiger hearing meant I could catch her quiet sniffles even through the closed door. I felt bad for her. She’d been cornered and yelled at by her boyfriend, they’d broken up… And now her one constant, her safe harbor of affection, was starting his own romance.

She must have felt abandoned, lonely… But in the last ten years, there’d been only one time we went more than a couple of weeks without seeing each other — and that was a total fluke. Normally, we saw each other at least a couple of times a week, often more — talking, keeping each other warm, especially in cold weather… And since starting university, we’d almost always lived in the same apartment.

Did she really think I’d just forget our friendship and trade her in for someone I’d fallen for only a month ago? Ridiculous. She’d had a rough morning; she probably still hadn’t recovered… Or maybe there was something else she wasn’t telling me yet. Either way, the project wasn’t going to do itself — time to get back to work. She wasn’t in the right state to talk right now, anyway.

I pushed the cloud of thoughts aside and focused. Feelya and I are opposites in that way: I can work for hours on one thing without tiring. I usually stop when there’s no more work left, it’s time to sleep, or someone physically interrupts me. So I sat at my desk in the living room, opened my laptop, and dove into my project tasks. We’d already split up the team’s duties, so I could work without waiting on anyone.

About three hours later, my hyperfocus was broken by an anxious Feelya, pacing back and forth and brushing her tail against me every so often. I abandoned the bugs and swiveled in my chair — and immediately caught her gaze: sad, frightened. She froze, staring straight into my eyes.

She’s got such an adorable face… Cheetahs really are cute — and this one’s the cutest. I smiled.

I stepped toward her to hug her, but she leaned back slightly and said:

“You’re in a relationship, remember? I told you.”

I frowned, meeting her gaze.

“So what — Sonya’s going to forbid me from being with you? From hugging you, holding you? If that’s the case, then to hell with her. I’m not trading you for anyone.” I smiled softly and pulled her into my arms. She pressed against me, resting her head on my shoulder, and let out a little whimper, tracing shapes on my back with her claws, which made me laugh.

“I just don’t want you to go through what I went through… I want you to be with someone who won’t get jealous or take you for granted…” She wrapped both arms around me tighter. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Our tails brushed together and, on impulse, we twisted them into a long braid. As teenagers, we used to do that a lot, though back then our tails were shorter, and we had far less control over them — we could only manage a couple of loops. Now we’d braided more than half my tail.

Her breathing grew steady and deep, her gaze warm, with a quiet hope in it. We stood about half a tail’s length apart, holding each other by the forearms, just looking into each other’s eyes. Every now and then, she’d extend her claws just enough for me to feel them. I couldn’t help smiling, and she giggled.

A sudden wave of tenderness washed over me. I slipped one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lifted her, tilting her toward me. She squealed in surprise, then grinned wide and looped her long arms around my neck.

With my precious cheetah pressed against my chest, I flopped onto the couch. Seeing her happy but puzzled face, I explained playfully:

“I’m telling you — nobody’s going to forbid me from holding you. Nobody!” I tapped her nose with a fingertip and added, even more teasingly, “Well… maybe you. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

Her eyes sparkled. She caught my mood immediately, grinning as she buried her face in my neck.

“How about we make it a rule,” she purred, “that if either of us wants affection, we can come to the other anytime, anywhere, and get it~?”

She said it with such sweetness and hope, as if it meant she’d finally have free rein to smother me with cuddles. Not that anything had ever stopped us from asking for attention before…

“You know we’ve always been able to do that. What would change?”

She hesitated slightly, her voice turning even more playful.

“Well… we’ve been holding back a lot these last few years. You know — relationships, growing up, individuality…”

I frowned. Was she trying to loosen the restraints between us? We had, in fact, grown more reserved with each other over the years — trying to give space for social lives, for development, rather than spending our whole lives wrapped around the same person we happened to grow up with.

Soon we’d shifted so that our hind legs and tails were entwined, lying face to face — muzzle to muzzle. I could hear her quickened pulse, and in her eyes, I read the emotion of someone clinging to a last bit of joy, as if it might be gone tomorrow. It unsettled me even more. She must have noticed my discomfort, because she put a paw on my side and began stroking slowly.

Her mysteriousness was getting on my nerves, and I made it clear with my expression that I wanted an explanation. She just smirked at my face and pressed her nose against mine, starting licking it. I instinctively turned away, but she placed a paw behind my ear, scratching and holding me in place so she could keep going. I melted despite myself, relaxing completely.

I only opened my eyes when I heard a whisper in my ear: “You’re my little purr-machine~.”

My eyelids felt impossibly heavy. With effort, I cracked them open just enough to see the faint outline of her cheetah face in the dim light.

She stroked me again and added, “You were smiling in your sleep.”

I could hear her breathing and heartbeat clearly. She must have been lying there close, keeping watch while I slept. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tightly, making her let out a short meow before she laughed into my chest — and I purred louder.

At last, we both grew tired and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 5

From Feelya’s perspective:

Cats are first-class snugglers and cuddlers. The most affectionate of the local felines are cheetahs, then probably ocelots and leopards. After that come tigers, lions, and jaguars. Around here you rarely meet any other kinds, except on rare occasions. Once (though that was in another city, but the situation was about the same) I saw a lynx and a snow leopard walking paw in paw through a Christmas market, eating gingerbread cookies.

Of all of them, only ocelots, leopards, and cheetahs are truly tender and affectionate. No one expects that kind of behavior from other cats — it’s a species thing. But Maxie… my Maxie… he’s nothing like other tigers. Nothing like anyone, really. His mother is part leopard, part lion — maybe that’s why he turned out this way. Or maybe I influenced him a lot when we were kids. Either way, he’s the kindest, gentlest, most caring soul I’ve ever met. He can calm my restless storm, smother me with affection or let me smother him, listen to me and give good advice… And his fur — oh, his fur is the stuff of fantasy! Tigers, in my opinion, have the most striking coats of all, and Max’s is the finest among them. Every hair the same length, perfectly sleek, rich black stripes in whimsical shapes standing in magical contrast to the warm gold-orange of his body. Even his tail kept that same vivid pattern, making it drop-dead gorgeous.

As much as I wanted to stay curled up in his arms a little longer, listening to his peaceful breathing, I needed to practice figure drawing before today’s practical class. I got up at the crack of dawn — six a.m. — so I’d have just enough time before breakfast. I slipped out of the embrace I’d been warming in all night and saw that he’d woken up too.

“Shhh, it’s still early. That’s my alarm. Go back to sleep.”

He nodded, dropped his head back with a contented sigh, and was asleep again in seconds. I smirked — finally, he was the one sleeping in a funny position for once!

Maybe, with my high energy, art is an odd choice, but it gives me pleasure and lets me channel some of that energy onto a canvas. Though it demands huge patience and self-control, it pays off well. Max says I’ve become much more delicate and restrained (in a good way, as he puts it) thanks to it. I think he’s right. I used to constantly race around, leaping onto everything in the house and knocking things over. My family learned to arrange the space so it could withstand at least a couple of hurricanes in the form of an overexcited young cheetah, but it still wore them out. Maybe it’s not art at all, maybe it’s just growing up… or maybe it’s Max’s calm rubbing off on me — I don’t know.

I sat at my desk, which stood right up against Max’s, put on some nightcore in my headphones, and started sketching dozens of tiny figures on my tablet. Hyperfocus isn’t something that comes naturally to me, so it was surprising to “come back to myself” two hours later when Max laid his big paws on my shoulders and gave them a massage. I leaned my head back, brushing against his stomach, and smiled.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” he smiled gently. “Breakfast’s on the table.”

My stomach growled — we both laughed and headed to the kitchen. On the way, I started swatting at his tail with my paws; it lazily dodged every blow, swaying in time with his steps.

On the table were my favorite meat pancakes! No matter how hard I try, Maxik’s always turn out much better. They were divine! Max sat there, clearly lost in thought… Probably about Sonya… He only glanced up at the sight of me purring contentedly and smiled before drifting back into his own head.

We finished eating, got ready, dressed, and went out. The sun was shining. A warm, spring sun. I hate the cold, so spring always fills me with anticipation.

We split up once we reached the university grounds, when we had to head to different buildings for our classes. We gave each other a quick hug goodbye. I focused on my anatomy practice, and he… on his date with his lioness. I wonder how it’ll go?

From Max’s perspective

I kept shifting in my seat, trying to focus on the lecturer’s words, but it wasn’t working. Finally, the break was announced, and the hall instantly filled with chatter, scraping chairs, meows, and other noises. I stepped out into the corridor — to get some air and be alone for a moment.

And that’s when Sonya walked up to me.

“Hi, Max,” she said calmly, almost indifferently.

“Oh, h-hi, Sonya. I didn’t see you.”

She came closer, took my forearms in both paws, and looked me straight in the eyes. The butterflies in my stomach went into a frenzy, making me even more nervous; my eyes lit up, my body trembled slightly. We stood like that in silence until students started filing back into the lecture hall. This time she sat down next to me, and for the whole class we stayed pressed together, holding paws. She was left-pawed, so we could both still take notes at the same time. My heart was pounding like mad; I barely registered a word the lecturer said. She’d grown comfortable with me so fast! She didn’t hold back in the slightest, shamelessly and effortlessly leaning into me anywhere, which flustered me to no end.

When the class ended, the lioness gave a lazy, wide-mouthed yawn, let go of my paw, and began packing her things. I jumped up nervously, shoved my stuff into my backpack, and hurried after her. Without even glancing at me, she slipped her paw through my arm and kept walking. I blushed — she was doing this in front of everyone, and apparently didn’t care at all! As if she’d been doing it all her life. Just as calmly, she stopped when she saw a friend, they exchanged a few words, her friend gave me a once-over and smirked, and we went on. Only when we were already at the classroom door did I remember that I had a different class — not with her. I told her so; she gave me a quick kiss and went inside. The pounding in my chest was deafening, and I tried to shake it off. I had a group meeting planned with my team on the sofas downstairs. On the way there, I decided to pop outside for a moment and breathe.

A light spring breeze swept over me, and I drank in the air greedily. After a couple of minutes, I felt lighter, my thoughts clearer. I was already running late, so I hurried to the meeting. We exchanged pawshakes and got to work. Everyone looked focused and in good spirits while I briefed them on my latest changes. The others did the same, and then we discussed our plan for the week and tossed around ideas, after which we worked for another couple of hours. We made the most of the time, with pairs or trios constantly in discussion.

The work dragged on — many students had already left, and the university hall was slowly emptying. Saying goodbye, I stepped outside to catch my breath. I thought of Sonya… How my heart roared when she was near, how she kept pressing herself against me…

A tight hug from behind and a muzzle on my shoulder yanked me out of my thoughts. I immediately recognized Feelya’s trademark move and reached back to scratch her behind the ear.

“Hey, Max, can you help me move some stuff from Kevin’s place?”

“Only if you let go of me.”

She giggled and soon loosened her grip, and we headed toward her ex-boyfriend’s building. Feelya, as always, was in high spirits, darting around me and peppering me with questions, including about Sonya. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the lioness and I had planned to go to a café today — and maybe to her place afterward — so I answered Feelya’s questions briefly and vaguely, which clearly didn’t satisfy her.

We got a short reprieve when we reached the entrance, where a pile of her luggage stood right on the sidewalk, and we tried to figure out how to haul it all home. By the time we were done, it was already dark. Suddenly it hit me — I was twenty minutes late.

With all the speed I could muster, I bolted to the café, scattering pedestrians along the way. I flung open the glass doors, breathless, and scanned the room. My eyes landed on the lioness, sitting alone at a corner table. My heart skipped a beat, then lurched and began pounding harder. I tried to catch my breath before approaching. She was staring blankly at her phone, and without moving her head, she lifted her eyes to me. Her expression didn’t change. She greeted me and suggested I pick my order. Was my lateness fatal?

A few minutes later, after we’d ordered and I’d finally regained some composure, I decided to break the awkward silence.

“How was your day?”

“Fine.”

“Anything interesting in your classes?”

“Not really.” She was still scrolling on her phone. A shiver went down my spine.

“Sorry for being late — I was helping my sister move a mountain of stuff. She couldn’t have done it alone, and it had to be done right away. I ran here as soon as I finished, I couldn’t have come any sooner.”

