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"You'll have to use this," Sandra said, holding out a long-handled axe.

Both Aaron and Sandra were standing face-to-face in the field outside, not more than a stone's-throw from the house. The mid-morning sun beat down with such brightness that Aaron's eyes were already hurting, and he was forced to bring up a hand to shade them. The air was still, while the only sound was the background noise of insects.

"To do what? You skipped that part," he said. Towering over the coyote, he reached and took the axe off into his hands. The handle was wooden, and almost four feet long, while the weight was concentrated in the broad-bladed iron hatchet-head at one head. He hefted it up to get a feel for the tool.

"We need to take out that stump," she said, gesturing to a spot behind him.

Aaron turned, and sure enough, there was a stump sticking out of the dirt. It was wide, and from the gnarled shape, looked like it had once been part of a double-trunked core of a tree. Around it, he could see tyre-tracks that suggested Sandra was usually forced to drive around it, which must be an inconvenience.

"You got a chainsaw?" Aaron said, turning back to her.

Her ears drooped, and she shook her head, causing her long hair to shake in unison.

"Nope, just that, but I got the truck. Once we've unseated it, we can try to drag it out."

Aaron stepped over to it, and saw old, worn gash-marks in the tree's roots.

"Looks like someone's tried this before," he said, but when he looked back to her, she was already making her way back into the house. Her dungarees clung tight to her large rear as she walked, above which was her tail, swishing from side-to-side. Aaron caught himself ogling before averting his eyes back to the stump.

"Paw tried," she called back. "I'll come back with some water." And with that, she passed into the house and out of sight.

Aaron sized up the stump, then hefted up the axe.

"Well," he muttered, "at least she didn't ask me to drag a plough."

He brandished the axe in his hands and made a couple of practice swings. Then, with a mighty heave, he flung the blade downwards, carrying it past his knees, up over his back, high in the air, and at the end of a full circle, brought it down to strike the existing marks in the wood.

It struck with a hollow thud, prompting Aaron to drag the blade away and repeat the process.

By his fifth strike, he felt himself sweating, and the axe was growing heavy in his arms. He mused that he had never considered "professional lumberjack" as a career. Still, he carried on until his short fur was slick with sweat; sweat that was soaking into the chest and straps of his dungarees.

"Hey, pace yourself," Sandra said.

Aaron gasped for breath as he watched her approach. She had come back carrying a towel and a large glass bottle of water.

"Thanks," he said, as he took the water and glugged on it.

"Steve called," she said, "says it's gonna be tomorrow now. That a problem?"

With the bottle plugging up his lips, he shook his head to reply that it was fine, but as he did so, she stepped in very close to him, and was looking at his shoulder.

"Fwah," he breathed, removing the bottle from his lips, "what is it?"

Without a word, her eyes dipped, and his heart skipped a beat as seemed to be staring at his crotch.

"Here," she said, grabbing a fastening around the belt of his dungarees. She then pulled it tight.

"W-whoa, wait a sec-"

Before he could back off, she reached up and tugged on the straps on his shoulders. They fell out across his upper arms, until the straps and chest of the dungarees hung at his waist, leaving him bare-chested; though the belt-fastening she had tightened kept his pants up.

"Without a shirt like that," she explained, "if you sweat with those straps on your shoulders, you'll get sores." She reached up with the towel, as if to dab at his broad shoulders, but stopped just before touching him. With an awkward backpedal, she stuck out her paw to offer him the towel.

He glanced down at and noticed how the blue material of the straps was darkened with sweat.

"Smart," he said. Instead of taking the towel, he reached forward to snatch the bottle off her and raising it above his head. He then upturned it, decanting some of the cool water straight onto this head. It ran through his hair, and what didn't drip off his long, equine snout continued down the rest of his body.

He threw his head back to shake off the excess, as Sandra placed the towel on the ground nearby.

"Aaah," he sighed. "Much better."

With that, he hefted up the axe once more, and went back to work, taking long swings and burying the blade in the worn roots of the tree.

"Not bad," she said, then started off back to the house. This time, Aaron did his best to remain focused on his work, feeling the muscles in his back tense and strain with each raise of the blade. Still, he couldn't resist just one more glance at her shapely rear.

Yet as he looked, he could've sworn that he saw the tail-end of a similar glance back at him by the coyote.

