On November the ninth, Amber walks home from work. It is dark out, because she had to stay late after a customer threw a tantrum while making a return with a badly forged receipt. The customer had thrown things around, causing over two hundred dollars in damages. He had said that she was a dumb bitch who should have never left the kitchen, and demanded to speak to a man. He had said that she was refusing to serve him because he was an herbivore, throwing in several specist slurs in the process. He had threatened to kill her.

Prosecuting him would be relatively simple, since there were several witnesses and security cameras watching the whole time. But only relatively, and the police had needed her to stay and give a statement before she could go home. Her manager had apologized in his usual perfunctory way, and said that she could take the next day off because of what happened. He had then left, without waiting for the police to finish. After they were done, she had to take another hour to close the store on her own.

Now, well past dark, the wolf walks home. She walks to and from work every day, and while she says that this is because she enjoys the exercise, the truth is that she can afford neither car nor bus, and her bicycle had been stolen three weeks prior.

And so Amber walks, exiting through the employee entrance of the grocery store. She walks through the parking lot and out the back entrance that not many of the customers knew about. She keeps walking, crossing through the parking lot of a nearby office building and then continuing down the side street until she reaches its intersection with the main thoroughfare in her small slice of the city. There she continues to walk, limping on feet that had been aching since halfway through her shift. It is raining, a fine, cold drizzle that neither her work uniform nor her fur are entirely enough to keep from being uncomfortable. Half a mile into the walk she has to go under an overpass; a passing car drives through the puddle that had accumulated there with a spray of cold, dirty water that soaks Amber to the skin.

After walking along the main street for one point two seven miles (she'd checked, in a fit of bitterness when she wanted to know exactly how much she was suffering), she turns down another side street. She has to cross the street to do so, and even though she was in the crosswalk and had the right of way, three separate cars honk at her as though she were personally responsible for their brief wait.

On this side street she walks for another zero point one eight miles, over the course of which the neighborhood she passed through became steadily worse. Amber walks past loan stores that are still open for those too desperate to wait, auto part shops for those wealthy enough to own a vehicle but not so much as to be able to afford someone else to fix its constant problems, and shady restaurants that won't close until the sun is peeking up over the horizon. And she walks past apartment complexes, blocky buildings meant more for functionality than anything, the meager efforts at decoration only serving to underline the raw, utilitarian designs they adorned.

She turns at one of these buildings, set aside from the rest only by the garish "Under New Management" banner out front. She walks up to the back door–she had learned that going in the front door was to invite notice from her neighbors, notice which never seemed to end well. Amber unlocks the back door with one of the keys on her keyring, and lets herself in. The door is weighted to swing closed on its own, but she instead shuts it herself, carefully and silently.

Amber's legs are aching by this point, her feet feeling as though they would have preferred it if her ancestors had remained feral rather than adjust to walking on two legs. She would consider the elevator, but Amber is claustrophobic and cannot tolerate being trapped in such an enclosed space. So she takes the stairs, up two flights and hating every step of them.

At the top of the stairs she takes just a few steps and finds herself at the door of her apartment–number three oh three, a number which used to amuse her but which she has since ceased to care about in the least. It is a surprise to her when she does; Amber has by this point settled into a sort of fugue state, focusing only on the next step. She blinks, confused, and then fumbles for her keys. A smaller key opens this lock, and she goes inside.

Another person, walking into their apartment, might have another set of priorities. They might relax and yawn, or take off the uncomfortable clothing they have to wear to work. They might be greeted by a loving spouse, or friendly roommate, or even just a pet.
Amber steps into her dark, empty apartment and closes the door. And then she just crumples to the floor, leaning back against the door. Her body shakes as she sobs, letting out all the stress and tension and pain and fear and hate she has bottled up all day long. But she is silent, even as her body is rocked by increasingly intense sobs and tears stream down her face. She has learned that being caught crying only invites further suffering.
Afterwards she locks the door, and locks the door again, and slides the door chain home, and still does not feel safe. But all the same, she stands up and proceeds about her business. She turns on the lights, and waters the houseplants that are her only company, and closes the blinds. She makes dinner, and for the first time since leaving the store she smiles. Amber has always enjoyed cooking. The process of it has a simplicity, a certainty, that she loves.

Halfway through eating the rare steak she remembers the customer screaming at her that carnivores are murderers, and she goes to the bathroom and is quietly, violently sick.


On November the tenth Amber stays at home all day. She spends most of her day catching up on sleep or else on the computer trying to forget what happened the previous day. Around noon she eats a piece of bread and tries to pretend that it fills the void she can feel in her stomach.


On November the eighteenth Amber has to come into work on her day off to cover for one of her coworkers who called in sick. She wakes up late and is still muzzy from sleep when she gets to the store, and as a result she stumbles and knocks over a display while trying to restock it. She can hear the customers around her laughing and making snide comments, and if some of them are good natured, enough aren't to hurt.

