As Good As Rest
AUTHOR'S NOTE - This is the series finale of "Arctic."
The sky was a blanket of slate-grey. No azure-blue today. It looked like snow.
Her ears waggled, bare and exposed to the icy-cold 'I can see my breath' air. And he watched her, with quiet attraction. Was there anything more beautiful than a snow rabbit femme in her natural habitat? Alabaster doubted it.
"I have missed this," was Olivia's reverent whisper. She closed her eyes, almost pausing, almost stopping. Her breath, her exhale, leaving through her muzzle, came out as a visible fog. Which wafted delicately away, into the cold. Her eyes reopened, fully, and she looked over to her husband. "You are staring."
"You are beautiful," was the simple, explanatory counter.
A melt-worthy eye-smile, and a head-tilt. She wasn't quite sure what to say. Other than, "Thank you." The whisper showed, like all her breaths, as vapor. The air a calm and icy twenty-one degrees. They were walking in a park, in Downtown Sleet-mute, on the snow rabbit home-world. The snow rabbit militia was to be throwing a 'ball,' a dance, tonight. And the crew of Arctic was invited.
Alabaster eye-smiled back at her, taking a deep, cleansing breath. The chill was delightful. "Indeed, I ... have missed this," he whispered, "as well." He looked around. Sleet-mute was the capital of Rekantha province, one of the smallest provinces. And Aria's home province. The Captain was still on the ship. She would be coming down later. "There is nothing so invigorating as snow under foot-paw ... and the cold nipping at your whiskers."
Olivia, pausing now, nodded toward an empty park-bench. And they slowly padded toward it, off the beaten-path, surrounded, now, by a cluster of snow-dusted evergreens. Snow from last night. The snow rabbits' bare foot-paws left paw-prints in the fresh snow. No one had walked to this bench today.
Alabaster brushed the dusty snow off the bench's surface, clearing spaces for them to sit. They both wore jackets. Warm clothing. But no ear-coverings, no hats, no gloves. No shoes. They were built for this. They could survive in this.
Seated, Olivia sighed through her nose, a gentle, soft sound, leaving a vapor trail. Her whiskers gave a twitch. And, eyes still closed, she whispered, "All the comforts and mechanics and artificial environments ... of buildings," she said, "and of ships ... they do not lend to moments like how nature lends to moments." Her icy-blue eyes opened, darting slightly. "If we are ever to have children, I would like for them to be raised in such an environment ... and not aboard a ship." She turned to look at Alabaster.
"A sound judgment," he agreed. "But a ways off ... " They were both fertile, easily able to reproduce. Snow rabbit femmes, as befit the increased virility of their species, had a heat every three weeks. But she and Alabaster had been very careful. They didn't want children yet. They had settled upon waiting until their thirties.
"A ways off, true, but ... one thinks of such things." Her voice was soft. Calm. Level. And, she locked gazes with him. "One's mind wanders, occasionally. One dreams."
"One does," he whispered, in agreement. And he took a deep, cleansing breath. "I doubt we could live without them. Dreams. They are a fuel for our hope."
An eye-smile. "Indeed," she whispered, eyes darting a bit. She turned her head. Her ears waggled a bit, hearing some birdsongs. The trees were full of finches and chickadees and juncos. And hearing, also, city-noises. Sleet-mute wasn't a big city, despite being the capital of the province. Only eighty-three thousand snow rabbits. But there were no metropolises on the snow rabbit home-world. Their cities were modest, sparse, spread-out things, often in the middle of big, snowy plains, between mountain ranges, along the banks of icy, snaking rivers. "I grew up in the country ... in the empty tundra." They were, now, in their present location, on the fringes of the taiga, which was characterized by being wetter, and having a lot more trees. The permafrost of the tundra began to give way to deeper soil. "There is a solitude, a peace," she whispered, "in open, rural spaces ... where you can see and hear and think things that, elsewhere, would be impossible."
"I know the feeling," Alabaster confessed. He'd grown up in a taiga, but not in a city.
"As designed as we are," Olivia whispered, eyes quiet, barely moving, "for the cold ... I wonder, at times, how cold would too cold be?" She looked, again, to her husband. "Is there such a thing?"
"As too cold?"
A quiet, little nod.
"Well, we must have warmth. Our blood is warm. Our bodies are warm. We cannot send our warmth on its way ... or we have no essence. But I do not think God will ever allow us to grow too cold. Our hearts are opened to His movement. And He moves in warm ways."
"That is true ... " She took a soft, soft breath. Held it. And let it go. "Alabaster," she whispered.
"Yes?" He scooted closer to her, sitting with her, side-by-side, on the bench.