She gave no reaction, which I took as a sign she was upset. And honestly — twenty minutes late for a first date without warning. I placed a paw on the table between us and, as gently as my breathing allowed, asked:

“Are you mad?”

She shook her head, her expression still indifferent.

“Well, alright,” I sighed inwardly. “Maybe she’ll cheer up after a good steak.”

Our meat arrived, and she, following strict human etiquette, began slowly cutting and eating her steak. Seeing that, I suddenly felt awkward eating mine like any normal cat. I tried my best to wield the fork (who even uses a tiny metal stick to eat meat, honestly?) and knife, but to avoid making a mess, I set them aside and continued:

“How’s the steak?”

“Tasty.”

“Do you prefer it rare or well-done?”

“I grew up among humans; I only eat cooked meat.”

My eyes widened. She grew up in a human family? A lioness? And she didn’t eat raw meat at all? My jaw dropped as I noticed the precision and delicacy with which she ate. How did she even hold that fork so naturally? Could she really be comfortable like that? Even as a cub? It seemed absurd…

“Even as a kid you ate like this?”

And only after asking did I realize how tactless the question sounded. I quickly tried to explain, but she calmly replied:

“Yes. I don’t really hang out with morphs, let alone ferals. I don’t understand them.”

That was the longest sentence she’d spoken all day, I swear. But then why had she even agreed to go out with me? She said…

“My parents say the family line has to be continued with a feral or morph, because there’s already too much human in my blood, and that would mean poor offspring with humans.”

I winced. It felt like going from a hundred to zero in a single second. She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was nothing, just everyday business. Mommy says: time to marry. Well, marry it is; here’s a tiger, already calling — problem solved. My ears rang faintly as I turned back to my steak to collect myself. I abandoned human etiquette — this café happily served both morphs and ferals, so there was nothing strange about eating with your paws. It seemed to unsettle her slightly, and she asked:

“So, when will you be able to?”

I choked.

“Be able to what?”

“Help continue the family line.”

I stared at her. What? Seriously? This must have been what dating looked like in the wild fifteen centuries ago, before morphs even existed, when there were only animals and humans. Everything was simple: find a suitable male or female, and voilà — life’s main concern solved: offspring. The female could then raise the cubs on her own, nurture them, and send them out to breed further. But come on — that was ancient history, before morphs! Now, with technology and society so advanced, it was perfectly normal for a feral to date a human or a morph; all the infrastructure and social norms had adapted to it. That’s our world now! Even ferals, the least changed from those old times, often chose deep emotional bonds over sheer instinct. Those old drives were seen as the corrupt voice of the past, replaced by modern instincts. Sure, there were exceptions… But not among morphs, like Sonya! To so openly cling to that ancient animal urge and completely ignore modern reality… I’d even met ferals who simply didn’t want children at all. The world has changed, Sonya… a lot.

I shook my head; something inside me collapsed. My mind grew calmer, the butterflies scattered and left me alone. I told her flatly that it wasn’t going to happen, savoring the rich, meaty taste (this café always served the best meat, honestly). I paid the bill and headed for the door.

No one bothered me on the way home. I took a detour through the park to unwind, and peace washed over me. The morning had been unbearably tense, but now I felt utterly calm.

Chapter 6

From Feelya’s perspective

We’d probably drift apart again — he’d be spending all his time with her, they’d move in together, and live happily ever after… I wonder if her fur is soft. They must be head over heels in love; Max was glowing yesterday. Maybe I should find a new apartment, so I don’t make anyone uncomfortable. That way she wouldn’t get jealous, and he could invite her over. I wonder if he’s coming back here tonight… or if he’ll stay at her place. What if he never comes back at all? No… his things are still here. Will he even think of me? Maybe I’ve worn him out already. Yeah… the last thing he needs is a hyper cheetah. With a calm, quiet lioness, he’d be a thousand times more comfortable, no doubt about it.

How soon will they start walking paw-in-paw around campus and be together all the time? Probably very soon… And what will their cubs look like? Tigons? Ligers? No, probably not ligers… unless she’s not pure lioness? What if she’s part dragon? Or fish? Although I don’t think she has anything in common with either a dragon or a fish. She’s just… a lioness. Mixed breeds usually stand out a mile away.

My musings and daydreams were cut short by the sound of the door opening and a key turning in the lock. There was Max, standing in the doorway, smiling at me broadly. That’s when I realized I was lying upside down on the couch, my legs sprawled over the backrest, tail swishing above my head as I played with it. Suddenly Max came over and started tickling me, catching me off guard. I tried to bat at him with my paws, but he’d taken up a strategic position just out of reach. Laughter from the tickling kept breaking into meows and purrs, and my eyes began to water. Finally, he stopped and laughed.

Not missing a beat, I pounced on him and toppled him onto the couch, hugging him from behind. We chuckled a bit more, but then a wave of anxiety washed over me, and I wanted to ask about Sonya. I’d just opened my mouth when he rolled over and started grooming my nose and neck, making my whiskers flare and my eyes go wide. He slipped one paw behind my head, scratching lightly there and behind my ear with a claw, and I purred in bliss. Then he scooted up a little so my muzzle was at the level of his collarbone, and began washing my head.

Our energies synced, and I started grooming his neck and chin in return, which made him chuckle. I could hear his slow, content breathing as he moved closer to my ears. Then we switched roles: I washed his head, he my neck and collarbone. Our upbringing, our shared childhood, our nature, and our morph heritage all played their part — we groomed each other unhurriedly, thoroughly, missing nothing.

Tiger-like, he gave a few last licks, stretched his whiskers wide like a fan, and finally smiled at me. I smiled back and gently traced a claw along his beautiful black stripes. I wondered if he took special care of them.

“By the way, I broke it off with the lioness,” Max said suddenly.

“What? Already?” I pulled my claw back, raising my brows.

What do you mean he broke up? He’d been glowing yesterday when he invited her on a date, and now he’d dumped her?

“Yeah… Well, you know. Not a match,” he smiled and tapped my nose with the pad of his finger.

“How did you figure that out in just four hours?”

“Well… Turns out she’s human, can you believe it…”

I blinked. Sonya — a lioness — and human? I hadn’t expected that. Human morphs and ferals really are… different. For humans, they’re too animal; for animals, too human. Some are luckier than others, but many human morphs become recluses or pretend to be something they aren’t — and maybe don’t even want to be.

Max noticed my puzzled look and, in a soft, playful voice, purred right into my ear:

“I’ve been feeling a certain pull toward cheetahs lately~~ And I happen to have the very best one right here in my paws.”

He purred it so sweetly that something fluttered inside me, and my mood lifted.

“Tigers aren’t b-bad either~” I chimed in, tickling his chin with my nose.

My purring was interrupted by my stomach growling, and a thought suddenly struck me:

“Hey… Today’s the spring festival, right? Let’s go get some barbecue! They’ve got to have your favorite — the ginger one!”

Chapter 7

From Max’s perspective

I wasn’t really hungry — I’d just put away a hefty steak — but the moment she said “ginger barbecue,” my mouth flooded with saliva and I smirked.

“It always fits. No matter how much meat I’ve eaten before.”

She laughed and lifted my lip with her fingers to bare my fangs.

“Gotta keep those in top shape — and look at them!”

I chuckled softly and got up from the couch. She sprang to her feet right after me and began getting ready. It was already getting dark outside, but the festival went on for days, and you could still find plenty to eat at night. We’d probably catch it at its liveliest. I threw on a light hoodie — our nights stayed cold even in summer — and she bundled up more snugly, hooked her paw through my arm, and we stepped out.

The evening air was already laced with cool freshness, but still carried the faint aroma of roasting meat drifting from the festival. With a beacon like that, we didn’t need a map: two hungry big cats on the scent of their prey — no joke. The festival mostly drew morphs and ferals, though you’d see humans now and then. The only fare here was meat and fish, served in every combination and form imaginable. We expected to run into some of our friends — wolves, dogs, foxes, cats — and sure enough, we spotted a few. We chatted, exchanged greetings, got tipped off about where the freshest meat was, and headed that way.

The Spring Festival was our favorite holiday, mine and Feelya’s. We’d been going every year since we were kids, and it had always meant a time of abundant good food, games, and laughter — that’s how it lived in our memories. The food stalls were a huge part of it, but not the only part. There was an area for physical challenges — tug-of-war (either with paws or teeth), running rings (a cheetah favorite), climbing special grippy sculptures (one of my own favorites, after the meat, of course). Plenty for aquatic folk too, though I never cared much for swimming. Feelya had tried a few water games in the past, but we didn’t go there anymore.

She picked up the pace now, almost trotting, holding my wrist while I tried to keep up through the haze of blissful smells. At last we stopped, staring at beautiful spiral-cut strips of meat, hanging and glistening. My mouth watered. We paid, chose the two most tempting spirals, and sat down.

I lost touch with reality after the first bite — pure bliss flooding my body and mind. I was in heaven. Somewhere far away, Feelya laughed, clearly having waited to see my reaction.

“Not bad enough?” she teased, whistling through her own tears.

“Killer good,” I answered at last, also through tears — tears of sheer pleasure.

Feelya was practically doubled over, gasping with laughter, almost on the floor, and she hadn’t even tasted hers yet. She’d gone red, her tail laughing along with her, but finally started to recover. I took another bite, melting again in the ginger-meat juices, blind and deaf to everything else.

When I finally came down from the clouds and my meat was gone, I found Feelya still half-dead from laughter — she must not have stopped once. I smiled. Seeing I was satisfied, she wiped her eyes with her paws, still chuckling and panting for breath, then sat back down.

To distract herself — her stomach must have been cramping from all that laughing — she bit into her spiral, and then it was my turn to burst out laughing. She froze mid-bite, cartoon-style, as if her soul had just floated off to heaven, and purred loud enough to draw stares. Slowly, deliberately, eyes closed, she chewed. In an instant, the giggling wreck was replaced by a refined diner, entirely lost in pleasure. I almost slid off the bench, trying to draw enough breath between fits of laughter, pounding my fists on the table so the neighbors’ plates rattled. I heard them chatting animatedly over the noise.

Feelya opened her eyes and looked around only when her spiral was gone. By then I was laughing soundlessly, hoarse, feeling every muscle in my stomach. Instinctively — wanting to avoid tearing something — I stopped, wiped my eyes, and drew deep, satisfying breaths. She flared her whiskers and smiled wide, fangs showing, watching me.

Somehow, she produced two big cups of blackcurrant juice and slid one over to me. I exhaled sharply, like a human bracing for a drink of liquor, and took a gulp. I nodded in approval and glanced at her — her lips and whiskers were stained purple. She licked them in a very feline way, yawned wide, ears splaying, and then suddenly twitched.

“Hear that?” she whispered, holding her breath.

I frowned and listened. My ears swiveled, scanning like radars. Then I caught a familiar breathing pattern, and a voice, maybe a hundred meters away. Kevin — the fox Feelya used to date.

I nodded. “Want to leave?”

“He’s still far off. Doesn’t feel like he’s here for us.”

“If we need to, we can always go,” I said, and went back to my juice.

We stayed there another hour, talking about everything and laughing. We got to know the fox and wolf at the next table, who spent almost the whole time holding paws. They were great guys. They told us they were planning a hiking trip. Feelya and I exchanged a glance.

Chapter 8

From Feelya’s POV

Woff and Shawn struck us as nice guys, roughly our age. Maxie and I stepped aside to talk it over and, when we returned, told them we wanted to join. They both nodded approvingly and got to their feet, tipping back the last of their caramel non-alcoholic beer. The fox stretched sweetly, which made Woffy chuckle and yawn, then they turned to us.

“We’re planning to head out tomorrow. Today we’ll need to pick up tents for you two and some food. The rest we already have.” Woff paused, thinking over whether he’d forgotten anything. “That should be it. We’ll meet at The Twisted Tail at eight in the morning.”

“Done,” Maxie smiled. “We’ll grab everything tonight.”

I leaned against him and purred quietly, just for him. I could feel he was comfortable, though a little shy, and the other pair snickered. I nodded and purred playfully,

“Mmm-hm, we’ll take care of everything~”

Everyone laughed, the guys waved, and we headed off. I hopped around Maxie on the way home as I usually did, while he was clearly calculating what and how much we’d need. Seeing how focused he was, I suggested we split the chores: I’d handle food, water, and smaller items, and he’d take care of the tents and other essentials.

