Serval and Sheep (Chapter 18)
After a successful pep rally, Hafsa overhears some troubling news.
The crowd explodes into applause as the fireworks go off. Animals rise to their feet violently enough to rattle the worn bleachers, whooping and hollering, drunk on the energy that only exists in a pep rally. The whizzing roman candles and fountains spout brilliant sparks into the afternoon breeze while the smoke bombs, green and white to match the school's colors, envelop the athletes on the pitch. They stand frozen in their final poses, taking in the audience's uproar.
One serval breaks the stillness, bounding towards the bleachers to face the crowd. Fur slicked and dewy with sweat, she beams radiantly and claps along with the students, whose clamoring becomes even more frenzied.
"Let's gooo!" She roars. "If the Noah's Arc Olives are gonna destroy this season, let me hear you say 'yeah!'" The bubbling horde of animals respond with an ear-shattering 'yeah', with some 'Hafsa!'s being sprinkled in by overzealous fans.
The serval puts a hand up to her long ears. "I can't hear you!" The 'yeah' that follows leaves her ears ringing. Maybe next time she won't hear them for real. Curse her hyper-sensitive hearing.
Powering through the pain, she waves her arm, beckoning more chaos. "All right, Olives! Keep the noise going all season, I wanna feel that school spirit!"
She points to a cluster of burly animals behind her, who flex on cue. "Next Monday, our very own football team is going up against those Barnum High Apples! Olives, what do we do to apples?!"
"JUICE 'EM!" The crowd screeches gleefully.
"So I wanna see you all next Monday on this very pitch when we make apple smoothie!"
The cheers drift off into the warm afternoon.
The pep rally had gone off without a hitch. Call it master planning on the student council's part, enthusiasm on both the athletes' and spectators' part to kick off the sports season, or just school spirit, but it was flawless.
As for Hafsa, she is pooped. Cheering takes a lot of energy, and with the added strain of coordinating the rally, this kickoff has wrung her dry. She changes out of her cheerleading uniform, thanks the athletes, and wades through the scattered mass of animals hanging around the field, who are eager to congratulate her performance. As much as the praise fills her with joy, being peppy is exhausting. Right now, she'd like nothing more than to just crawl into her soft bed.
"Hafsa!" Solomon and Brian weave around the students and trot up to her. Well, that nap will have to wait.
Shrugging aside her exhaustion, she greets them with a warm smile. "Hi, guys! Did you enjoy the pep rally?"
Brian wastes no time and springs on Hafsa, enveloping her in a tight hug. "It was amazing!" Lord help her stay composed, lest she gobble him up right there.
Solomon puts a hand on the rock dove's shoulder, gently pulling him away. He frowns, shaking his head in reprimand. "Don't pounce on ladies like that."
"What? It's a thing we do!" Brian protests innocently.
"Well, things aside," Solomon turns to face Hafsa. "The rally went wonderfully. You should be proud."
Hafsa's tail swishes wildly from side to side. "I'm only proud of the teams and students! They have almost too much Olive pride!" She laughs modestly.
"By the way," Brian glances around. "Where's Desmond? I wanted to congratulate him too."
Hafsa imitates him, looking around the dwindling congregation. "Huh. He must have taken off."
"I guess not everyone has school spirit..." Solomon murmurs.
"Anyways!" The pigeon perks up. "Do you wanna get a celebration snack with us? To fuel our Olive pride?"
Hafsa mourns the lost nap she was so eager to take. "I'd love to! Go Olives!"
"Go Olives!" The two share a spirited high five, while Solomon looks on in amusement.
"Just let me grab a quick drink!" Hafsa chirps, pointing at the distant water fountain over by the wooden changing cabins.
"Take your time!" The two males send her off with a wave, and observe her figure become smaller and smaller with each stride of her long legs.
The water fountain is nestled behind the cabin, protected from the harsh sun by the shade of a nearby pine tree. The cool water is a perfectly refreshing treat after a long day of sports ball.
If Hafsa must stomach another hour or so of social interaction, she might as well have a little pick-me-up. After a few much-needed laps of the icy water, she fumbles through her bag to retrieve her saving grace: a carnie energy bar. Strawberry flavored, naturally.
Right as she prepares to tear open the cellophane wrapping, her ears pick up rustling from the other corner of the cabin. A straggler? All athletes should be changed and gone by now... Suddenly, a familiar voice speaks up.
"How bad is it?"
Desmond's voice. Marked with his usual severity, but something in his tone is off. He's distressed.
Without a second thought, Hafsa presses her back against the boarded wall, carefully so as not to make a sound. Leaving now would definitely catch his attention. But still... has she stooped to eavesdropping?
"Well, what do the doctors say?" The voice moves to and fro. He's clearly pacing around.
Wait... Doctors?
"They must have said something... Yeah, exactly. So it wasn't due to blood loss?"
Hafsa's whiskers twitch in unease. What on earth is she overhearing?