"I believe," she said slowly, looking for the words, her eyes darting. "I believe," she repeated, "we have a come a long way." She met his eyes, from up close. And swallowed. "I remember, a year ago, we were both in the breeding party, spending our nights with random snow rabbits ... I remember how I did not know what love could to a soul. What devotion could spring. I ... I do not know," was the barely-audible whisper, "where I would be without you." A pause. And she looked away, to their foot-paw-prints in the snow. "The imprints you have left on my life have been ... " She trailed, trying to think of an appropriate adjective. But her words faltered. And she looked back to him, simply leaning forward, leaning closer. Simply putting her nose on his furry, white cheek. "I do love you," was her declaration.
He closed his eyes, swallowing, and tilted his head. Tilted his muzzle. To meet her lips. To let their lips brush and touch, settling there, where he could give her the softest of kisses. And where their lips could part just an inch, so he could reply, "As do I ... love you, as well." And their noses moved, coming together this time. Nose-nuzzling in a delicate, warm way. "The ghosts of my past have almost faded, now," he assured. "I live, now, and I breathe, and I lay down ... with a constant reverie."
Olivia's eyes, closed, opened very slightly. And she whispered, her whiskers brushing against his own, "May our reveries never die."
"May they never ... die," Alabaster whispered, in return, and his muzzle, again, went to a tilt. And, again, another simmering, wintry kiss. She was his love. His family, too, now. His mother and sister having been killed by the Arctic foxes. His father having passed away. The breeding party his mother and father had belonged to, they were still around, of course. But they weren't family. Olivia was his closeness and comfort. And his friends aboard Arctic. How close to them he'd grown. How they had all learned from each other, and changed each other in such beneficial ways.
How he'd come to the faith.
How he'd found love.
How he'd gotten over his hatred of the Arctic foxes.
How he'd finally gotten past his losses.
How he'd healed.
How he was kissing his wife again, with the grateful affection inherent in the redeemed. She was indeed, beautiful. The heat her body gave off, it was alluring, addicting. Oh, it was true, yes, that there could be no outer cold without an inner heat. The heat, the cold, a tug-of-war, a push-and-pull. You needed one to have the other. And the cold, in this case, was their home. Was all that was crystalline and pristine and iced-over, everything frozen about their world, its geography, and the emotions of their very minds. And the heat? The heat was the fire of their want, the flames of their affections. Their love.
It was possible for the frozen-over to love.
They had proved it. Were proving it, now.
And Alabaster thanked her with his kisses. With his lip-pressing, tongue-touching, muzzle-tilting presses. His paws on her jacketed sides. His nose flaring, whiskers brushing hers, as their heated exhales drifted into the air, up and over them. The snow, now, beginning to fall, in very soft, puffy flakes, drifting like feathery things, upon them, the bench, the ground, the trees.
Oh, snow, fall down.
Her tongue slipped between their lips, tapping, touching his own.
His upper lip raised, helping him to suck, suckle, suckle on her own lips, gently, getting the full, moist heat and taste of her muzzle. His own eyes shut, as hers were, their ears getting hotter, waggling from their increased temperatures and heart-rates.
Snow, come down, come down. Upon the ice-built, sun-hearted lovers making out on this park bench. Oh, snow, come down.
Oh, heaven above.
The puffy, delicate snow-flakes clung to their whiskers, melting, flicked off with twitches, and they finally broke the kissing, panting, panting, swallowing. Olivia reaching for the water-bottle she'd brought in her carrying pack. And taking a gulp, passing it to him.
And as Alabaster drank, he watched her. With eyes filled with a love for which there was no refute. And he gave the water-bottle back to her, asking, in a logical, controlled whisper, "I think, perhaps, we would benefit from more kissing."
"I think you are right," was the whispered response, full of contained mirth and pleasure, kept in check by her freeze.
But their was nothing frozen about their meeting lips. About their licking tongues and opening maws. And the little smack-smack sounds, and the sucking, and the pressing, and the arms going around each other, and the clinging, and the holding, and the little mew-sounds coming from her throat, and then coming from his, as well, and ...
... a high-pitched, pleasured squeak. Sustained, repeated. For several seconds. Mixing in with the mews and rabbit-barks given from her. Behind the shower curtains, in the jets of warm water streaming from the shower-head.
A minute or so of panting, clutching, leaning into each other.
And a heavy, shaky breath from the meadow mouse as he pulled out of her. The shakiness coming from the extreme-sensitivity.
The snow rabbit sighed, arms around his back, pulling him up against her, and the sound of suckling. Gentle suckling. Her paws gently on the back of his head. And little mews of pleasure from her, as his tongue and lips drew milk from her lactating breasts.