I spent a few hours darting between markets and shops, sniffing out and bargaining for the tastiest cuts of meat, even finding some special barbecue-grade pieces. I stocked up on sauces, skewers, ice, and drinks, then headed home. Maxie was on the phone, animatedly discussing car parts, gesturing with his paws and flicking his whiskers forward. Suddenly, he jumped up, gathered himself, and called out:

“Woff needs help with the car.”

He dashed out, and, seeing him off with a puzzled look, I went back to slicing and marinating the meat. It didn’t take long, and with the evening free, I decided to do some sketching. My stylus danced across the tablet as I warmed up, sketching people, animals, and morphs in different poses and combinations over and over.

By now, it was pitch black outside. My focus slipped as I realized sleep was creeping up on me — and Maxie still hadn’t returned. On my phone, I saw his message saying he’d be staying over at Woff and Shawn’s place because the repair was running late. I wished him luck and a good night, and headed to bed myself. My eyes were already closing — after a day this full and fun, and at this late hour. I think I was out the moment my head hit the pillow.

From Shawn’s POV

Woffy and Max — our new tiger friend — were standing in the garage, leaning over the hood and taking turns fiddling with something inside. They traded the occasional guess, but I didn’t understand a word. They both looked intensely focused, but it seemed to me they were enjoying themselves. At least, that’s how it looked. I couldn’t fathom how anyone could work on something for two hours straight without stopping to cuddle or even really talk.

I decided to brighten the mood and brought them each a fizzy cocktail — Woffy’s favorite.

They smiled as they took the drinks. I hugged Woffy, he hugged me back and pressed his nose into the fur on my head for a few seconds, making us both chuckle. Then they turned back to the car with renewed energy. Out of nowhere, Max purred out a solution, clearly pleased with himself. Woffy smacked his own forehead and laughed. Max took a triumphant sip of soda and tossed me an approving hand gesture — the kind humans from Italy use — which made me grin wide.

About thirty minutes later, the hood slammed shut and Woffy called,

“Try it!”

The ignition clicked. The seconds of anticipation stretched on forever — then the engine roared to life, and Max cheerfully gave it some gas. Woffy practically jumped for joy, and Max hopped out to slap his friend’s paw.

I hugged them both, and we all laughed. Woffy hugged me tight and licked my nose, and I did the same. Maxie stepped aside to check his phone, and, catching my look, he said,

“Feelya’s probably worrying. It’s late.”

“You can crash here tonight if you want,” I offered, glancing up at Woffy, who nodded.

“Of course, Max. We’ve got a spare mattress in the room — you can stay here. It’s already late.”

Max hesitated, checked his phone again, then nodded.

“Okay. Thanks, guys.”

I smiled. Max was a good one. He and Woffy seemed to have already hit it off. They were a lot alike — both fairly quiet and hardworking, able to lose themselves in a task and tune out the world, but also deeply warm and expressive. Woffy, a big white wolf — muscular, strong… and handsome. Maxie — just as tall, a tiger, and just as handsome.

We settled into the living room, which doubled as the bedroom and the kitchen. I put a sandwich in front of everyone, which made Max look at me with surprise until I explained,

“I work with humans — there’s always leftover human food. We don’t have much money… so we make do. We’re used to it. I hope you don’t mind eating like this.”

Max looked a bit taken aback.

“No, of course not. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and gave me a warm smile.

It seemed he didn’t care much about how much we earned. The tight knot of first-meeting anxiety eased a little. Things hadn’t always gone so smoothly in the past. Meanwhile, Woffy was already licking his fingers — he adored my cooking and praised it every time. On the trip, he wouldn’t leave me alone with my “special surprise.”

I kept the conversation going because the silence was making me twitchy.

“So, how long have you and Feelya been together?”

Max seemed caught off guard, blushing deeply. After a brief pause, he answered,

“We’re not together…”

I blinked. Everything about them screamed that they were crazy about each other — they were always nuzzling, laughing, practically holding paws. With her, Max was chatty, loose, and nothing like the version of him we saw. So, he was just… waiting for the right moment to make a move?

“But you love her, right?”

Max blushed even harder, and Woffy cut in, breaking the silence.

“Leave the man be, Shawnny. He’s tired, and you’re hitting him with the personal stuff right away.” He yawned wide and went on, “It’s time for bed — it’s already two in the morning. Come here, I’m gonna squeeze you~”

My ears perked up on their own, my tail started dancing, and I fox-dove into bed with my wolfie.

Chapter 9

From Max’s POV

Do I love Feelya? Of course I do — what kind of question is that? I always have. But the way Woff and Shawn love each other… Is that what a relationship looks like? For some reason, I’d always pictured it completely differently — so differently, in fact, that I almost didn’t want one.

Those two spent practically the whole night cuddling and stroking each other, even in their sleep. During the day, they’re always holding paws, licking each other’s noses, hugging and squeezing one another with real smiles and laughter… Basically, they act just like Feelya and me.

To us, a relationship feels like a burden — work. Something pleasant in theory but exhausting in practice. But looking at those two, you’d never guess it could be tiring. They’re so… free, so open. Just watching them warms you inside.

In the middle of the night, my deep, hazy thoughts were broken by someone suddenly collapsing onto me out of nowhere — combing through my fur, stroking me, licking my nose. I blinked awake and found myself staring into the face of a fox, whose eyes went wide in the dark before he froze, leapt away, and started apologizing. I stopped him with one paw and whispered,

“If love looks like that…” I smiled. “Then yes, I love Feelya.”

It was hard to see in the dark, but I think he smiled back, almost-silently chuckled, ruffled the fur on my head, and bounded over into the other bed with Woff, where they melted into a happy, doggish purr.

My subconscious began sorting through the shelves in my head — clearing the cache, moving data from RAM to disk, flushing the nasal vents… when all systems suddenly booted up at full blast as someone landed on my stomach, hugging me tight and purring in my ear in a voice I knew too well. RAM flooded with recent memories — Shawn, and… Feelya.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her, rolled us onto our sides, and let the tip of my tail tease playfully over her fur.

“Good morning, Maxie!” she chirped, and Shawn and Woff laughed nearby.

“Mornin’~~” I purred into her neck, and she began grooming the fur on my head with slow, thorough licks.

Before I could get up, she cupped my face in her paws and gave my nose the same treatment, which made me blush a little. Shawn stood grinning, his tail wagging from side to side, while Woff seemed to be off in the clouds but still somehow smiling at us. Then he picked up the keys from the nightstand and muttered something about the car and getting ready.

Turned out they’d already eaten and packed. Shawn had invited Feelya over, and she’d arrived with two backpacks full of our cat gear, helping to wake me up. They fed me kindly, and the three of us hurried over to Woff. Shawn gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder, smiling wide and winking, and I nodded back. He’d already gotten Feelya chatting about food, clothing, the trip…

The trip! Somewhere along the way, they’d strapped both of our backpacks onto me — complete with the tent and everything else.

Woff was already standing by the car in black sunglasses, looking effortlessly stylish. Shawn snuck up to him playfully, and they exchanged a warm nuzzle. We tossed the bags into the trunk, doors clapped shut, the engine rumbled, tires hissed, and we were on our way.

“Drives like butter!” Woff exclaimed far too loudly, then laughed and continued in a more reasonable tone, “Before, the engine would roar like a mad beast — now it purrs like some fancy electric car! Max, you’re a legend!”

“If we had fresh oil, you wouldn’t hear the engine at all,” I said with a grin.

“We’ll do it! After the trip, heh~”

I sat up front with Woff, and we talked about anything and everything for half the drive. He turned out to be a really solid guy. He told me about working wherever he could — loader, driver — though he didn’t make much. With a smile, he recalled how he met Shawnny, repeating how incredibly lucky he was and that Shawnny was the most precious, valuable part of his life, something he was endlessly grateful for.

In the back seats, our beloved fox and cheetah were just as animated, talking about something of their own. In the rear-view mirror, tails and paws kept flicking into view, but through the haze of my own thoughts and conversation, I didn’t hear what they were saying — and honestly, I didn’t care. I just wondered what Feelya was thinking… about me. About us. She had to notice how those two acted — and how much like us they were.

I told Woff about my own life, and mine and Feelya’s — about my studies, work, sports, moving, Kevin, and Sonya. He listened carefully, asked questions, encouraged me — never taking his eyes off the road like a good driver. I spoke a little quieter when it came to Feelya — suddenly feeling a bit shy. His look said we could talk about it later, when I felt more comfortable.

Eventually, Feelya and I dozed off, leaving the dogs to their own chatter. I woke to a wolf’s paw on my shoulder. A long, spotted tail had been gently wrapped around me, but it soon slipped away and disappeared through the gap between the seat and the car wall — back to its owner.

“We’re here!” Shawn called cheerfully, hopping out of the car and stretching in every direction.

Woff followed at a more leisurely pace, working the stiffness out of his muscles. Feelya and I joined in, and soon the four of us stood taking in the view — a picturesque meadow at the forest’s edge. A river flowed nearby — clean, calm enough to swim in, perfect for a long, fun afternoon.

I could already taste the perfect weekend ahead.

Chapter 10

From Feelya’s POV

“Swim! Who’s coming swimming?”

I spread my paws wide and looked at the others. Max isn’t the biggest fan of water fun, but he’d already changed and was waiting to see what the dogs would say. Wof and Shawn just shook their heads and said they’d unpack the gear and scout the area.

So Maxie and I headed to the river. I broke into a sprint on all fours and leapt straight into the middle of the water. When I surfaced and brushed the fur from my eyes, Maxie was still standing on the bank, jaw hanging open. I laughed, rolled onto my back, and floated with my belly soaking in the sunshine. He dropped down on all fours and waded in like a proper cat, paddling carefully under himself with alternating strokes.

Suddenly he grabbed me, and we started paw-fighting right there in the water, our tails sticking out above the surface like snorkel tubes. Splashes flew in every direction as two playful big cats prodded at each other’s weak spots. We ducked and leapt, circling, pouncing, tickling, shoving. The current carried us further and further downstream, away from camp.

After swallowing half the river and playing ourselves out, we finally swam toward the shore. We climbed out near a cornfield, a couple kilometers from camp. Shaking ourselves off, we flopped down in the grass to rest. I collapsed, tired and happy, while Maxie lay beside me on his side, tracing the spots on my fur gently with a claw.

“You’re the best, you know that?” he whispered warmly into my ear, pausing from grooming it.

“You’re the best!” I shot back, poking him in the chest with a finger. God, he was handsome…

We lingered there a while longer before deciding to head back.

“Let’s race to camp!” I bounced up with a grin.

“We both know who wins that,” Maxie smirked slyly. “Me.”

I nearly choked at his audacity, then crouched down eagerly at the starting line. He lazily moved beside me and began the countdown: “Three. Two. One. Go!”

I bolted so fast I couldn’t feel the ground under my paws. Green smears of trees flashed past, the scent of flowers and grass filling my nose. Inside, I smiled at Max’s bravado. Beating a cheetah? Who did he think he was?

Halfway through the stretch, I eased off the gas. Max was far behind, so I let myself slow a little to save energy. Only about a hundred meters left — when suddenly the tiger surged up beside me and started overtaking. I gasped — the finish line was so close! His long legs hammered the earth with monstrous strength, each bound throwing him forward and into the next, his speed doubling mine.

Just before the treeline, I shot past him with a whistle of wind and skidded to a stop in the grass.

We collapsed side by side, laughing and panting for breath.

“I win!”

Max grinned wide.

“Next time, I’ll pass you!”

“We’ll see about that, tigerrr!”

Chapter 11

From Woff’s POV

Laughter and splashing carried over from the river, mixed with playful meows, and we both smirked. Shawnny and I decided to take a short walk around the camp, just to look things over. We didn’t find anything worth noting, and soon we were back.

The sun was climbing toward its zenith, the warmth turning into a soft spring heat. My dear fox, my Shawnny… how much you mean to me.

