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Freedom was... muddy.

I remember staring down at my little stumpy legs, a thick streak of mud entangled in my bushy fur all the way from my shins, over my knees, and up to my thighs. Somehow, it had even gotten onto my cargos, the pockets smeared with little rivulets of dirt and grass. Under all the mess, I could see a little graze on my right leg.

I smiled. This, the dirt and the mud, the cuts and the wear and tear, is what I longed for. I smiled at how the thin bits of mud began to harden and crack with the bending of my leg as I walked. I smiled at how the fresh air gently ruffled my fur all along my back. I smiled at how I took my t-shirt off and skipped happily over fields, concrete, roads, and bridges. It was a feeling of genuine peace, like a nostalgia I had never experienced in the first place.

I followed the rural fields, heading closer to the bright city, where the flickers of lights from cars and warm, orange streaks along cladded buildings looked ethereal. The earth beneath my paws was still toasty from the hot sun, and each little step awarded a 'hiss' as I flattened grass and dug rocks into the ground. The crops tickled my sides as I stepped through the foliage, and the nettles stung my ankles as I hopped over bordering fences and gates.

Eventually, I got to a little railway line; the fork from the main one that served the city. I had ridden over these metal parallels many times before, but never on foot, never freely like this. I clambered over the picket fence, my hamstrings burning as I swung my leg up high to prevent getting a splinter. I looked down to the rugged cobble and the tracks glistened a gentle amber in the mix of heat, water, and the beautiful moon's embrace over the earth. I could feel them vibrating as I stepped over them, the little wave it sent through my body quite pleasant.

I stopped just before the second fence, staring over at the horizon. It was stunning. The sight of the city, the fresh air, the smell of a summer night, and the indescribable feeling of loneliness and surreal liberty were just too much--nothing could stop the tears from forming in my eyes, my vision blurring as they fogged over. I stared at the artist's night sky as I contemplated going further, right into the city, but I had never been this far alone. I was scared. I feared being caught.

Looking back at it now, maybe I should've been braver, strong enough to venture into the heart of the city. Perhaps it would have prevented everything that happened.

I turned around softly on my paws, a disgusting yearning feeling swelling in my chest. It stung, an awkward burning sensation that tightened against my lungs, and they screamed for air, only a strong huff of the air momentarily satisfying the itch that was dwelling inside of me.

The itch only got worse as I began heading home, but I decided to take a slightly different route in a feeble attempt to silence the howls of desperation from inside of me. I cut through a little kissing gate, and then I was met with a small country lane with a few quaint cottages on either side. They were all similar, a froufrou pleated awning over each porch, the frilly curtains in their lounges drawn. Most were dark, their residents clearly having gone to bed.

But one in particular, a standalone little brick thing at the end of the road, had an unusual flickering maroon-red light from the bedroom at the front. Silhouetted against the blinds were two tall canid ears, very fluffy, darting all over the place as if they were dancing. Intrigued, I took a step closer to the side gate and peered over into the garden. It was a small and precious sight, the grass all dead and withered, but a fine collection of roses and peonies and flannel bushes potted in ornamental clay holders, with little designs of pawprints and hearts sticking off of them along the other fence. That same red glow faintly illuminated the plants. At the back of the garden was an exposed swimming pool, the water a cacophonous mix of cold blue and warm purple where the UV light was shining into it.

Swim in it.

The urge came onto me quickly, like a hand pulling away from a hot flame. I don't know what prompted the idea, but it stuck. I couldn't get rid of it. It was like another voice, another person within me ordering me around.

I stared at the pool, and then back to the house. It would be totally illogical. I would be caught for certain, then arrested and killed or something. I told my brain to forget it, to move on. I had a pool at home, and I could use it all day long if I so wished.

But there was just something about the risk, the thrill that it would entail, that drew me in closer and closer. Totally illogical, but totally adrenaline worthy. Even the prospect sent excited tingles down my arms and my tail began to flick happily. I had already broken a rule and left after my curfew, so what was stopping me from breaking a few more?

The crunchy grass of the garden made a loud crinkle as my paws thudded onto it after I had clambered clumsily over the fence. I winced and looked at the light as if it was going to react somehow. But it didn't, and those fuzzy ears were nowhere to be seen, so I continued. Each step was loud, but maybe I was just overthinking things, you know, the whole trespassing thing. I slowly tippawed over to the pool and crouched down, looking back at my reflection.

"What a handsome fox," I whispered smugly as I brushed my hair over and tucked the tufts behind my ears. I always loved the way my fur glistened in a glittery way that made the ends of my cheeks look freckly. I loved the way my ears were a deep brown at the tips, and the streaks of dark fur continued down my neck and over my chest. My eyes were an unusual mix of blueish hazel and they seemed to disappear to the aqua tint of the pool, just leaving the dark voids that were my pupils to glare back up at me.