The water still running over them.
And a few minutes more.
And she reached back and turned the water off, while he pulled open the shower curtains, and both of them, fur matted, soaking wet, dripping water everywhere, stepped out onto the water-mat.
"I ... I think," Aria said, still catching her breath a bit, "I am still wobbling at the knees." She leaned against the sink, swallowing, sighing as Ross wrapped a towel around her, beginning to rub the towel over her bare, snowy-white body, drying her fur.
"Me, too," was the reply, and he smiled shyly, biting his lip. His eyes darted, as he fought a giggle-squeak. "Making love while standing is ... hard work," he said, eyes going to hers.
Her eyes glowed a bit, in that snow rabbit way. She nodded in playful acknowledgment. "Hard work," she agreed. "But it does pay great dividends."
A giggle-squeak! Eyes sparking. "Mm-hmm ... " A mousey grin. "Though I gotta say I prefer lying down. Standing up is, uh ... a bit more ... it's great for every now and then, but it's not the most relaxing, everyday ... way ... of making love." He trailed, swallowing.
"Agreed. But it was most enjoyable ... "
"Yeah," was the hazy-minded agreement. Pat-pat-pat. He patted her with the towel, drying her, pulling her away from the sink a bit, drying her backside, her rump, and her tail. He stopped at her tail, putting his paw in the fluffy fur there, running his fingers through it.
She closed her eyes, slumping over slightly. Breathing lightly.
And his paws went to her rump, where he massaged her cheeks for a moment. Paws going down, to the backs of her thighs, and then pausing. And then up, up, and to her back, up her spine. Until he was standing, spooned up behind her, massaging her shoulders for a moment. Before his arms wrapped around her from behind, in a great, big hug, his nose on the side of her neck, and his eyes closed. Whispering, "Oh ... thank you."
"For the ... "
" ... everything. Not just the ... sex," he whispered, flushing, ears rosy-pink. "The love," he whispered. "Everything. I ... for being there. The confidence you give me. The strength. I ... really, I ... " He wasn't sure what he was trying to say. Only that, "I love you, and ... I think we've really soared," he whispered, "since we came to this ship. And ... our baby," he whispered, hugging her tightly. "Everything. Thank you for everything."
Her eyes closed, and she snugged back against him. "You are most welcome," she whispered gently. "Though I owe you just as much ... as much gratitude. I believe," she said, sighing, "that I would not have gotten so far in life without you. I thank God that ... we were brought together," she whispered. Such unlikely circumstances. How they'd met. How they'd grown, advanced, flourished. And it wasn't over yet. Oh, years, hopefully, to go. Oh, a lifetime to go.
A small, squeaky sound, and he turned her body around, so that they were muzzle-to-muzzle, eyes meeting. Both of them still damp. Ross wetter than she was, having not been toweled.
She leaned in for the gentle, gentle kiss.
And he took it, quietly, submissively. His big, dishy ears swiveling, and his whiskers twitching in their excited way. His nose sniff-sniffing at her. Her scent masked, a bit, by the shower they'd just taken. But well enough in his memory, and well enough in his nose. He could not forget. And could not deny, either, that their love abounded. And he breathed that aloud, once the kiss had broken. Said that, "Our love ... I feel it ... our love," he managed, "it abounds. It feels that way to me."
"I cannot argue that," was her quiet, damp reply, her eyes smiling gently. "My darling," she breathed, and she trailed. And grabbed a towel, and said, "I must dry you, now. We must get ready," she said.
"Will there be music at this party?" Ross asked, as he turned around, letting her dry him.
"Classical music. Instrumental."
"I just ... I've never been to a snow rabbit BALL. I don't know what to expect."
"Expect chatter and eating and ... conversing. Ninety-five percent of the furs in the room will have freezes," she admitted, "but that does not mean the party will be frozen." Her eyes were shining with mirth. "I expect we will all have a good time." She grabbed at his tail. And gave a playful, little yank.
Squeak!
Yank.
Squeak!
Yank.
"You're ... you do that cause you like to hear me squeak," the mouse finally said.
"I do. It is a most soft and pleasant ... little sound," she whispered, coiling his silky-pink, ropy tail in her paws. And giving it a tiny, little yank.
Squeak! And a giggling, and a chitter, and, "Well ... you know all my spots," he whispered, turning his head a bit. "I'm totally at your mercy."
"I do believe," she insisted, "you are intimately familiar with my 'spots' as well ... if you wish to make me mew, I believe you would have no trouble."
"You were mewing just a few minutes ago," he whispered, muzzle melting with a big smile.
"As you were squeaking."