I must have been staring too long into his fiery eyes. I swear I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my life: they shimmered with shades of scarlet and orange, and in the dark they glowed as if lit from within. Every time I looked into them, I drowned.

He noticed, and gently took both my paws in his, lifting them between us. Like a lovesick teenager, my heart roared and my palms grew damp. We closed our eyes and kissed deeply, melting into one whole. Our pulse and breathing aligned; our tongues whirled in a playful dance, trading heat and love. We forgot the world around us — no wind, no sound — only our own private universe. A universe where there was only me and Shawnny, and nothing else.

He ended the kiss with a gentle touch, flicking his ears toward Max and Feelya not far away. They were watching us with such focused wonder, as if they’d just witnessed something unbelievable.

On the drive earlier, Max had told me about his views on relationships. For him, passion and heat didn’t connect with “being together,” which had surprised me. But now, both he and Feelya were seeing with their own eyes what love could look like. My white fur flushed pink, and Shawnny giggled, ruffling the fur on my head. We hugged briefly, then returned to the others.

Feelya and Max shifted uneasily, embarrassed at first, but soon shook it off. Together, the four of us set to work: Max and I pitched the tents while Feelya and Shawnny unpacked food and gear, stacking a neat fire in the center. The work was steady and tiring, and conversation waned to the occasional flick of tails — cats with cats, dogs with dogs.

By the time we finished, the sun was lowering toward the horizon, promising a fiery sunset. We sat in pairs on a hill beyond the treeline, watching. Shawn perched in my lap, pressed close so I could feel his heartbeat. My muzzle rested on his shoulder, and I breathed contentedly into his ear. Feelya stretched on the grass, her head resting on Max’s lap as he stroked her fur and curled his tail around her.

The sunset truly was magical: fire spilling across the sky, sparks glowing like orange fireflies and fading into evening mist, the sun crackling and blazing like a bonfire — like Shawn’s eyes. He stroked me softly, turned his head, and kissed me again. The world fell away once more. Warm, fiery scarves of light wrapped around us, shutting out everything else, filling us with bliss. For a time we sat there, gazing into each other’s eyes, overflowing with gratitude and love. Slowly, reluctantly, the fiery walls dissolved, and the world returned: the field, the forest, Feelya and Max, frozen in thought, watching us.

Even as twilight fell, Shawnny and I stayed curled together on that hilltop — kissing, embracing, keeping each other warm. When the air grew cool, we all returned to camp to cook dinner and sit by the fire.

At first we sat in four corners around the flames, but the chill pressed close. Shawn settled at my side, tail wrapped around me; Feelya slid nearer to Max, though unease still lingered in their posture. Even so, they hugged close, tails entwining, Feelya resting her head on his shoulder.

And then, before my eyes, faint crimson ribbons began to weave around them — at first sparse, then swirling faster, until the cats vanished behind a cocoon of firelight.

From Max’s POV

Feelya pressed against me in a way that didn’t feel like her — her pulse uneven, her breathing held tight. I couldn’t miss it. My dear Feelya…

Slowly, the tension eased. She clung closer, tail wrapping tight around my waist. Her claw traced along the stripes on my forearm, and when the lines ended, she whispered, quiet and trembling:

“Max…”

“Feelya?” My own voice shook — her tone carried weight, something important.

“Maxie…” She buried her nose in my neck, arms circling me, tears welling in her eyes.

I felt her heartbeat, heard her breath, her voice. Every part of her — her body, this place, this moment — cried out the same truth. I took her by the shoulders and met her eyes, half-filled with fire, the glow refracted in tears. She froze for half a heartbeat, her look wavering between doubt and hope. She must have seen what I saw.

In a flash, the small flame became a roaring blaze. Fire wrapped gently around us, swirling chaotically into a solid sphere. The world hushed — the crackle of the fire, our breathing — gone. And then we dissolved into a kiss. Fierce, desperate, our arms wrapped around each other, devouring the feeling as if we could never have enough.

For a long while after, we simply sat there, staring into each other’s eyes, gazing at the fiery sphere around us — finally both understanding what it meant.

“I love you, Max,” Feelya whispered, softer than ever, her eyes now burning entirely with that amber-red light.

“I love you too, Feelya.”

I wanted to cry, to laugh, to glow, to purr, to just sit forever with my most precious cheetah. She leaned in and we kissed again — this time slowly, thoughtfully, savoring each other. The passion roared in my ears until I couldn’t feel my tail or hind legs. All I felt was her: her warmth, her breath, her fire, her love. No awkwardness, no restraint — only pure love.

Eventually, the sphere began to fade, merging with the night mist, the cool air and faint smoke of the campfire seeping back in. When it finally dissolved completely, we saw Woff and Shawn grinning ear to ear, their eyes brimming with joy. We smiled back, clutching each other tighter.

“Congratulations,” Shawn said, his voice full of pride.

“Thank you,” Feelya answered, her happiness spilling over as she laid her head on my shoulder.

“Celebrate with sausages and tea?” Woff’s stomach rumbled loudly.

Feelya and Shawnny jumped up in unison.

“We’ve got something better!”

Woff and I exchanged a glance and chuckled. The two of them dashed to the car and returned minutes later — bearing a massive meaty bone for Woff and a ginger-raspberry meat spiral for me. Our jaws dropped, our eyes locked on the treasures. Hungry predators, we seized our prizes and dug in with abandon.

Feelya and Shawnny laughed from the distance, watching their lovers lose themselves in bliss. Feelya knew my weakness well — this meat made me forget the whole world. Every bite burst with spice, sour, then sweet, melting into rich, primal flavor.

Chapter 12

From Shawn’s POV

Feelya and I sat side by side on a log between Max and Woffy, clutching at each other to keep from toppling off as we laughed ourselves breathless. My wolf hadn’t tasted real meat or crunched bones in ages, and now he had a huge one, rich with fat and marrow. That poor bone didn’t stand a chance — the hungry, delighted wolf was tearing into it with claws and teeth, gnawing and licking like it was the last meal of his life. Max, meanwhile, had been gifted a gorgeous cut of meat, and he savored it at his own steady feline pace, whiskers twitching with smug delight.

After half an hour of watching the two of them, Feelya and I were flushed red, dizzy and drunk on laughter. Max, finished with his feast, stretched his whiskers wide in satisfaction and immediately began to wash his face like a proper cat. I could feel the swell of love glowing in Feelya’s aura as she watched him. Woffy had devoured not only the meat but also every drop of marrow, and now turned to us, grinning ear to ear with a lazy yawn. I slid over beside him; instantly he wrapped me up in his arms, grooming my fur and rumbling with the sweetest purrs. My heart swelled — seeing my wolf this happy was all I could ever want.

We lingered by the fire until nightfall, eating, chatting, swapping stories. Woffy and I told the cats how we met, what our lives had been before, what we dreamt of. They shared their own tales — childhood, university, their first meeting, and more.

By the time midnight neared, yawns were contagious. Together we went to the river for a last wash. Of course it turned into more play, splashing each other under the silver glow of the stars. The water shimmered like a kaleidoscope, scattering reflections of every color across its ripples. I loved that sight… Once in a while, a stray comet would streak across the sky, maybe never to return to the Solar System again.

While the others played, I lay back on the soft grass, lost in thoughts. What must it be like, out in space? Would we ever know? Were we truly alone in this vast universe? So enchanting, so immense…

Then suddenly my whole view was filled with an upside-down grin and blazing eyes — Woffy leaning over me. He bent lower and kissed me, soft and sure, then pulled me up by the paws.

Afterward, Max and Woffy went their separate ways to the tents. I called to Feelya, and we slipped quietly over to the car. I’d been planning one last surprise for my wolf… To my delight, Feelya let me borrow her skirt and tall socks. I lit up like a lantern, and she helped me slip into them, adjusting the fabric and smiling at me with conspiratorial warmth. I hugged her in thanks before dashing back to my tent.

Saying Woffy was shocked is an understatement. His face froze, completely blank for a few beats, and I burst out laughing as I threw myself into his arms. He didn’t let go of me the entire night — his paws roamed over my fur and clothes, his nose buried against me, purring, sighing, whispering incoherently with sheer joy. This had been my dream for years, to see his reaction, and oh gods — it exceeded every fantasy. My wolf was enchanted, utterly smitten. My sweet Woffy… I adored him more than words could ever capture. That night he was gentler, more tender than ever, and I sank deeper into the role with every passing minute.

“You’re my little fox…” he murmured in the softest whisper, “I could just eat you up.”

He nipped lightly at the fur on my shoulder, pulling a quiet moan from me, and we both laughed. Petting, purring, playing — we finally drifted to sleep wrapped around each other.

Chapter 13

From Feelya’s POV

I had to admit — Shawn looked incredible in that outfit. He was slim, a little on the short side, and with the swish of his tail, the bounce in his step, and that light, cheerful voice, he could easily pass for a girl already. Dressed like this, though… he was downright sexy. Their tent soon began to rustle with lively movement, and I smirked before slipping away to my tiger. My Maxie. My Max. He was already sprawled on his back, fast asleep, paws flopped every which way in the most ridiculous pose. I undressed and curled up beside him, and even in his sleep he turned, kissed me, and drew me close.

Now everything will be different… The thought stirred with excitement in my chest as I nestled against him, nose seeking a soft, warm spot in his fur. His embrace was so tender, so cozy — it felt like I could stay there forever. We’d fallen asleep together like this many times since meeting, but now… now it was something else. Intention. Tenderness. Love. I twined my tail around his, listening to his deep, steady breathing until I drifted off.

When I woke, I was wrapped in thick tiger fur. Max was stroking my back slowly with one paw, purring under his breath. I wriggled my nose against him to let him know I was awake.

“Gooood morning, kitty~”

When Max gets worked up, he has this adorable way of purring and growling at the same time. It makes me blush every time and sends shivers dancing down the back of my neck.

“Morning, kitty,” I whispered back.

I lifted my head to find his amber eyes, glowing and irresistible. We froze for a heartbeat, then melted into a kiss that lingered for minutes. His claws traced lightly down my back, then across my chest, and I melted. He chuckled softly, teasing his claws across my neck, my stomach, my waist, my thighs. It was divine. Max had found a new weakness in me, and he knew it.

By the time I forced myself to open my eyes, I realized I was purring loudly, my face buried against his neck. Flustered but grinning, I pressed closer. He nibbled the tip of my ear playfully before pulling back.

“Shall we head outside?”

Half-dazed from all the affection, I mumbled that I’d be there soon, and he left. I rolled onto my back, trying to collect myself. Gods… he makes me melt in his paws. My head was still foggy with bliss, but it began to clear. I dressed quickly and darted outside, squinting against the blinding noonday sun.

The wolves had already strung up hammocks between the trees, moved the car into the shade, set up a makeshift table, and were lounging bare-chested, sipping juice. I yawned wide, then hurried to the river to wash and splash around with Max. Oddly, he wasn’t there. After a quick dip, I returned to camp.

“Hey, everyone!”

“Hey, Feelya,” Shawn called, flashing a grin and a wink. “And thanks again for the help last night.”

“Help?” I blinked, then remembered. “Oh — right, don’t mention it. Have you seen Max?”

“He went into the woods about half an hour ago, looking for something. Should be back soon.”

“What? But he was here just five minutes ago.”

Shawn shrugged and glanced at Woff.

“Yeah, thirty minutes at least,” Woff confirmed.

“Alone? In the woods?”

“He’s a tiger,” Woff chuckled, leaning back in his camp chair. “If anything, the woods should be afraid of him.”

I frowned. Had I really been lying in the tent that long, recovering from his cuddles? That tiger was a wizard. Still, there wasn’t much to worry about.

“Want me to teach you guys how to fish?” I blurted out, surprising even myself.

Both wolves whipped their heads toward me.

“If you don’t already know, I mean,” I added.

“I… don’t really know how to swim,” Shawn muttered, dropping his gaze.

“Same here. Barely a little,” Woff admitted, resting a paw on Shawn’s shoulder before looking back at me.

Of course. Canines were never the biggest fans of water. My ears drooped at my failed idea — then perked back up.

“I can teach you!”