Later that day she sees pictures her coworker posted on Facebook about her lovely day at the theme park.


On November the twentieth Amber catches a cold and spends much of the day sneezing and coughing.  One of her coworkers, another wolf, makes a snide comment about how she sounds like a dog, and Amber knows that shouldn't hurt but that doesn't help the sting she feels. Then a customer complains after she sneezes in the produce department, and her manager apologizes to her for having to send her home.


On November the twenty-third Amber goes into work to cover for another worker's shift again, but this time it's planned and she gets holiday pay for working Thanksgiving. She thinks she's supposed to feel something about having to work Thanksgiving but she has no idea what it is, under the circumstances.

Her shift is long and arduous, filled with screaming customers complaining about their turkeys not being ready or the store being out of stock for their last-minute purchases. She has to run back and forth across the store, explaining the same things to irate customers over and over. A part of her wonders how hard it can possibly be to read a calendar, while another has come to accept that there is always someone who didn't bother.

Afterwards, once she is home, she feels nostalgic and considers calling someone to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. Then she remembers that no one would answer.


On November the twenty-eighth Amber forgets to water her plants, which she has never done before.


On November the twenty-ninth Amber celebrates her birthday. She eats a rare cooked steak (successfully, this time) and a slice of chocolate peanut butter cake. She knows that she shouldn't eat it–like most canines in the modern world, she's acutely aware of the existence of theobromine poisoning, and knows that she should avoid chocolate because of it. But this cake is a recipe specifically measured to provide something of the taste of chocolate while limiting the theobromine levels to something relatively safe.

Amber wants chocolate enough to take the mild risk which is still associated with it–measurements of that sort are a delicate business, after all, and it's always possible for something to go wrong. Amber wants it enough to suffer through the side effects of even low exposure for canines, which are hardly pleasant. It's her guilty pleasure and her bad habit, something like how another species might view alcohol.

Afterward she thinks about calling someone again, and realizes that she not only cannot call her family, she no longer wants to. She goes to sleep with a smile, which fades soon enough from the nightmares.


On November the thirtieth Amber wakes up already fatigued. Her nightmares have left her sleep restless, as they tend to do, and deprived her of that refuge against the world. She wakes and goes about her routine haunted by the visions she saw in her sleep. On her way to work she cannot shake the feeling that the monsters from her dreams are hunting her; once she is there, she cannot help but hear the mocking voices from her memories that were played back in her sleep.

When she gets home she just barely has enough energy to lock herself in and water her plants. She reheats a cold piece of meat from the previous night's meal, and falls asleep in the middle of eating it.


On December the first, Amber has the day off, and she has finally found a place of comfort in her new home. She decides that she is tired of spending every night in her room behind locked doors, passing the time and trying to ignore how empty it is.

Amber has always been one to plan and research. For days she had been planning what to do, checking and double checking routes and times. But when the time comes to actually act on her thoughts, she finds herself anxious and uncertain. She doesn't know what to wear; she has never done this before, and anyway the only nice clothing she has is her work uniform and there is no way in hell she was wearing that. In the end she goes with a faded t-shirt and holey jeans, and hopes that she can make them look like some sort of statement.

She goes outside and catches the bus, handing the driver some carefully hoarded spare change. He accepts without comment and she goes to the back of the bus where she can lean into the corner. There are some people there already, and elsewhere in the bus. Amber tries to tune out the noise, with mild success. When she gets out it is a relief, right up until she remembered what she is here for.

She's anxious as she looks up at the sign, checking and double checking that yes, this is the right place. She licks her lips and nerves herself up to go to the door. When she does, she sees the small rainbow flag sticker in the window , and it provides a degree of comfort.

The interior is more pleasant than she had expected. It is bright enough to see, and the loudest noise is the whir of the ceiling fans. It's still fairly empty; Amber deliberately got here before the busy time of night. She goes to the bar and orders a drink, something that looks alcoholic but isn't. After a moment she orders a basket of wings as well. She pays in small bills and change, and takes her order to a small table in the corner.

The drink is mediocre but the wings are surprisingly good, richly spiced and cooked just enough. Amber had thought she would be too scared to eat, but she finds herself devouring the food ravenously instead.

She isn't entirely sure when the cat sits down. Perhaps she's too anxious and unfocused to really note it, because the next thing she knows the cat is talking, her voice rather high and very casual. The cat introduces herself as Maren and asks Amber's name; the wolf responds honestly before thinking about it, and then wonders if that was entirely a good idea.

Maren is a substantially better conversationalist than Amber, and does a good job of keeping their talk moving. The questions are the typical small talk–what do you do, when did you move here, what hobbies might or might not you have. Amber mostly answers the questions, trying to avoid those that lead to more delicate topics. She feels as though she is constantly having to talk around gaps and she is sure that she is doing a poor job of it, but if Maren notices, she doesn't let it show.