"Well, I guess we're ... evenly matched in being able to ... work the other. I guess it's a draw."
"A draw," she agreed, nodding lightly. And she let go of his tail. "Turn around?"
He did so, swallowing, clearing his throat, still naked, still a bit damp. As she patted his chest and front with the towel. "Uh ... what are you gonna wear?"
"A dress."
A giggle-squeak. "Well, I KNOW that ... which one? What color?"
"I had thought," she said, "the navy-blue one ... the one that slightly sparkles in the light. Straps for the shoulders. It flows rather loosely."
"That's the one I like," the mouse whispered.
"I know." Her eyes smiled. "It is comfortable. And formal enough. And I like it as well, so ... " A trail. "And what are you, pray tell, going to where?"
"Well, I guess ... my dress uniform. The fancy-occasion uniform. Either that or a ... suit. I don't wanna wear a suit."
"You look handsome in the dress uniform." Aria gently dropped the towel, and ran her paws across her husband's earthy-brown chest-fur. Her eyes scanned his chest. And a paw stopped over his heart. And she felt the beat. Thump-a-thump. Thump-a-thump. She swallowed. And closed her eyes for a moment. "You are so lively. Your innocence, and your optimism ... your faith," she added. And her eyes opened. And she met his gaze. "I'm not able to melt. But ... you have thawed me, at least ... to a less frigid state. For that I am grateful." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, swallowing as she pulled back. And she gave a soft sigh.
He leaned forward, cupping her bare, hanging, supple breasts, which were like snowy-white mounds. "Well, I'm not a scared, confused ... curled-up thing anymore ... you built me up."
"I wanted to," was all she said, honestly, whispering. "I ... I think," she said, as the mouse gently played with her breasts, "that we are not done yet. I think we can make each other into even more." A pause. "I ... wish to have another baby. Not now, of course, but ... eventually. Maybe we can even live on the planet," she said, referring to her home-world, which they were in orbit of (docked at space station S-7). "We can have our own house in the rural areas. The temperate pine forests of the lower taiga ... "
A smile, and his arms going around her back. "I would love that ... "
"Despite the cold?"
"I could ... get used to it," he whispered, smiling softly, kissing her cheek. "Don't worry about that."
"I am not worried. I am simply postulating about our future."
"Well, you're the Captain, now ... you got this ship. This crew. Me. Sterling. I can't imagine leaving Arctic, or our friends, or ... "
" ... not yet, no. I agree. I will not let her go," Aria whispered, of her ship. "But, at the same time, I do not wish to spend my whole life in space. I do not believe any-fur wishes to be outside their natural habitat ... for that long. Before we get old, I would like to lay roots."
A nod, eyes closed, nuzzling her neck. "Yeah ... so, in about, uh ... we'll be forty in, like, seventeen, eighteen years ... "
An eye-smile. "Yes."
"So, by the time we're forty, we'll lay those roots ... I think that sounds like a good age ... "
"Indeed," she whispered. "When we are forty ... "
"How many kids," he whispered, "do you think we'll have by the time we're forty? Four? Five?"
An eye-smile. "That sounds overwhelming."
"Snow rabbits have large broods, don't they?"
"Yes. But ... I think three," she said, "would be a nice number."
"Three ... " A sigh, and a smile. "Mm. Three ... that would be nice." He sighed. "Three ... "
"But I am not getting pregnant," she assured, "anytime soon. I am still bearing the evidences of the last one," she said, referring to her seven-pound weight-gain, and the stretch-marks beneath the fur, and her breasts, and et cetera.
"You look lovely."
"I think we shouldn't have another baby ... until Sterling grows a bit. I think having two infants would be overwhelming. We are still very young," she reminded, "even if we ... sometimes forget that fact."
"You're right," Ross agreed, knowingly. "Mm ... " He nosed her neck. Just standing with her, there in the bathroom, their fur nearly dry, now. "Do you think they'll eventually make you an admiral?"
"Eventually. But you are not allowed to be an admiral until the age of thirty-five ... I have twelve, thirteen years ... before I am eligible. I intend to be captaining Arctic during that entire span," she vowed.
A big smile from him. And a hug. "Good ... " A breath. "Well ... " His whiskers twitched in thought. "If they DO make you an admiral when you're thirty-five, you'd be stationed here, right? On the snow rabbit home-world?"
"Either aboard a station or on the surface, yes."
"Well ... if they promote you to admiral, you could get stationed on the surface, and then we could get our house, and ... raise our children."
"By that time, Sterling will be a teenager."