Five minutes later we were waist-deep in the gentle river current, the wolves watching me expectantly. I started explaining how to paddle with their paws and keep their heads above water, demonstrating myself. Morphs could swim both ways — animal-style and human-style — but I was teaching them the beast way. For all our human-like traits, we were still more animal than not. Besides, humans had invented all sorts of complicated swim strokes that no ordinary person really needed.

For twenty minutes I circled around them, showing how to sync their strokes, giving little tips, soothing their nerves. Finally, Woff gathered his courage and slipped in. He flailed clumsily at first, but he was floating, moving forward bit by bit. I cheered him on, guiding his movements until he started to get the hang of it.

Shawn, meanwhile, watched us with growing panic, his tail twitching nervously. Woff swam over, hugged him gently, and whispered:

“Tsshh… it’s alright. The current’s slow. Feelya and I will catch you if anything happens. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

He waited until Shawn’s breathing steadied, then eased back. Shawn slipped into the water, instantly sputtering and thrashing before scrambling back out, eyes wide with fear. Woff helped calm him down, and we agreed to support him by the belly so he’d always stay afloat while focusing on his strokes. It worked. Soon Shawn figured out how to paddle and hold his head above water. We gradually loosened our grip, and at last he was swimming on his own.

Cheers and laughter erupted — success! Woff, by then, was already confident and fearless. Suddenly he dove under, then burst back up with a huge fish clenched in his jaws, shaking himself dry and grinning ear to ear. Shawn’s jaw dropped. I laughed.

“Victoooory!”

That lit Shawn’s fire again. He leapt into the water fox-style, surfacing empty-jawed, then diving again with renewed determination. Woff and I stood watching with proud smiles as our hero-in-training made attempt after attempt. Finally, soaked and panting, he popped up with a little wriggling fish between his teeth. He glanced at Woff sheepishly, ears flat, which made both of us burst out laughing.

I decided then and there — we’d dry off, and cook our hard-earned catch together.

Chapter 14

From Max’s POV

The forest breeze ruffled through my fur, my ears puffing out like sails as I listened to everything around me. The crunch of grass under my paws, birdsong, the gurgle of the river — nothing escaped me. A hungry tiger, stalking with careful steps, alert to every sound… collecting blueberries.

I tried, with all my beastly willpower, not to crush the berries, but more often than not I ended up with jam in the basket. No matter. I was planning to make juice for everyone anyway. Now and then I found raspberries, strawberries, a few other wild berries — but honestly, what a mockery of tigers! How is a tiger supposed to pick raspberries? Exactly — he’s not. Feelya would’ve managed much better: her paws were half the size of mine, her fingers thinner, gentler. She didn’t have to hold back every second like I did.

The forest was blissful: cool, quiet, calm. I breathed deeply, savoring the fragrances and flavors drifting in the air. A carefree lightness washed over me, childlike and simple, and I plunged headfirst into the grass. Eyes closed, I lay there breathing, letting myself sink into the forest’s soft whispers.

I only truly realized the forest’s beauty when I stepped out onto the clearing near camp. Heat hit me at once, sunlight blazing, the lazy, weary voices of the others drifting through the air.

Why is it so hot out here? I’m going swimming, no question.

Feelya pounced on me as though I’d been missing for days. I pointed at the basket of berries in explanation, and she smirked. She must have noticed how overheated I was, because she immediately suggested a trip to the river. Everyone’s tongues were hanging out, ears drooping sideways. Everyone except Feelya — cheetahs thrive in the heat. She was darting around, climbing, chattering, tugging at the poor, sun-stunned wolves.

I stashed the basket in the mini-fridge, snapped the lid shut, and bolted after them. They were already gathered on a patch of sandy bank hidden by trees, which we’d dubbed our “beach.” To my surprise, the wolves, after only a moment’s hesitation, were the first to leap into the water. Feelya grinned proudly, and I asked:

“Your paws at work here?”

“Mine! While you were off wandering, I taught them how to swim. Now they won’t come out!”

I laughed. “That’s something else.”

Watching the wolves splash about, she caught the playful mood and shoved both paws against my chest. I barely rocked back, grinning, and she suddenly realized the mismatch in strength. She stepped back, and I lunged. We hit the water with a huge splash, sending ripples racing out as the current swallowed the crater we’d made. Laughing and yowling, we wrestled in the shallows, batting paws and sending waves crashing at each other.

When at last we’d had our fill, we all flipped belly-up and floated, cooling down, exhausted but happy.

…

The berries had chilled by then. I mashed them finer, poured the juice into cups, and we sprawled across folding chairs and grass to drink.

Feelya set down her cup, and in one swift move popped open the second cooler. One by one she hauled out massive fish — perch, I realized — and handed them around. I blinked in surprise, and she only smiled.

“Once they’d gotten the hang of swimming, I taught them to fish too!” She squinted her eyes shut and flared her whiskers in pride, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

My stomach growled at the sight of such fine, fat fish, and I dug right in. Everyone purred in their own way: the wolves from the reward of hard work and sheer exhaustion, Feelya from her pride, and me — because a free, delicious lunch is the best kind of lunch.

Afternoons are sacred for us all. Washing, grooming, brushing — the nonnegotiable rituals of any beast or morph. And afterward, sleep tugs at everyone.

Chapter 15

From Woff’s POV

The next day

It was the last day of our trip. The plan was to leave in the morning, be back in the city by lunchtime, and enjoy a proper meal there. Our food was gone, our rest from the grinding bustle complete, and we were ready to return.

We folded the tents, packed our things, took one last swim, and went for a walk, all four of us, talking about everything under the sun — from clothes to the stars.

The creak of doors, the roar of the engine, the hiss of tires — and we were on our way home. This time Feelya sat in the front with me, while Max and Shawnny sprawled in the back. Feelya and I chatted about art, old-fashioned exhibitions, and antiques. I was pleasantly surprised by her passion for the subject — turns out she’s studying to be an artist! She’d never told me before.

I knew Max was an engineer, a programmer. As for me, I only really understood machines, because I had to constantly patch up my old junker — repair shops are brutally expensive, so I’d taught myself. But my soul leans toward emotion, creativity, expression. No diploma in art, nor will there ever be — but an artist doesn’t need that. The soul — that’s what matters. The rest, how and in what form you choose to express it — that’s personal choice. I go to galleries and performances, but my greatest pull is toward writing. How stirring it is! Humble words, strung together, weaving vivid images and scenes, layering one upon another until they stir true, unspoken feelings.

Sometimes, carried away, I spilled out my stories and excitements to Feelya. She turned out to be a wonderful companion for such talks, and I was thrilled. The air filled with good-natured criticism of modern authors, dreams of our own, anecdotes ordinary and not so ordinary. The journey passed quickly, and before long I steered us into my garage, the echo booming off the walls.

“Come over to our place?” Maxie offered, stretching on all fours and yawning.

“I need to drop by work today,” I sighed.

Feelya stretched and added, “And I need to prep for tomorrow’s practice.”

We exchanged pawshakes and hugs, and Max and Feelya left. Shawnny and I went upstairs to our apartment, and the long drive’s weariness finally hit me. I collapsed onto the couch, hindpaws propped over the backrest, and drifted into a doze.

Shawn woke me, offering food and reminding me I was expected at the warehouse. I sighed, grabbed a quick bite, thanked him, and dragged myself to work. I hated my job… Boring, long, heavy. The only thing keeping me there was the pay: two and a half thousand. Everywhere else it was even less. They’d hired me on the spot, of course. A burly, muscular wolf morph — that’s a warehouseman’s dream. How I wished I could escape…

By the time I crawled home near midnight, wrung out and bone-tired to tears, Shawn was there, comforting me with strokes, hugs, kisses. It helped, of course. But still, before I fell asleep, I managed to soak the sheets and my fur with tears. And tomorrow — morning shift and evening shift both. Up early, bed late. A miserable grind.

In the morning, Shawn had already left for the restaurant where he worked as a cook. He was content with his job, even liked it. A big perk was being allowed to take home leftover food that would otherwise be tossed. Odd scraps of bread, vegetables, meat — not fit for burgers or salads. He sorted through, picked out the freshest, tastiest bits, and brought them home. Thanks to him we hardly ever bought groceries, which saved us. Sometimes he even snagged a proper cut of meat, or fish, or fat, or a bone — those were feast days.

I sprawled across the couch, covering my face with my paws. I should’ve been leaving for work already, but instead I scrolled through my phone feed, fighting off tears of despair and anger. Every fiber of me wanted to claw free, to explode, to run — anything but this.

My inbox was crammed with junk, shady emails, but one caught my eye — it was from a newspaper. I hadn’t heard of them doing phishing; they were reputable. I opened it, holding my breath.

“Dear Mr. Woff von Schopenhauer,

We inform you that your submission for the novella ‘Two words from the Abyss’ has been accepted for consideration. A decision will be made within three months.

With best regards,

The Claw Newspaper”

At least they hadn’t thrown me out at once. With little hope for any real outcome, I dragged myself upright. Time for work. That damned job.

Boxes, pallets, endless shelves. Boxes, pallets, shelves. A gray fog of repetition rolled past my eyes, image after image, never changing. The same as always. Back pain, aching muscles — the mood of a warehouseman. Finally the clock struck noon and I bolted from the hangar, not looking back, not listening, sweaty, drained, exhausted.

And so the days went on. Again and again.

Chapter 16

From Feelya’s POV

The room was filled with the scratch of charcoal. Ears peeked up from behind easels, tails swayed and twitched, each with a life of its own, while their owners worked in tense concentration. At the center of the room, on a pedestal, sat a nearly nude half-morph girl, frozen in a complex pose, seemingly not breathing or blinking for the past forty minutes. Her fox ears stayed unnaturally still — something only half-morphs could pull off. She had no tail, but I suspected even that she could’ve held in check. Only a faint patch of russet fur at her collarbone betrayed her difference from a human.

At last, the teacher gave the signal to stop and asked us to study one another’s work. We circled from easel to easel, peering closely at every sketch, noting details: the flow of movement, proportions, anatomy, the general feel of each piece. Only once every drawing had been scrutinized and compared to the model was the girl finally allowed to move. She stretched, shook the stiffness from her arms and legs, and twitched her ears as if to make sure they were still attached.

Nudity surprised no one — not in a drawing class, and not anywhere else, especially in summer. Humans might fret about anatomy, but for beasts and morphs it was simply natural, comfortable. Half-morphs leaned closer to humans, of course, but exceptions happened. Sometimes one was born fully beast in biology and instinct, but indistinguishable from a human in form. Even they could overheat in summer, fur or no fur. So plenty of people — or at least those who looked like people — wandered around naked, or nearly so. I digress.

Our teacher, a handsome golden retriever named Stevens, watched us — not the model, but our analyses. From time to time he lingered over a student’s canvas, stroking his sandy-gold beard in silence, before shuffling on and sinking back into thought.

The model dressed quickly and hurried off. I knew she had another session with a different class later and needed to rest.

“Gather round, please,” Stevens rasped, waiting until we’d formed a loose semicircle behind him. Clearing his throat, he went on gently:

“Look at how Miss Feeliena captured the dynamic of the pose. Notice the smoothness, the flow of her lines — how each passes into the next, how they all remain in harmony. When you study her work, listen to your inner child.”

He stepped aside.

“Do you hear it?” He turned to the students, now staring thoughtfully at my easel. “Do you feel the grace and lightness?”

He continued offering guidance, critiques, and observations on the expressiveness of certain works. His lessons always struck that delicate balance where no one left drained, but any longer would’ve been too much. It left us in a state of intellectual and emotional focus.

He wore a dark-blue jacket with sleeves perpetually rolled up to the shoulders, a crimson pendant that shimmered with every step, and loose long shorts. His paws, like nearly all morphs, were bare. Almost no one wore half-closed or fully closed shoes — paw pads needed to feel the ground, to move unbound. Winter imposed its own rules, of course. But now, early summer, everyone went unshod.

Class dismissed, we drifted into the hall. There stood Max and Shawn, mid-conversation.

“You think it’s worth it?”

“Of course!” Maxie clapped Shawn on the shoulder with a grin. “If it’s your dream, go for it! At the very least, you’ll have tried. Nothing to lose.”

Shawnny smiled pensively, then, spotting me, excused himself. Maxie hugged me and turned back toward him:

“Feelya’s professor always says: you can’t fight your soul. If your fur bristles and your tail stands high, then that’s what you need to follow.”