"Still got it," he muttered, and redoubled his efforts.

~~~

"Sandra?" Aaron called out.

Most of the day had passed, and after a lot of work, the stump had started to feel loose when he kicked it.

Sandra, evidently, had not heard him. He started back towards the house, and soon saw why; she was on the telephone in the kitchen. He was too far away to hear her words, but her ears were folded back, and her face bore a predatory snarl. She yelled something right into the mouthpiece, then smashed the phone back into its holder, and seemed to drop from view; he assumed she'd sat at the kitchen table.

He rounded the building and walked through the open front door, before making his way to the kitchen just in time to see her looking out through that same kitchen window, in the direction of the stump.

"Missing me?" he said, with a grin.

"You done?" she asked. She had an impatient tone, and Aaron could see that her bubbly attitude had been tempered by whatever the phone call had been about. Still, he thought it best to not ask questions.

"Yeah, it's unseated," he said.

"Great!" she barked, and reached into the front pocket of her dungarees. She pulled out her keys, and the two of them headed back out of the house. Aaron walked over to the stump, and in moments, heard the sound of ignition, followed by the put-put of a diesel engine. Then, the truck emerged from the other side of the house with her at the wheel, trundling along on wide, tractor-like tyres.

As it approached, Aaron saw that it was a pickup truck, though he was surprised it was even running, given the sheer number of sienna-coloured rust patches that pock-marked the powder-blue bodywork. Still, it grew closer, and Aaron caught sight of a cable winch, hanging off the front bumper, around which was a coil of what looked to be steel cable.

The whole vehicle shuddered to a stop, and the driver's door squealed as Sandra opened it and leapt out.

"You want to grab the end?" she asked. Aaron stepped up to the hood and grabbed the karabiner hanging off the winch. He gave it a yank, but only a few feet came out before the mechanism jammed.

"It's a bit stiff," she said, "you'll need to put your-"

"Fine," Aaron snorted. He turned, lifted the short length of cable until it was over his shoulder, and planted his hooves in the dirt. He exhaled, then gritted his teeth, before forcing his front hoof backward and crouching low. His back strained, his arm protested, and the sweat from earlier ran off his hair and snout, but bit-by-bit, he crept further from the truck, unspooling the cable.

He passed the stump, going far enough to make sure there would be some slack, and lowered the wire from his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw that Sandra had been watching him. Right away, she averted her gaze, and though it may have been a trick of the light, he could swear he saw a hint of another blush upon her cheeks.

"This enough?" he asked.

"Oh, that's fine," she giggled, then marched over to grasp the cable.

The pair of them wound it around as much of the stump as they could, around roots, knots, anything exposed. When they were done, it was trussed up ready to be dragged. As Sandra got back into the truck, Aaron relaxed, and with that, he started to feel that the exercise and heat were affecting him. He was hungry, his arms were tired, and his shoulders felt the heat of the sun.

"You wanna ride shotgun?" she said, leaning out the passenger-side window.

Aaron thought over the words, but still drew up a blank

"Do I want to what?" he asked.

"Never mind," she said, and fired up the engine.

Aaron backed away from the stump and closer to the truck, as he heard Sandra struggle to get it into gear. Once she had succeeded, she reversed until the cable was taut, then paused.

"Hold on," she shouted. The engine roared while the steel cable creaked from the strain.

Aaron watched as the tires spun in the dirt, searching for purchase, until they found it, and the whole truck pulled back an inch at a time. The stump moved, just a little at first, then a little more, until-

BANG!

The air was filled with a booming noise that forced its way into Aaron's ears, striking with an oh-so familiar pain. He blinked, and the world went black, then, when he opened his eyes, the warm yellow and blue of the sky were replaced by a cold, desert ivory. There was the sensation of sand and asphalt beneath his hooves, and the scent of cordite in the air. The wind whipped past his face, blasting any exposed skin, while the world was a chaos of snaps, bangs and crashes, and the rat-a-tat of distant rifle fire, with occasional shatter of glass. Fear sent a surge of adrenaline through his system that caused his legs to wobble.

He couldn't breathe. He clawed at his throat, while his chest felt as if someone was sitting on it. He searched for cover, spotting a dumpster nearby, and ran headlong for it, wheezing with every step, until he reached it, and almost collapsed against-

"Aaron?"

A soothing voice seemed to dispel the urban scene like light chasing away darkness. In moments, all of that fear washed away, and was replaced with a pang of shame and embarrassment.

"Aaron, are you okay?"

He blinked. He was back in Illinois, staring up at a very concerned-looking coyote, and he was sitting against the house, his back pressed up against the wall. Sandra knelt in front of him, and placed a paw on each of his shoulders.

"I'm fine," he said.

"No you're not," she replied. She lowered her muzzle to look into his eyes, and held that eye-contact for longer than he found comfortable. "I saw the way you looked when the engine backfired," she continued, "your pupils turned into dimes. That's a thousand-yard-stare if I ever saw one."

Aaron's shame boiled to anger at her concern.

"So you're a doctor, now?" he growled.

"Paw had it," she said. "One of my uncles, too. What does it? What sets you off?"

He rolled his eyes and slumped back against the house.

"Anything which sounds like gunshots," he said. "Look, I'm sorry-" he started, but he never finished the sentence.

Sandra thrust herself forward and flung her arms around his neck, then pressed his snout into her breasts in a motherly way, almost smothering him. She gripped him tight, then relaxed enough for him to breathe. The moment of anger dissipated just as quickly.

"You poor man," she said. "I'm so sorry, I would never... I mean, the truck backfires all the time!"

Aaron pulled away from her, only to see the look of genuine concern on her face, and lost his battle to maintain his decorum. A lump formed in his throat, that same lump from within the rain-swept field from last night.

"I, I..." he started, but trailed off, unable to think of anything else to say. Sandra embraced him once again, pulling his face straight into her cleavage, and placed one of her paws on the back of his head. Aaron felt the warmth of her body and softness of her fur against his own, along with being able to feel her heartbeat against his cheek.

The next thing he knew, tears streamed from his eyes; then, hidden from the rest of the world by her tender embrace, Aaron laid his soul bare, and wept.

Continued in part 5!