"Yeah ... " A whisker-twitch. "Not looking forward to that ... "
An eye-smile. "I would not worry. And, anyway, we cannot predict how our future will go ... I could not have predicted meeting you, falling in love with you. Marrying you, having a child. I could not have predicted surviving the war with the Arctic foxes. Or that we would be signing a peace treaty with them ... or that we would all still be here after our fight with the wasps." A pause. And a breath. "The future could very well bring more wars ... the Furry Federation ... the humans ... the wasps are certain to come back," she whispered. "And the tension between my species and the Arctic foxes is still very high. It ... we just do not know," she whispered, almost helplessly.
"Doesn't mean we can't make plans," Ross whispered back at her, very gently.
"No, but ... perhaps, right now, we should be enjoying the moment. Savoring the current peace. Perhaps we should not get so carried away with where we will be ... because, right now," she whispered to him, looking into his eyes, "I am very content with where I am."
"Me, too," was the soft, soft whisper, paws around her. "Oh ... " He sighed, closing his eyes. Full of hope and joy.
They, bare and dry, now, held to each other. Until the snow rabbit whispered, "We should get dressed. We do not want to be late for the ball."
Ross smiled, pulling back, nodding. And they left the bathroom, going to the bedroom, where they dressed and talked. About their lives. About love. About God. About everything.
The Arctic fox hesitated, looking out through the frigid, evening air. It had stopped snowing. The ball was being held on the city's perimeter, in a big reception hall. She stared at the distant mountains, the backs of which were lit by the fading, setting sun. The peaks crowning with pale, burnt oranges and simmering, sizzling pinks, contrasting with the deep, deep hues of blue that went up toward the sky's zenith, where the stars began to shine. And where the two moons were visible as slim, shivering crescents.
"Volga?"
She blinked, clearing her throat. And looked over to Anchorage. Her new husband. "Yes?" was her simple response.
"You are distracted."
"Yes," she repeated, more softly, this time. So as almost not to be heard.
"Do you ... do you not wish," the snow rabbit said, ears waggling with concern, "to accompany me? Are you embarrassed?"
"Why should I be embarrassed?" she whispered. "No, I ... I am not embarrassed," she assured. And she reached out for one of his paws. And held it. And gave it a squeeze. "I am simply self-conscious."
"Because you will be the only Arctic fox in the room," was the statement.
A quiet nod. "They will look at me."
"Well ... I will be there," was Anchorage's reply. "No harm will come of you."
"I am a predator. I do not fear harm," she insisted, putting toughness into her voice. "I do not ... I am simply not used to the feeling," she admitted, the toughness starting to slip, "of being at a disadvantage when I enter a room. I am used to OWNING the places I enter. Having the power. I am used to having the upper paw. To having the sharper edge. I ... I'm not used to being ... " She trailed, just shaking her head. And she let out a breath. "I guess I am nervous," she whispered in admittance. Had she ever before admitted such a thing? Nervousness? Wasn't that a weakness?
"I feel nervousness," Anchorage said, stepping closer to her. They were outside the reception hall. And they could see in the lower-level windows. See all the warm, golden light coming out. Hear the elegant music. Even smell the food and the scents of all the furs. "I feel it often," he continued. "I feel many things. I ... cannot express them," he said, tilting his head. "They are frozen deep inside of me, but ... they are still there."
She looked to him.
"I am meaning to say," the snow rabbit whispered, "that you are not alone in your feelings. I can relate," he said, "to them."
"I have never felt love."
"Nor have I."
She swallowed. "I wish us to feel it ... I believe we have something. I know it is the nature of furs to pair off quickly, but I ... my marriage to you," she said, "is not one of convenience. I ... do wish this to work." A breath. "I have given up a lot," she whispered, "for this."
"It will work," was the assurance. An optimistic eye-smile. "We have much in common. Where we are, currently, in our ... personal growths. What we are aiming for. What we want. I see no reason for concern."
"I am the enemy," was the plain whisper.
"As am I," was the returned whisper.
She tilted her head, squinting a bit. "True. You ... were my enemy. Your species," she corrected. "But I am talking about here. This planet. On the ship. I'm ... I am the enemy. Not you. In the eyes of others," she explained.
"The other crew-furs have accepted you. They do not dislike you."
"But they fear me."
"That is instinct. That is ... instinct," he said, "and that is not emotion. They are not the same thing." A pause. "And the fear will fade ... over time."
"But how can I be emotionally liked ... and instinctually feared," she pressed, "at the same time? I wish to fit in. I do not ... I have ... " She blew out a breath. It emerged as vapor. But she didn't feel the cold. She was an Arctic fox. Like the snow rabbits, she was built for such cold, icy conditions.
"Volga ... "
She looked to him.
"You belong." An eye-smile. And his body pressing closer to hers, in a hug.