He hesitated, smiled awkwardly.

“Alright then… I’ll give it a try. See you later.”

He nodded his thanks and disappeared. Maxie watched him go, then turned to me.

“Lunch?”

I purred, rubbing against him, slipped my paw into his, and we went together. I ordered a vegetable stew with beans, and of course caught Maxie’s inevitable surprised look.

“It’s for variety,” I smiled. “Mr. Stevens always reminds us that art feeds on emotion, and emotion thrives in imperfection, in unevenness.” I flicked my whiskers. “So there.”

“What’s not to get?” Maxie chuckled, piling a generous portion of goulash on his plate. My mouth watered at the smell, but I decided to stay true to my little experiment. We climbed to our usual table on the mezzanine and settled in to talk.

“Remember when my professor recommended me for that internship?”

I nodded. The beans melted on my tongue, sending unexpected bursts of feeling, new strokes added to the palette of familiar tastes.

“They hired me,” he purred proudly, glowing with all his tigerness.

My ears shot up, brows lifted, and suddenly the stew was tasteless.

“Really!? Congratulations!”

His smile widened.

“Half-time, I’ll be earning sixteen thousand hikks a month!”

My jaw dropped. He laughed and added:

“And full-time, nearly twenty-five! And the work — it’s going to be fascinating.”

I finally asked what exactly he’d be doing — after all this time living together, all I knew was he “programmed something… probably.”

“We’ll be working on equipment for medical and biochemical labs — centrifuges, mass spectrometers, autoclaves, electron microscopes…” His voice spilled over with pride and joy. “I’ll be the bridge between what the engineers build and what the other programmers code.”

Enthusiasm poured from every pore, filling the space, contagious and bright. Truly, the drive and diligence radiating from him… it made me ache with love. It made me want to lock myself in the studio, to paint, to sketch, to draw, to create — everything, all at once!

Chapter 17

From Feelya’s POV

A month had passed.

It was a sweltering July day. Maxie and I were sitting on a bench in the park. One paw he wrapped around me, the other held his phone.

“Sign up for a dorm right away — trust me, the earlier the better.” Maxie cleared his throat. “And buy train tickets before they cost as much as a plane wing.”

While he guided Shawn through the intricacies of student life (he’d been accepted into astrophysics!), I was sketching what I saw: gulls, trees, the lake. My skirt doubled as a table for my sketchbook, a few pencils, a battered eraser, and a sharpener.

I love weather like this. Cheetahs are built for heat — it’s in our genes. Our ancestors thrived in Africa, after all. Heat is our element. Maxie, though, was panting and groaning, tongue lolling, chest heaving. He sat in summer shorts, modest enough not to draw stares, but every ten minutes he’d gently peel his arm from around me, leap to all fours, dash into the lake, dive under, and then just stand there up to his muzzle, soaking in bliss. Then he’d return to the bench to drip dry, politely keeping his distance until the water stopped streaming off him.

“Take enough cash to last at least a month and a half,” Maxie continued. “Until you get a handle on the local rules, you’ll need something to live on. And try to study up on the place before you arrive — better than sticking out like a sore thumb.”

I could faintly hear Shawn’s voice murmuring on the other end.

“And by the way,” Maxie’s tone softened, “what did Woff say to you?”

From Shawnny’s POV

They actually accepted me into university! Into astrophysics! I can hardly believe my own words. My head spun with it all: I’m going to another country to study the stars — my dream, every single day for fifteen years. A new life, new places, new faces — and the stars. The stars! My beloved stars.

But Woffy… When he heard the news, of course he congratulated me, smiled even — but his ears drooped, his eyes flooded with turquoise, and he looked utterly shattered. The one joy in his life was about to leave him. His only anchor, gone for years, abandoning him, forgetting him… My heart clenched at the thought of him dragging himself home from the hated warehouse every night, collapsing on the couch, only to rise again in eight hours to go back. His life, every day, a cycle of exhaustion.

My soul split in two: either let go of my dream forever, stay with him, live a stable — if uninspired — life full of love and mutual support; or chase science, research, my lifelong passion, at the cost of leaving behind my endlessly beloved Woffy, our friends, our stability — everything. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Maxie’s words echoed. But for Woffy, this would be torment.

We lay on the bed together, his arms locked tight around me, breath trembling against my ear, soft tears soaking into my fur. Every now and then he’d hiccup a sob, apologize for breaking down, then try to encourage me anyway. His voice, battered and raw, kept whispering how proud he was of me, how happy he was that I was following my dream. He knew how much it meant to me. And yet my own heart clenched in pain. I smothered that ache by holding him even tighter, cradling my wolf.

Soon, thousands of kilometers would stretch between us. We’d only hear each other’s scratchy voices through little boxes. No matter how much you cry or yell, there’d be no feeling of Woffy’s warmth, his scent, his fur, his embrace, his soft breath.

Helplessness flooded me and I whimpered into his chest. He cupped my head, gently combing my fur with his paw, sending shivers down my back until I purred through my tears. I pulled away slightly to meet his eyes — his face streaked with tears, twisted in pain. He seized my muzzle in his paws and kissed me hungrily, desperately, trying to brand the feeling into his memory, to forget the looming separation, to pretend — for one night at least — that this wouldn’t be our last. The whole night passed like that.

For the next week he barely let me out of his arms. At every chance, he smothered me with kisses, pulling me close.

I dreaded quitting my job, but I had no choice. The next day I pulled the boss and chef aside, explained my situation, told them how hard it was to leave the restaurant and the team. They both supported me, patted my shoulder, celebrated my acceptance. I was stunned by their warmth. The chef — a black bear with fur tinged violet — and the boss, an aging Flemish rabbit with silver in his whiskers, both smiled the way only kind elders can. They treated their staff with such trust and gentleness that you couldn’t help but want to work hard. They sent me off with blessings and said their doors would always be open if I returned.

The paperwork was finished, the luggage packed, the documents signed. And there we were, at the platform. Drenched in tears. Soaked through. My head was spinning: my snow-white wolf, in his lace dress, one moment in my arms, the next slipping away as the platform slid past, Woffy waving, crying. The train surged forward, the city blurred in the window, the houses rushed by.

And in my chest, a song broke loose:

I’ll be singing and crying aloud,

While the train is pulling away.

I want you to know with no doubt

I will be coming, I’ll find a way.

The wind will embrace me,

It will show me my path.

More faith won’t hurt me,

I kiss you in dreams, alas.

…

Chapter 18

From Woff’s perspective:

The heart creaked. Shon poked his muzzle out the little window and, with a bitter yet tender smile, looked at me. Suddenly his car turned the corner, and the train rushed away.

My legs gave out. I sat right where I stood. I no longer had the strength to cry, and only whimpered quietly. From somewhere far away came the murmur of passengers, the rumble of trains. And the sound of weeping. The sound of desolate loneliness.

I don’t know when or how I got home. Everything was in a fog. I couldn’t believe what had happened. I didn’t want to think about it. I expected to find the familiar warm light at home, the scent of fresh bread and flowers, and that happy ginger face. But what met me was darkness. And the smell was different. And everything felt different.

The world had emptied. It was filled with a viscous black slime, where nothing can be seen or heard, and you sink, slowly dropping lower and lower. No matter how much you breathe — you’re still suffocating. No matter how much you laugh — you’ll still cry it all out.

I pulled the gray cover off the typewriter, thinking I’d pour my soul onto the page. And then I fell asleep.

Chapter 19

Three weeks later

From Max’s perspective:

It was a Sunday noon, rainy. Heavy and gray. I decided to drop by Woff’s place: to chat, to cheer him up, maybe bring him something. A disheveled gray wolf opened the door, looking dreadful: bags under his eyes, his tail and ears drooping lifelessly; indifference, sorrow, and exhaustion etched into his gaze and posture.

The room looked exactly like he did. Clothes everywhere, tufts of fur, random junk, and the stale smell of dust. One thing stood out: in the corner stood a tiny stool and a little desk, and on it — a splendid typewriter. The corner was buried under scrawled and typed sheets, torn and intact alike, while on the coffee table lay several neat, heavy stacks.

“I’m writing. A little. Sending some things to the paper,” Woff said hoarsely. “Only joy I’ve got left. I’m sick right now, so I just write all day. Work makes me nauseous, you know how it is.” He traced a claw listlessly across the steak on his plate.

I nodded.

“Shonny writes. Rarely. Settling in. Says he misses me.” After a pause, he added, “Classes started. He likes it so far.”

I steered the talk back toward his writing. At any mention of his other half, his face twisted, his body flinched, and the gloom weighed even heavier. Wordlessly, he handed me one of the stacks, hefty in my paws, and fixed his eyes on me. “Two words from the Abyss.” I opened the first page and began to read.

We sat like that for two hours. I read; he watched. Finally, I turned the last page and lifted my eyes to him. His literary skill floored me. It was brilliant! I wanted to shower him with praise, but words stuck in my throat. He broke the silence instead:

“I sent that to a newspaper a month ago. Should hear back soon. There’s hope, but who am I to be published?”

I cleared my throat.

“You may not have a name yet — but with this,” I tapped the stack, “that’s how you’ll make one.”

He smiled, just barely, and tucked the stack back under the coffee table.

Rain hammered the metal roof of the garage. Woff shut the only little window and turned away in sorrow. I stepped up and hugged him, and in my arms he broke down, sobbing hopelessly.

The next evening, Feelya and I were sprawled in our living room, munching on meat sticks and watching a movie. My head rested on her shoulder, her arms and tail wrapped around me. Every so often we’d rub our muzzles together, pouring out the love that so often brimmed over.

Suddenly, a knock at the door. I slipped free of her embrace and hurried to open it. On the threshold stood Woff, glowing, grinning ear to ear, so radiant it startled us both. He held a sheet of paper in both paws, thrust it silently toward me, and I read aloud:

“Dear Mr. Woff von Schopenhauer,

We are pleased to inform you that your submission of the novella ‘Two words from the Abyss’ has been reviewed by our experts and approved for publication in the Claw newspaper. It will appear in issues No. 298–303, Monday through Friday next week, in the Literature section.

Your preliminary honorarium is 20,000 hikks, which will be transferred to the bank account you previously provided within two business weeks starting Monday.

A secondary honorarium will be calculated within one week after your publication period, based on reader feedback, additional statistics, and further expert and critic review.

If you wish to change your recipient account or have any questions, please email us and expect a reply within three business days.

With best regards,

The Claw Newspaper”

Feelya and I stared at Woff, who looked like a different wolf entirely — he was that happy.

“Twenty thousand hikks! And that’s just the start! That’s insane!” Feelya whistled. Then she thought aloud, “That’s enough for two people to live comfortably for at least a couple months!”

Woff’s grin stretched even wider (though it seemed impossible), and he laughed. He only had time to toss today’s issue of the newspaper onto the table before Feelya pounced, dragged him off to the bathroom, shoved a towel into his paws, and ordered him to wash up. He fought back, but even if a cheetah is smaller and weaker than a wolf, she still managed to literally shove him into the shower.

Twenty minutes later he emerged in nothing but shorts, towel slung over his shoulder, his coat snowy white and gleaming, his smile full of every fang and tooth he had. Truly, he looked handsome.

Meanwhile Feelya was buried in the paper, devouring his novella, and didn’t even notice Woff step up behind her and start massaging her shoulders. Drawing out the moment, he finally announced:

“I quit my job today.” He waved a paw. “Forget it! I’m going to write!”

He squealed with excitement and pride, and we both burst out laughing. He stretched, cracked his joints, and smoothed his whiskers. I handed him a meat stick — he eyed it skeptically at first, then reluctantly bit into it, chewed, and raised his brows. I smirked and passed him another.

He flopped onto the couch beside me, and the three of us tangled up together, finished our movie with snacks, and drifted off to sleep. Feelya wrapped herself around me, Woff hugged us both from the side, and with a sigh of relief, he finally slept.