Finally, after a good twenty minutes of idle chatter, Amber works up the courage to ask a question of her own. She asks why Maren sat down to talk to her.

Maren shrugs and says that Amber looked lonely. Amber suspects that isn't the whole story but doesn't entirely know.

The wolf and cat sit there for a time without speaking, and then Maren asks another question. Something in her tone makes this one more serious than the small talk that preceded it. She asks why Amber came here.

The wolf is silent for a time, and then says that she doesn't know, and she really doesn't know.

The cat asks if she wants to find out. Amber thinks about it, and finds that she does. She stammers as she says so.

Maren smirks. She asks if Amber has ever done this before, her tone somehow encapsulating everything that has happened and everything that might happen into that question. Amber's ears and tone speak of profound embarrassment as she says she hasn't.

Maren touches the wolf on the hand, moving slowly so as to give her the chance to withdraw if she wants. When she doesn't, Maren smiles gently and says that it is okay.

Amber, feeling compelled by some quality of the silence, says that there are complicating factors for her. At Maren's inquisitive look, Amber looks away and says that she likes pain. This is true, but it isn't what she was talking about to begin with. She panicked after saying that, and now she hopes that the conversation will stall and Maren will forget.

Instead, the cat smiles. She says that pain is fun, and she can sympathize. She says that sometimes she stumbles over that with people too.

Amber panics as she realizes that what was supposed to scare the other woman off instead just left her more interested. She looks away, and stumbles over her words, as she says that that isn't all. The silence stretches out for a long time before the wolf says that she's not entirely what she seems.

Maren ends up having to almost drag the words out of her; Amber has never had this conversation before, doesn't yet know how. Amber says that she is not entirely a woman. She says that she was born male, but she has come to increasingly know that she was never supposed to be a boy, and can no longer make herself pretend otherwise. She says that she is transgender, her voice shaking in fear as she does, and her relief is immense when Maren does not seem to need that word explained to her.

Maren listens, encouraging and asking questions as needed. When Amber is done, the cat waits for a few moments, and then she reaches out to pat Amber's hand again. She says that it does not matter. She says that the wolf is a woman in every way that matters, and that's what matters to her. She hesitates and then says that Amber must be female, because Maren is not attracted to males and she is attracted to Amber.

The wolf freezes at this, stunned. The cat laughs at her expression, and asks if Amber wants her to prove it. The question is said in a facetious tone, something that can be dismissed as a joke if it goes over poorly. But it doesn't go over poorly, and after a few moments of tense silence Amber very hesitantly nods.

Maren is the one to freeze now, not having expected that. She says that Amber doesn't have to and Amber says that she wants to. Maren very hesitantly says that she lives nearby, and Amber just as delicately asks whether she can come to visit. Maren insists on paying for the latest round of wings, and the two leave together.

Maren's apartment is not a particularly fancy one. It is not so much larger than Amber's, with little furniture beyond a simple futon. Amber panics a bit as she realizes that there's only one lock on the door, but she tries not to let it show, and it seems to be mostly successful. If Maren sees the anxiety, she doesn't attribute it correctly.

The two begin slowly. Maren kisses Amber, her muzzle pressed up against the wolf's narrower one. At first Amber is hesitant, but then Maren reaches around and sinks her claws slightly into Amber's neck. At the slight burst of pain Amber melts into the kiss, almost desperate. Maren laughs a little into Amber's mouth and sinks the claws in further, loving how the wolf seems to go liquid at the feeling. Amber pulls off long enough to ask if she may touch, and Maren laughs and takes the wolf's hand, placing it onto her breast. Amber shivers at the touch, and raises her hand to the other woman's shoulder.

Amber loses track of what happens from there. She knows that it ends with both of them naked on the futon, and while Amber was profoundly anxious about that, Maren doesn't seem to react at all to the sight of a body which is distinctly not feminine in some key ways. Amber is covered in small bites and claw marks, none of them showing through her fur. The pain and pleasure and the shocked excitement that this is actually happening have Amber feeling almost dazed.

Maren asks if Amber wants to keep going, and the wolf nods fervently. The cat smiles and drags a claw over her own slit, shivering. She kisses the wolf again, and as she does so she takes the wolf's hand in hers and pulls it down. Amber runs her claw over the folds of the cat's pussy and then very carefully pushes one finger inside. Maren moans and pushes her hips forward, grinding against the wolf's hand, and telling her that she is wanted in a way that Amber cannot disbelieve.

Time slides forward without quite being noticed. Amber is lost in waves of pleasure and pain, the two blending together and creating a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Whether because she isn't interested or because she knows it would go over poorly, Maren does not try for penetration, and Amber is quietly relieved. Their touch is instead all hands and mouths and heated skin, the feverish press of bodies.

Afterwards, the two talk briefly before Amber falls asleep in the middle of the conversation.


On December the second, Amber is fired from her job.