oh, run run run {p, poppy. <3}

f e n n e l . . .

Fennel swatted at the flies above his head with his paw in a decidedly feline-like manner. When they refused to leave, he gave up and flopped back down on his eyes, closing his eyes in the hot, hazy sun. The canine's schedule for the day went something like this: Eat. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Eat. Sleep.

When he awoke again, he noticed a brownish thing around fifty meters away from him. Fennel was uncomfortable -- the new thing looked far too different from his own kind. There had to be something wrong with it.

Cat, he thought. Cat. But what is a cat? In any case, it had to have been newborn, but it was already quite adept in hunting. He watched the newcomer catch a mouse and rip the tail from its body.

"Hello!" Fennel barked in greeting. "You must be new here."

f e n n e l . . .

Fennel, the poor simpleton, didn't seem to notice the barely veiled annoyance in Nixen's voice. He sniffed the feline in an unassuming manner. He smelled of sweet pod nectar, a telltale sign of a newborn. His brownish pelt and red-violet eyes were a combination that Fennel had never seen before. Strange, he thought. No, not strange. Just ... different.

"I was new here too, yesterday. But I met some really nice friends who helped me learn. It looks like you're already hunting. Do you ... need any help with that? To tell you the truth, you're probably better than me. I can barely hunt."

f e n n e l . . .

The canine finally noticed that maybe not all was right in the world when it came to Nixen. Fennel could see that the feline was relaxing, becoming less uptight. But that had to mean that he had been uptight before. The thought disturbed him a little, but when the feline became friendly once again, he put it out of his mind.

Fennel smiled. "Thank you for the offer," he said, somewhat formally, "but I think I'll be okay for now." He laid back down and put his head on his paws before he realized that the conversation didn't have to end there.

"Unless ... you'd like to teach me to hunt? You don't have to, of course." He smiled politely at his new acquaintance.

f e n n e l . . .

Fennel stood up and waited awkwardly for Nixen's reply. He shifted his weight from side to side and scratched at one ear. When the feline finally opened his mouth to reply, he let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"So you'll do it? That's great!" Fennel wagged his tail eagerly and let his tongue flop out. He didn't know just how much he craved the acceptance of this cat who was younger than him and already better at life until this moment. "Trust me," he said, grinning, "hard work is my middle name. No, wait, chivalry is my middle name." He sat down next to the feline.

"In any case, I need to learn. It's so embarrassing to have to ask everyone for food all the time." He wagged his tail again.

f e n n e l . . .

Fennel thought for a moment. He tried his best to imagine the size and shape of a mouse (he had seen very little thus far) and his own hunger level. "I think," he said slowly, "that a mouse would not fill me up. Especially when you consider the energy that I would spend catching one. If I get enough to fill me up, I'll probably have spent so much energy that I'll need more.

"Mice aren't the best idea, then," he continued, "or they won't be, until I'm so good at hunting that I don't need to spend a lot of energy catching them. Maybe we should move on to bigger prey. What do you think about catching rabbits? They're bigger than mice, but they are quicker. Then there are the really big animals, the ones with hooves, but maybe those are too big for us, because sometimes they actually defend themselves by kicking."

Fennel, realizing that he was rambling, quickly shut his mouth and sat quietly. "What do you think?"

f e n n e l . . .

Think, Fennel, think, the canine commanded himself. "How do I hunt?" he repeated. "Well, I usually ... I usually don't hunt," he admitted, lowering his head. Fennel tucked his tail between his legs in an unusual display of shame. "I've always gotten others to get food for me.

"If it helps, though," he said, "I think I know what I'm doing wrong. When I try to hunt, I always get so worked up that I bark a lot, and really loudly, and I scare all the prey away. So if I stop doing that, I think I'll be a lot more successful."

Fennel looked at Nixen for affirmation. What an odd pair this was -- the older one looking to the younger one for guidance. Even so, the canine didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.