Chapter 20

From Shon’s perspective:

The professors drove us to the ground: endless lectures, assignments, mountains of books we were expected to practically memorize… I’d crawl back to the dorm with my backpack clenched in my teeth and collapse onto my bed without an ounce of strength left. And then there was the independent work — seemed like there was even more of that than classwork… I’d lie there hugging my backpack, pretending it was Woffy, and cry. How’s my wolf doing? Probably grieving too…

The door creaked open, and Gerry – my roommate – slithered in. An anthropomorphic snake with glossy swamp-green scales and perpetually serious yellow eyes. He always wore an old gray sock and thin-framed glasses. Whether his eyesight was truly wrecked from nonstop reading, or he just felt smarter that way — I had no idea.

Our attitudes toward studying couldn’t have been more different. While I sprawled on my cot trying to gather enough brain cells to scratch through a fraction of the homework, Gerry sat coiled up tight, reading without pause or breath. Endlessly. He’d stay curled under the lamp until late into the night, paging through volumes of anatomy and who knows what else. He was in medical training, with no fewer academic burdens than me, but he carried it like he’d lived his whole life at that tempo. It even seemed too easy for him — like he wished there were more.

My brain folds felt shriveled and limp; I stretched my limbs wide, dreaming only of Woff happily pouncing on me and licking me all over… I rolled onto my side and felt warm fur, and suddenly my wolf was there, holding me tight, kissing me. I grinned into his neck and we laughed…

The alarm shrieked and I jolted upright, taking several moments to claw my way back into reality. My ears sank, and I sighed heavily. Classes were starting soon, and I had to drag myself to campus. A quick wash, clothes thrown on, backpack over the shoulder, and I trudged off to lectures. First up: linear algebra. God, I didn’t understand a damn thing. From day one they expected us to already know fundamentals I hadn’t even heard of, which meant slogging through it all on my own afterward… In lectures I slept — what else could I do? I wasn’t understanding anyway. Got called out a few times for that. Then came quantum physics. I don’t even know how I survived it. The professor was toxic, the material astronomical, and since it was a seminar, they always found a way to humiliate me. Comfortable? Not even close. The people around me — humans, snakes, birds, dogs — they all looked like venomous creatures, united either to ignore me or tear me down. Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation talking. But still, everyone else seemed to breeze through, while I only slowed things down — earning myself sharp, sour looks that made my fur bristle.

After what felt like an eternity, the professor waved us off, and the room erupted in movement. Lunchtime. I dashed out, pushing past a couple of huge guys — and instantly regretted it.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, fox-boy!” a massive pit bull snarled at me as I brushed him.

He shoved me hard in the shoulder. I stumbled, lost my balance, and hit the ground on my tail, setting off laughter from his crew. I scrambled up, swallowing the pain, just as he fished a cigarette from his pocket, egging his friends to do the same.

“Hey, light me up,” the pit bull shoved the cigarette toward me. I shook my head frantically and backed a step away. For that I caught a slap across the muzzle, hard enough to drop me flat on the cold stone floor — and for a moment I think I blacked out. Their laughter rang in my ears as they lit up themselves. I staggered up and hurried off.

My university was ancient and prestigious. With its corridors and stairwells, it resembled that well-known school of witchcraft and wizardry, which floated constantly through my imagination. We even had an inner courtyard with acacias and a small pond where, early in the term while summer’s heat still lingered, otters, snakes, and birds used to bathe. Now the air had turned cold, the ground was carpeted in leaves, and students spent less and less time outdoors.

All I wanted was to curl up on a bench and exhale — away from the endless rush, the bullying, the coursework. In the chilly wind I tucked myself into a ball and drifted into sleep.

Chapter 21

I was startled awake by a light touch, my whole body jerking in dread of some prank or another round with bullies — but instead, before me stood a panda, wrapped up warmly, her eyes unusually large for her kind and filled with concern.

I blinked, sat up, and turned to face her just as she began:

“Are you cold?”

I shook my head and did my best to show that I wanted nothing more than to keep sleeping without being disturbed. Curling back into a ball, I tried to snore convincingly. To my surprise, she didn’t leave. On the contrary, she sat down beside me and placed a paw gently against my forehead, as if checking my temperature. I flinched. Who was she? What business of hers was this? I’d never seen her before — why the hell was she doing this?

Then she rose.

“I’ll bring you some food.”

And walked away.

What in the world?

Through a crack in the bench’s wooden slats I saw her moving down the corridor, brown robe trailing, hood pushed back. What a sight. Coming the other way was that same gang of thugs who’d used me to mop the floor earlier. The bunch of them were tipsy and rowdy — nothing good ever came of that. My stomach knotted as they came within arm’s reach of her; I could almost see them striking her and laughing. But nothing happened. They passed each other as if they hadn’t even noticed one another. The boys kept on, jostling and guffawing.

A moment later, from the far end of the hall, came a thud, then another, then a groan, followed by low snarls and the gang’s laughter. I let out a breath. So — it wasn’t her they had a score to settle. That left me.

Behind me came the crunch of leaves. I turned.

“Here.”

She was holding out a bowl of soup from the cafeteria in both paws. Flustered, I unzipped my jacket, fished a spoon out of the inner pocket, and accepted the offering. The soup was divine — pumpkin, spicy, with a gentle background of vegetables. I closed my eyes, tasting hints of cumin, cinnamon, and nutmeg. My mind had already drifted to the recipe, imagining the process of making it myself. I’d have added a sweet pepper or two and cut larger, so you’d get bites of vegetable.

That train of thought shattered when I realized the panda had nestled close to me, watching me with a deeply worried look. I grew self-conscious and mumbled:

“Thanks.”

“Are you alright?” she asked, like she’d been holding it in all this time just to get the words out.

“Yes, it’s fine.”

She hesitated.

“You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

At last, some clue to her behavior. She must’ve seen me go down earlier when the pit bull floored me and had rushed to help. My head was still full of thoughts of cooking, of Woffy, of homework, of the classes coming up today… and without thinking through my reply, I blurted:

“No, no, I’m fine — I’m used to it.”

And the moment the last word left my mouth, I realized what I’d done. Now she’d think of me as utterly pathetic, and probably never leave me alone again. In a panic, I tried to fix it — but too late. She wrapped her arms around me.

It was nice, of course — having someone here who wasn’t trying to mock or shame me — but I really didn’t want to break the heart of this sweet girl. Still, I hugged her back, thinking that a friend like her might not be such a bad thing in this place.

She stood up, said she’d go eat herself, wished me a good meal, asked one more time if I was really alright, and only then reluctantly left.

Chapter 22

All through the next lecture, exhaustion kept pressing down on me. My head filled with a heavy fog, my nose tightened, breathing through it got harder and harder. Shapes blurred before my eyes, my head grew heavy — and right there at the desk I slipped into sleep.

I woke up when some kind student poked me under the arm on their way out. I had more classes… but I didn’t care. I dragged myself home, staggering side to side like a drunk. With only one desire, I made it to my room, collapsed on the bed, and was out instantly.

In total darkness something woke me up, long after Garry was already asleep, which meant it had to be three in the morning at least. I aimlessly scanned the blackness, saw nothing, rolled back onto my bed, pulled the pillow close, and slipped under again.

Something woke me — or so it seemed — but the darkness was unusually… deep. No matter how much I blinked or squinted, nothing came into focus. It was as though the room contained not a single photon of light. Alarm bells went off in my head. Sleep fled in an instant. I sat up — and then came a soft knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, the visitor slowly opened it.

My breath froze. Cold spread through me. Fear. Even as the door opened, no light spilled in. Worse — no sound either. No creak, no thump. Nothing. Absolute vacuum. Goosebumps raced across my skin, my fur bristled, and my heart thundered. With no light, no sound, my brain screamed: no input, no world, no life. Had we died?

I clutched the bedframe with both paws, refusing to let that ancient survival mechanism take over. I knew the door had opened, though I couldn’t explain how. Instinct, maybe — the faintest shift of air. But someone, something, had entered the room.

I began doubting my sanity. Was this sleep? Maybe I was still passed out at the lecture hall after the long day?

Then — like stepping out of a fourth dimension — a silhouette appeared before me. I lost faith in reality, yet knew my thoughts were too coherent for this to be just a dream. Suddenly, around us, purple sparks flickered to life, forming a glowing sphere. From inside it, the figure became clear. She threw back her hood — and my jaw dropped. The panda. That panda.

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

She crouched in front of me, peering into my eyes with the same look of concern she’d worn that day.

“I-I’m fine. H-how did you get in here?”

Questions boiled inside me — starting with how and why she’d broken into the male boarding house, and ending with the fact that a purple-black sphere of who-knows-what had just materialized in my pitch-black room. Meanwhile, she knelt before me, bundled in layers of heavy robes soaked through with night rain.

I gestured at my roommate across the room. I couldn’t see Garry through the sphere, but he had to still be there — it was the middle of the night. She caught my worry and said gently:

“He can’t see or hear us. We can talk freely.”

My body went numb for a moment. She had… neutralized my roommate somehow — I didn’t even want to know how — and with this strange sphere, this time, this place, everything screamed that something was about to happen. Was this an immersive dream, where anything from magic to time travel could unfold? Was this “kind panda” in truth an assassin from some secret society? Or just a stalker? Or maybe — wild thought — her kindness was real, and she had fallen in love with me. I was lost in a whirlpool of thoughts, having no idea what to expect. She seemed to read something in my eyes, and her silence only made my nerves fray further.

“You, uh…” I faltered, then chose caution over recklessness: “At least tell me your name?”

“That doesn’t matter,” she cut off.

I frowned.

Then she took my paws in hers. At that instant, hundreds of thin purple strands of light lit up under my skin, coursing through me. No burning, no pain — just light. At my startled, disbelieving stare, she smiled:

“Forgive my curiosity. I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You haven’t been told this, but you are a very powerful wizard. The force of the cosmos runs in you — the purest, deepest, and most complex power there is. It’s the rarest gift in our world, and only a handful possess it. You are one of them.”

My expression didn’t change.

Nope. Nonsense. I’m dreaming, — I thought flatly, turning away from the magical panda and lying back, — Or I’m just sleep-deprived. A week of no rest will do that — I’m lucky I haven’t jumped off a roof chasing hallucinations.

Suddenly she slapped me hard across the cheek, so hard I winced, squeezing eyes shut against the pain, then sat up on my elbows and glared at her smirking face.

“I’m not joking. And no — you’re not asleep, and you’re not delirious. Right now it’s four twenty-eight in the morning, Thursday. This is real.” She studied my expression, then continued: “You need to learn to control your power.”

She didn’t push it further. Instead, she rose quickly, took half a step back. Her smile softened into that same warmth I’d seen back on the bench. Then her face grew serious again. She drew up her hood and slowly backed into the sphere. The fourth dimension seemed to swallow her whole, and just before her body vanished completely, she whispered:

“Mister Ashley wants to speak with you.”

Her voice echoed as the purple lights winked out one by one, until within seconds the sphere collapsed — and the room sank once more into utter blackness.

Chapter 23

My gut jolted me awake, stabbing from the inside and forcing me to rise. I reluctantly sat up on the bed, dazed. What kind of dream was that? I touched my cheek — still sore, still tingling. Rubbing my eyes, I shook my head.

Tomorrow I’m going straight to the dean and quitting this place. Lack of sleep’s messing with me.

The thought filled me with sudden certainty. I stood — and collapsed to the floor on my very first step.

…

I came to myself in the infirmary. White light stabbed my eyes, the stench of alcohol bit into my skin. My eyelids sagged again and I slipped back into blackness.

I heard a familiar voice, and though my eyes stayed closed, I saw a plump figure in a brown robe, hood drawn low.

“You’re a wizard, Shawn. One of the strongest in the world.”

…

I cracked my eyes open, waited for them to adjust to the glaring light, and scanned the room. Empty. To my surprise, my body felt perfectly fine. No pain, no exhaustion. For the first time in weeks, the drag of sleeplessness was gone. My thoughts were clear. I sat up on the bed — only then realizing the whole ward was deserted.

Well, thanks for the hospitality. I’m out of here, I muttered inwardly, climbing to my feet.

The infirmary was far larger than I’d imagined. Not that I’d ever thought about it before — I’d never needed to come here. But hell, it was massive! High ceilings weren’t unusual in this old place, but ten meters above me, paired with the cavernous space stretching in every direction, the scale felt monumental. Beds divided by curtains, no private rooms. It looked more like a repurposed gym than a clinic.