She closed her eyes. Sighing out. "I have never met," she whispered, "a snow rabbit such as yourself. I ... one who would ... be this way," she whispered, "with me." A pause. And she said something that was very difficult for her to say. "Thank you."
"There is no need to thank me. You have treated me ... just as well. During the past two weeks."
She said nothing. Only nodded, looking back at the door. "I guess we should go in."
"That would be the next course of action, yes. We should go and find a table to sit at. Dinner will be served soon."
"They will look at me," Volga whispered again. Her ears cocked. She licked her teeth, opening and closing her clawed paws.
"As will I," was the response. "For you are most striking. You have a power and a force about you, and a strength of will. How any-fur's eyes could not be lured to look at you ... I do not know. I do not think they will be staring from distrust or suspicion. But of jealousy." An eye-smile. "Shall we go in?"
She breathed through her nose, eyes showing her mirth. And she gave a sharp, toothy grin, her brushy tail swishing the air behind her. "Lead the way," she said, gesturing ahead.
He took her paw. And did so.
There were regal decorations in the room. Lots of the snow rabbit brass, the higher-ups of the militia branch of the High Command, all in uniform and discussing events. Some of them tipsy. Some slow-dancing.
Ezri, watching it all from their big, round table, took a healthy sip of some snow rabbit alcohol, giggling. "Mm. You know," she said, licking her lips, looking back to her friends, "I think we should have a toast." Her bushy, nutty-brown tail flagged behind her, draping over the back of her chair.
"You're gonna be BE toasted," Bic added genially, "if you don't slow down with that ... we're gonna be here for another few hours, you know."
"Toast to what?" Jinx asked, chewing on some bread. A buttered wheat roll.
"Jinx, you're eating all the rolls," Wilco insisted. The flying squirrel grabbing the bread-basket away from the skunk. "How many rolls have you had?"
"Dunno," Ezri continued, answering Jinx. "Uh ... well, everything," Ezri decided, setting her glass down. And then picking it back up. "Come on," she said, urging her friends. "Toast, toast." Her whiskers twitched.
"Jinx," Wilco repeated.
"Two. Two rolls."
"Well, no more," was the insistence.
Arabella smiled and joked, "Wilco's very protective about his rolls."
A few giggle-squeaks and such.
Sheridan raised a paw, sitting comfortably on Arianna's lap. Her arms around his chest, hugging him protectively, lovingly. "But how can you have toast without a toaster?" the child asked. "These rolls are not toasted," he said logically, picking up a roll to prove his point.
Ezri giggle-chittered with amusement. "Mm ... he's SO cute!" she said, leaning back in her chair. "Ollie, he's SO cute ... "
"I'll second that," said Arabella, her mouse tail with the tufted end swaying to and fro. "Bet you were that cute when you were a little snow rabbit, Arianna."
Arianna raised her brow. Only saying, "Cuter."
Wilco giggle-squeaked, nibbling on a wheat roll.
"What about my toast," Ezri continued, tail flagging. "Mm? My toast ... "
"Doesn't anyone else think it's interesting," Ollie observed randomly, "that we have TWO furs at this table who can fly ... "
"I do not understand. Why does she want toast ... " Sheridan gave a bit of a frown, not understanding what Ezri was calling for. His little, slender ears waggled.
Arianna explained what a 'toast' was.
"Oh," the little snow rabbit went. "May I toast, too? Mother?" His neck craned back a bit, eyes darting up.
Arianna exchanged a glance with Ollie.
The white-furred mouse scrunched his muzzle, smiling. Whiskers twitching and nose incessantly sniffing. "Mm. ONE sip, okay? One sip ... "
"So, we're doing the toast?" Ezri asked, leaning forward again.
"I say Ollie does it," Barrow suggested. "He's the closest thing we've got to a preacher."
"What does that have to do with toasting?" the mouse asked, whiskers twitching. Sniff-sniff. His ears swivelled. In crowds, in huge groups of furs, like he was in now, his nose was at a constant go-go-go.
"Well ... if you can say a good prayer, you can say a good toast," the periwinkle-furred bat reasoned. "Come on ... "
"Yeah, Ollie. Say the toast," Ezri agreed, sloshing the pretty-blue liquid in her goblet-glass.