I took off my shoes and socks, leaving them neatly by the poolside. I was still shirtless, so I took it out of my pocket and put it next to them, and I was going to use it as a towel when I got out. I was ready. I was stupid. I was young.

Splash!

The water felt cool under my fur and it tingled with static as the water rushed in, fluffing it out. I felt the relaxing pressure on my ears and my paws, and I gently swam breaststroke along the bottom of the pool, the tiles and bumps massaging my tummy as I glided along it. The feeling of burning in my lungs was very much still there, but this time it was from the depravity of oxygen and it felt more normal. I continued swimming around in the water, tossing and turning and flipping and soaring widths until I could hold my breath no longer; then, I finally had to resurface.

My fur felt heavy like I was dragging around weights on all my limbs as the water softly trickled down my body. I shook my head as I gasped in the air, and giggled quietly to myself as the full realisation of what I was doing hit me. It made me feel tipsy and giddy in the head, and I felt so relieved that I had done it.

Well, until my eyes darted over to those wolf ears standing in the doorway. A black shadow of the canine was staring straight at me, cracks of red light beaming through the wispy outer parts of their fur, like sun rays through a cloud. My heart began to hammer in my chest and I could hardly catch my breath, stunned by this omnipotent wolf's presence. This is where I get caught. This is where I die!

"What the fuck? What the hell are you doing, fox?" sneered the voice as the figure took slow, menacing steps closer towards me. I thought to myself, if I ever met death himself, this is what he would look like.

I panicked. My stomach was in my throat as my mind raced. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins, and my body froze as it tried to decide whether to fight or flight, but I had a vehement feeling that regardless, I was fox meat.

"Hey, I said what are you doing? Don't make me call the cops!" said the wolf louder with a raspy masculine tone, his body so close to me I could start to make out the dark grey fur on it. He wasn't too tall, but he made up for it with his muscles. Bulging calves and thick thighs jostled slightly with each plod of his feet, and his abs revealed themselves as his shirt blew around in the wind. As he got nearer, I realised he couldn't be that much older than me. No, he still had that stubby frame underneath his muscly façade.

By now, the wolf was practically on top of me, glaring down at me with a strong hatred in his eyes. His breath was like mine: shaky, deep, but he had that tint of anger to it like he was a savage... wolf.

A moment of tension filled the air. He was looking into my eyes; I was looking into his. They were a terrifying grey, like a storm ready to murder, like the glint of a knife, like the static on a TV after it had been executed. Emotionless. Cold. Ruthless.

"Wait," he said, a slight frown forming over his muzzle as his horrendous gaze softened, "you're... Fritz Furfaro, right? What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be like, learning how to do cocaine?"

"I..." I muttered, but I was rendered speechless by his demeanour. The big bad wolf was a fairy tale no more. He was huffing and puffing and was about to eat me, the defenceless pig.

His fur smelt of sweet strawberries and mint, and for a moment it distracted me from him. His eyes, despite their inhuman gaze, were somehow now a deep, inviting bath of rock and power. His fur was evidently very soft and well kept from the way it flowed like the pool water in the air, his veins popping slightly as he clenched his fists, and his whole body seemed to radiate warmth like he was a walking teddy bear. His incongruency dazed me.

I must have been gawking at him for some time because he cleared his throat, snapping me out of my trance.

"I said, why are you here?" he repeated, sounding impatient.

"I just, I was on a walk, and I saw your ears in the window. I was curious, I peeked into your garden, and then I went for a swim," I said, so flustered I forgot to lie.

The wolf continued to stare at me, as if he were wishing me to drop dead on the spot and sighed a deep, angry breath out into the night air, a little fog coming from his jaw. "Just go."

I was not one to hesitate. He commanded such authority over me, he could easily be my father. As I haphazardly pushed myself out of the pool and onto the side, I found myself right next to his fluffy knee. Everything I had seen about him was more apparent here--the softness of his fur, the sweet aromas--it was an almost cathartic revelation.

"Sorry," I stammered out with anxiety as I gathered my things hastily and held them tightly to my soaking chest. I stepped over to the fence and chucked them over, looking at the wolf one last time before I climbed over myself. I hit the ground on my back, winding myself as I groggily got to my feet.

I ran home in my underwear, the temperature dropping as my fur dried, and when I slammed the front door shut, my father was waiting for me expectantly on the stairs.

"Fritzie," he said. Karl Furfaro was not one for pet names. He was livid. "My precious son. My sweet boy."

He stood up and took a step towards me, reminding me of how the wolf did. He towered in front of me, then crouched down onto his hunches. He rested a paw on my shoulder and squeezed tightly.

"In all my years, boy, I have dedicated myself to you. I give you this prosperous life, this powerful position, and the least you could do is go to bed when I ask you to. It's how it's always been," he began, his monotone, baritone voice wafting over me aimlessly.

He could have a gun to my head for all I cared, but I could not get that wolf out of my head.

No. I had to find him again.