At last I reached the door and opened it. Beyond lay the familiar ground-floor corridor, packed as always with students and professors.

But something was wrong. At first I couldn’t pinpoint it — until it struck me. Every single face around me was the same. Identical. And no matter how hard I tried to focus, to memorize one, to distinguish it from another, I couldn’t. My heart plummeted.

Should I go out there — into that faceless throng? Or stay here, in the eerie silence of the ward? Watching them long enough, I convinced myself they meant me no harm. I pulled up my hood, set my face into the blankest mask I could muster, fixed my gaze on the floor, and began retracing the way to the fourth floor, to Mister Ashley’s office.

Bodies brushed past me, some bumping, some sidestepping, but I kept walking, praying the hallucinations would fade and I’d be back to normal soon.

No such luck. Someone was blocking my path, standing squarely before me, waiting. I lifted my head, trembling — and of course, there she was. The panda.

“Mister Ashley is waiting for you. I’ll take you.”

She slipped her paw through my arm as if nothing were amiss, and led me through the faceless tide — straight to the dean’s door. She knocked gently, bowed to me, and vanished. I blinked, turned back to the door. It stood ajar.

I pushed it open wider.

“Hello, Shawn. Come in, sit down,” came the reply from within.

I exhaled. At least one familiar morph.

“Good afternoon, professor Ashley,” I stammered, nerves pulling my gaze to him. A mountain of questions piled inside me, alongside a single desperate wish. But it seemed the dean had questions of his own.

“I’m pleasantly surprised by your performance during the night sessions,” he said suddenly, smiling. “You’ve devoted a lot of time to them, haven’t you?”

The sheer mundanity of the question knocked me sideways. Faceless students, a magical panda, cosmic power — and he was asking about my coursework? Some part of me, maybe the sanest part, realized I really was just delirious from lack of sleep, and his question was perfectly reasonable. Shaking off the hallucinations, I nodded, still trembling, trying to sound convincing.

“I… yes, I have,” I muttered, then added, “I’ve been watching the sky since I was a kid… I found my grandfather’s telescope… I was eight.”

He nodded, satisfied.

“I can see the spark in your eyes has dimmed since you first arrived here. What do you make of that, Shawn?”

I flinched inside. Tell him the truth? That I’m seeing things, hearing things? Fastest ticket out of here.

“You’re r-right,” I said, forcing the smallest, weakest voice I could. “I hardly sleep, I’m haunted by visions. I black out in lectures. And when I’m awake — I see hallucinations.”

Ashley lit up.

“All geniuses rave! Yes — you’re exactly what we need, Shawn. Hallucinations, visions — that’s power! That’s passion, that’s the engine of progress! How do you think the greatest minds of history found their genius? Exactly this way!”

He leaned closer, voice brimming with pride and self-satisfaction.

“All those classmates of yours? Just camouflage. Everyone thinks this is just a fine university. But here — we make geniuses. Like you.”

His eyes glistened with mania. My stomach turned.

He paused only to gulp from a ceramic jug of something I hadn’t noticed before, giving me a moment to catch my breath — and confirm that this nightmare was no dream.

“The admissions board was right about you. We saw a passion in you beyond your control, and with it — a power beyond measure.” He burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained. “You’ll be our weapon. Our brightest scientist. Loyal. Dedicated. You’ll work for us.”

Horror shot through me. My tongue stuck in my throat. With wide eyes full of shock, disbelief, and fear, I stared at this raving lunatic — trapped in his psychological prison, praying to be released.

Chapter 24

At last, I managed to find my voice.

“I want to leave,” I said.

The professor stared at me for a few seconds — then burst into a devilish laugh.

“Oh no, my dear. You’re not going anywhere. You will serve us.”

He rose from his chair and advanced toward me. My fur bristled; my fangs bared, claws flashing instinctively. Fighting a bull of his size was madness, so I backed away toward the door.

At last, the alarm siren in my head screamed, and I dropped to all fours, lunging for the exit. The lock held fast, but every instinct screamed the same thing: Run. And so I ran.

The wooden door loomed inches from my snout. I clenched my eyes shut. Somewhere deep inside, a pang of dread whispered that this was just another trick of the mind — that I’d smash myself to pieces.

My whole life flashed before me:

A childhood of quiet solitude, full of wonder and dreams.

The start of adulthood, when, still searching for myself, I began searching for others.

That evening in the park, when I met Woff. He’d walked up with that curious expression and asked what I was doing. I’d blushed the instant I saw him — stunning, snow-white wolf, with the kindest, warmest smile. We’d started talking; I told him about the stars, about astronomy. We spent half the night trading turns at the telescope. I showed him nebulae, constellations, all I knew. The night was cold, and we sat pressed against each other for warmth. We both fell headlong in love that night.

A few more seconds passed. No impact.

I opened my eyes. I was sprawled on the floor, right in the middle of the corridor. Around me, faceless students clustered, whispering in confusion. Then the panda darted in, grabbed me under the arms, and dragged me toward the stairs.

As she pulled me along, I caught one last glimpse: the door was still locked tight. The faceless crowd dispersed.

…

Soon we were in the garden. She sat me on the same bench as before, crouched in front of me, and fixed me with a deadly serious stare.

“You can only leave if you’re faceless. So take this.”

She handed me a gray robe.

“One expression — one slip of your face — and they’ll find you. Keep a stone mask before the guards, and maybe you’ll pass.” She glanced around tensely, then pressed something into my paw.

A misty-black amulet, galaxies swirling within.

I froze, staring. My eyes blurred with tears — and suddenly, everything snapped into focus. The laughter in the corridors, the murmur of students, the brush of wind, the smell of food — everything washed over me as if brand new, a tide flooding my lost soul. I looked around in bewilderment, helpless, drinking in the delicious air and picking out familiar voices.

“In this amulet lies a part of you. It will let you wield your cosmic power — hold it, contain it. In darkness, it will light your path. In need, it will guide you. In danger, it will feed your hope. The cosmos is loneliness. And loneliness — your strength.”

“Your power will help you. Trust yourself. Listen to your instincts.”

She rose, whispered one last time:

“Good luck.”

The wind caught her robe as she drew up her hood, and then she melted into the crowd. Into the tide of faceless students.

Chapter 25

I walked along the cobblestone path leading toward the gates. Rain battered the fabric, the wind howled with menace, and the slick stones seemed eager to trip me. Jagged roots along the slopes of the road looked like skeletons. The ominous path curved around hills and scattered ruins before finally revealing the massive gates — the very ones I had once passed through myself.

On the other side stood a small group of eager morphs and humans with large backpacks and suitcases, their faces glowing with excitement and inspiration. Nothing could be heard through the thunder and wind — but it seemed there was nothing to hear anyway. The guards let them through in silence, parting with a welcoming gesture.

Fresh students rushed past me, squinting in the blazing sunlight, laughing, shouting, oblivious to everything. I took several deep breaths, wrung all emotion from my body, and approached the gates.

I stopped a few paces away. At last, the fog relented enough for me to glimpse the gatekeepers: towering three-meter figures in iron-black armor, gleaming with a cast-iron sheen. Through the curtain of rain it took me a moment to realize — there was no one inside the armor. They were empty.

With a fearsome metallic groan, both figures turned toward me and crossed their halberds.

I relaxed, closed my eyes, and let go of everything. I felt cold tendrils creep across my body, felt the rain redouble until it grew difficult to stand. At last, I slipped free of my body — watching first from the side, then from above, and higher still. The rain was gone. The sinister fog dissolved. Around me stretched stars and galaxies. I heard Woffy’s distant murmur, the voices of my friends, and the song of the night sky.

I remembered my childhood — a quiet, solitary joy — when I would sneak out into the fields at night, sit in the grass, and gaze for hours through my telescope. No one around. Just me and the cosmos, conversing like old friends, laughing and trading stories. He was so much like me. In his voice, in his movement, I always saw my own reflection. His energy answered with calm and wonder.

I continued to watch the grim trial below from above. My body stood motionless while the iron giants tested me, tried to break me. It was as if they sensed something was wrong, that they were being deceived, that any second now the fox would falter and reveal his soul — but it never happened. Drenched in the night rain, the fox remained faceless. The robe betrayed me, soaking through with rain and wind, thrashing helplessly, as if it longed to tear free and fly away.

I lifted my gaze skyward again. Stars must be lonely, I thought. And yet, when you watch their carefree glitter, you realize — they’ve learned to delight in their fate. To drift in the endless void, to be themselves, truly themselves, untouchable. No one pulls your tail, no one clouds your mind. Just you, and no one else. No judgment. No ridicule. Stars are the sovereigns of self-awareness.

Suddenly, a path beneath my paws began to shine through. Cosmic dust wove itself into a narrow trail across the void, stretching swiftly into the distance. Lush green grass unfurled over it, wildflowers bloomed, and the air filled with the scent of hay and leaves.

Carefully, I set my paw on the soft earth. Without a glance back at my body, I followed the will of instinct.

Chapter 26

From Woff’s perspective:

I lay sprawled on the couch, paws stretched out, drifting in dreary daydreams. Something stirred inside me, a tingling warmth whenever I thought of my fox — my dearest, most precious treasure. In my mind I wrapped him in my arms and whispered softly into his ear.

But melancholy pressed in. The world before my eyes was nothing but grayness and gloom. Out of habit, I reached for my phone — the merciful portal to distraction and numbness. But the internet connection had vanished, and when it didn’t return, I rose reluctantly and shuffled to the window.

The garage awning groaned under the pounding of wind and rain, feeding my sorrow. A few daring cars cut through the thick flood of water outside, their headlights slicing through the storm.

And then — something strange. A prickling sensation, a restless itch. I turned.

In the middle of the room, a black doorway was forming, its edges drifting lazily in space, shimmering with shifting hues. The door creaked open, and from within came a rush of warmth and the aroma of fresh bread. For a heartbeat the room was bathed in deep sapphire light. I squinted against it, my heart pounding in my chest — then the glow softened, and I froze in wonder.

At the edge of an endless path — grassy, wildflowers blooming, butterflies dancing — stretching out through the cosmic expanse between stars and planets, stood Shawn. His fiery-orange fur rippled in a gentle breeze, his tail swayed playfully, and across his face spread a radiant smile. In one paw he held a bag of food, in the other a massive telescope — brand new, spotless, as if freshly assembled.

He dropped everything and leapt into my arms, sobbing, clinging to me with all his strength. I buried my nose in his fur, unable to believe this was real. Shawn pulled back, his blazing crimson eyes locking with mine, his smile alive with joy — and kissed me.

The world around us burst into a blazing sphere of light, its heat almost tangible. We melted into each other, drinking in every sensation, every heartbeat, unable, unwilling to accept that this was real. Our tails wound themselves into one, our paws tangled endlessly in each other’s fur, and in an instant every fear and burden was gone.

Music played in my head — the melody of beating hearts, the rhythm of breath shared between two.

We kissed, embraced, searched each other’s eyes again and again, neither of us willing to stop. The hopeless waiting was finally over, and neither I nor Shawnny would ever let our love slip from our paws again.

The night passed just like that — no words, no distractions. Only truth. Only love.

Chapter 27

From Woff’s perspective:

Max and Shawn were tangled up in a tickle fight on the couch, which creaked cheerfully in rhythm with the tiger’s meows and the fox’s laughter.

In the corner, before her easel, stood Feelya — dressed, “for diversity,” in a form-fitting dress — capturing the scene on canvas. Every so often she bent over, doubled up with laughter, wiping tears from her eyes.

The coffee table was piled high with meat, bread, fish, fruit, and all kinds of delights. Not long after his return, Shawnny had gone back to the restaurant, where he was welcomed with honors and tears, and soon he had risen to the position of sous chef.

From the kitchen drifted the reluctant scent of hot ginger tea, while the whole apartment was laced with threads of fragrance: from the almond candles burning on the table to the oil paints with which fox and tiger came alive beneath Feelya’s paw.

In the corner, the typewriter poured out a stream of words into the room, pausing only now and then, as though to catch its breath. My fingers danced across the keys as lightly as if I were playing a refined melody on a piano. Line by line, page by page, another story of mine was born — one in which I wrote about our life.

I called it “By the will of instinct”.