Ollie took a breath, nodding shyly, and cleared his throat. Picking up his own glass with his paw, and saying, "Well ... alright." A swallow. And he closed his eyes and bowed his head a bit, glass raised slightly. "Dear God, we thank You," he said, his voice quiet and reverent, "for our blessings. For each other. For love. And for family. We recognize that all that we have ... comes from You, oh, Creator. And we thank You for that. For your generosity and your power." A breath. "Thank you for bringing us together and using us ... to do Your will. And to help each other to ... to be more. And thank you, especially, for Your patience. Sometimes, we think we know better, but ... You know a hundred times better," he whispered, "than we know, ourselves, about the mysteries and intricacies of life, and how things ... all tie together. How things work. What we actually need ... rather than what we think we want. I know our prayers aren't always answered as quickly as we think they should be, or in the exact ways that ... we are so expectantly looking for," he added, "but You have a perfect way of using time to teach us, to age us, like wine, like all this ... drink here," he said, "to age us into something that'll flower.
"You work in nudges and behind the scenes. You work in the smallest of things, as well as in the largest of things." A breath. "Sometimes, we expect too much ... we look for Your answers fire-working in the skies. And while, sometimes, they are ... like in the grand beauties of nature ... too often, we miss all Your replies that are so painfully evident by our sides. Too often, we miss You in the details. So, please, help us not to miss You.
"Thank you for leading us, for forcing us to grow. Thank you for the fact that our growth is never easy ... if it were, we'd learn nothing. Over the past year, we've all changed. All for the better," the mouse added. "We all came from different directions ... to become husbands, wives, and parents. And children," the mouse added, smiling to himself. "We've been through war, through conflict, through ... personal problems. And we shall go through those things again ... we shall be tested again. And again. And I ask that You work in our hearts, and to help us treat each struggle ... as a joy. As a joy in that ... each struggle is a chance for more growth, more knowledge. For us to be more, and do more, and ... thank You for the current peace that we are enjoying. However long it lasts, thank you for this rest.
"But thank You, most of all, for our salvation. For the hope of eternal life ... in Your Son, our Redeemer, Jesus Christ. Who was perfect from birth. You became as one of us, Dear God ... and bore our burdens. We have been pardoned, bought for a price. Redeemed by your sacrifice. For we cannot save ourselves. We believe, oh, Lord. We believe, and we feel it, and we are joyous.
"Thank you," breathed the mouse, taking a deep breath, "for everything. Thank you for our lives. May the Holy Spirit flow through us, with our very breaths. Thank you. In Jesus' name we pray ... amen," he whispered, opening his eyes, shyly nodding. "Well ... uh ... I guess we drink." He took a sip from his glass.
The others nodded, doing the same.
Sheridan sipped some of the alcohol from Arianna's glass, smacking his lips. Until Arianna gently, eye-smiling, pulled the glass away. She took a sip or two, herself, saying to Ollie, "That was well said, darling."
"I wish I could say things like that," Ezri said, swallowing. Putting her glass down. "That was beautiful."
"Well, it's ... " The mouse's ears turned rosy-pink. " ... it just comes from the heart. Anyone can say a prayer."
"But you're so ... devoutly eloquent. My prayers are never that deep," Ezri said.
"Neither are mine," Wilco said.
"Well, it doesn't matter ... what your prayer sounds like," the mouse replied. "It's what you're intending to say, and ... whether or not you actually go to God and say it. Yes, He knows everything, and ... some furs use that as an excuse of, 'well, why does it matter if I pray, then ... if God already knows what I need and how I feel' ... but that's the point of prayer, really. The act of voluntarily GOING to Him ... talking to Him out of our free will. It shows that we need Him. It shows that we wish for a relationship with Him. It helps draw us closer to Him, by getting our thoughts and concerns expressed, verbally, off our chest ... to Him. The comfort of knowing that He hears it. It's ... a fancy prayer isn't listened to by God any more than a simple prayer is."
"Maybe," Bic said, the chipmunk's tail flagging a bit. "But I'm sure He appreciates some lovely poetry in a prayer ... now and then." A smile and a sip of her drink. And she gave Ollie a friendly nod.
Ezri nodded, too.
And Ollie said, smiling, now, "I guess He does, but ... style isn't the issue. It's delivery. I think prayer's very important," the mouse whispered.
"Well, a toast to prayer, then," Ezri said, brightly, raising her glass again.
"Does that mean I get another sip ... for another toast?" Sheridan asked Arianna, looking to her alcohol glass.
"It does not," the snow rabbit assured, eye-smiling brightly, shaking her head in mirth.
Ezri took a final gulp of her drink, setting her glass down again. "Well, I ... I do agree that ... prayer is important. There were times during the war with the wasps that I could never imagine us being here, right now, at a party like this ... all alive. All healthy. And some of us having children, even, now ... " A bright smile. A sigh. "I remember crying through many prayers. And ... we got through it. We are blessed," she said. Another sigh. And she looked to Jinx. "So, wanna dance?" she asked, suddenly.
A chuckle. "Can you stand?"
"Darling, I'm just tipsy ... not drunk," she insisted. "I can dance when tipsy ... " She pushed her chair back, and got to a stand, giggle-chittering. "Come on ... "
Jinx smiled, taking her paw, looking so handsome with his white-striped, black fur, so silky and luxurious. His tail the epitome of that.
"Where's, uh ... where's Aria?" Barrow asked, looking around.
"Talking with the admirals. I think Ross is with her ... and Anchorage and Volga are over at the dessert table, sipping punch," Bic said, looking around. And a pause. And a glance at Barrow. "Well ... "
" ... dance?" he finished for her, reading her mind.
A giggle-chitter, and a nod. "Yeah," she whispered. "Let's dance, too ... " So, she and Barrow left the table, leaving only Ollie, Arianna, and Sheridan (who was still sitting on Arianna's lap), as well as Wilco and Arabella.
But the flying squirrel scooted his chair back, saying, "I wanna dance, too."
"I guess it's contagious," Arabella said, of the sudden migration of the crew-furs to the dance floor, where the swaying and waltzing was going on. Where the music was playing.
"Well, romance always is," Wilco said, flashing a bright smile at his wife, and tugging her along, following the others.
"Well," Ollie whispered, once every-fur had gone, smiling to himself, and eying Arianna with obvious affection.
"Well?" She waggled her ears at him, in that way that, if you knew a snow rabbit well enough, you recognized as a playful gesture.
"Well, nothing left to do ... but to, uh ... " He scooted his chair closer to hers, tilting his muzzle, planting a full-on lip-kiss to her muzzle. His eyes closed. His nose flared, and his whiskers twitched, and he pulled back a few inches, sighing happily. "I ... just had to kiss you there," he explained. "Since everyone left."
"I noticed," Arianna whispered, pupils dilating a bit.
Sheridan, still sitting on his mother's lap, looked from Arianna to Ollie, piping in with, "But everyone hasn't left. I am still here," he pointed out logically.
"Well, what do you know," Ollie said gently. "I guess you are." He planted a tender kiss on Sheridan's cheek. "There you go," he said, giggle-squeaking, leaning back in his chair. And he sighed contentedly.
Ross, then, came to the table, carrying baby Sterling. The half-mouse, half-snow rabbit snugly in the mouse's arms. And Ross sat.
"How does the night find you?" Arianna asked, politely nodding. "You look well."
"I guess I'm, uh ... having fun. Kind of. A bit too crowded for my tastes." There must've been two hundred furs here. Ninety-five percent of them being snow rabbits, of course. "Sterling doesn't mind. Do you?" Ross cooed. "Mm?" He looked down at his child, smiling, and then looked up, saying, "Though the admirals all give me looks."
"Looks?" Ollie asked.
"Well ... Aria's one of the High Command's 'rising stars,' as it were, and she's ... not an old-school snow rabbit. She's not in a breeding party. She married a mouse, instead." A pause. "They give me looks."
"Well, the way our species is going," Arianna injected, "they will be looking a whole lot more ... so, let them. It should not bother you."
"Yeah," Ollie agreed. "Just look at Anchorage. He left the breeding parties, too. For an Arctic fox! That's drawing eyes, too." A pause. "I gotta say, that one surprised me ... "
"I know ... I don't care so much," Ross said, "that they look. I just get a bit self-conscious. I get all shy."
"Yeah, us mouses know how to do shy," Ollie agreed, sipping from his drink.
"But I do so like shy," said Aria, herself, returning from the chattering crowd. Her pretty, holy-white bobtail flickered like a flame. And she took the open seat next to Ross and Sterling. And eye-smiled, smoothing her dress. "And snow rabbits can be very," she assured, "protective." She looked directly at Ross. "If anyone looks at you with negative intent ... they will have to stare me down," she promised. "And snow rabbits never lose," she vowed, "staring contests."
"A certain truth, to be sure," Ross whispered, eying her. Voice remaining at a quiet tone, he said, "Have I ever told you ... that you're as good as rest to me, darling? Better, even," he said, "than rest?"
"Perhaps. But you may tell me again."
And he did, leaning in, giving her a light, loving kiss.
"I have observed," Sheridan piped in, ears waggling, breaking his tiny stretch of silence, "much more kissing tonight ... than I witness normally."
"Well, it's just that kind of night," Ollie said.
"How come?" A blink.
"Well ... " The white-furred mouse smiled, thinking about answering. But saying, "I'm gonna quit while I'm ahead and say ... it just is, Sheridan. It just is."
The others nodded in agreement.
It was, indeed, that kind of night. And may there be, Dear Lord, many, many more.
Amen.