"I can be there in an hour... Of course I will, he's my brother. Don't be ridiculous, it's perfectly safe-- The bus is always full, there's no issue."
The voice on the other end buzzes loudly, clearly distraught. Desmond lets out a frustrated sigh. Hafsa can hear him stop pacing.
"Now is not the time to discuss this-- Mother, please. I understand you're concerned but-- yes, I've been watching the news but I can't just drop everything and move back in with--. Listen. Listen, I'm on my way now, we'll talk about this after I see Kane. Bye."
The still air stews in a tense silence, but Hafsa's head is fizzing with thoughts. Before she can begin deciphering that puzzling conversation, footsteps muffled by grass approach her. She needs to leave. Now. But how? She could leap up to the roof of the cabin (it really isn't high up) but that would inevitably make noise. Should she just pretend to have gotten there? At this rate, trying to eat him would be the least awkward interaction--
"Hafsa, I know you're there."
Ah. Busted.
She peers her head out of the corner. Desmond stares back, looking more weary than livid. One hand dangles limply, holding his smartphone, while the other absentmindedly cling to his lower left horn.
"Um," She starts, gaze fixed to the grassy floor in shame. "How did you know...?"
"Next time, don't let your ears poke out when you're eavesdropping on someone."
Urgh. To think her ears would be her downfall. She lowers them instinctively.
"Listen, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to overhear anything, I just came here to eat but you were already here and--"
"So sneaking around is your first reaction? Just like you to stalk your prey before pouncing, huh?" The sheep scowls.
"D-Desmond..."
The scowl gives away into a melancholic emptiness. "I'm sorry. It's just not a good time right now."
Hafsa would be surprised by Desmond's apology if he didn't look so beat up. "I-I know it's not my place, but I already overheard a little bit. Did something happen?"
"...My brother got mauled by some carnie. He's alive, but unconscious. They say it's not from blood loss. Knowing my brother, he likely passed out from shock, but he could have been drugged." He wrings his horn while he speaks.
"Desmond, I... I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry."
"It's probably not that bad, but my mother makes things... difficult." He winces at the fresh memory of their exchange, but quickly shakes it off. He gives her a look that almost comes across as reassuring and tucks his phone back into his pants pocket.
"It's good to have parents who care." Hafsa offers.
He smiles bitterly. "Not if you're a herbie."
Hafsa had heard the horror stories. Overbearing herbivore parents who lock their children indoors for fear of predation. Parents who put tracking devices in their children so they'll know if they ever wind up in the black market. Parents who kill their own children before any carnivores can get to them. But these stories had never been anything beyond just that: stories. Could Desmond's mother actually think like that?
"Let me ask you something," Desmond suddenly prompts. "Is my mother right to worry?"
"Wh-What do you--"
"Surely you've heard the news. There's been a rash in sheep dissapearances nowadays. You remember Lupercalia." He takes a step towards her, almost confrontational. "So tell me. Will I end up dead if I stay too close to carnivores?"
Huh? Hafsa is taken aback by such a direct question. She scrutinizes his face for any signs of jest, but she is met with only tired earnestness.
He's serious.
She racks her brain but can't think of anything say to that. And how could she? Any words of reassurance would surely sound insincere coming from a serval who nearly tried to eat him once. All that's left is her genuine opinion.
"If you choose to live freely, without trying to hide, then you're definitely choosing the more dangerous path." She begins hesitantly. "Herbivores and carnivores trying to coexist peacefully with each other is counterintuitive, and some people may call it impossible, ultimately. Maybe they're right."
She looks into the sheep's eyes. "But I think it's worth it. Animals get a lot more out of life together rather than apart. Coexistence is demanding, and it needs sacrifices, and compromises, and deceit, and sometimes even then it doesn't work. Sometimes animals just can't understand each other. But I think that difference is important. It makes us better. Wiser. Stronger.
"I can't imagine a world without herbivores. You inspire kindness, and elegance, and beauty. I want to become a better person knowing there are animals like you in this world. Someone who's not aggressive or brutish, who can help and be helped."
She smiles sheepishly, embarrassed by her sudden burst of honesty. "But of course, this all depends on whether you think you can get something out of carnivores. If you think you'd be better off with your own species, then I guess that's that. Like I'm one to talk, right? It probably just sounds like I'm trying to lure you into the stewpot..." The serval chuckles and fidgets with her whiskers. Was that... out of line?
Desmond only looks at her with a stoic expression, the same frustratingly indecipherable one he always seems to have when lost in thought.
"Pft."
He lets out a small wheeze. And then another. And another. Until finally, his whole face caves into a hearty chortle. One hand to his chest, which rises and falls with each guffaw, he practically bends backwards in mirth. Hafsa could not be any more flabbergasted. Before she can make preparations to enter him in a mental asylum, it hits her.
Desmond is ridiculously adorable.
She has never seen the sheep without at least some kind of sarcastic crease on his face. The most chipper he'd ever managed around her is a smug grin after some witty retort. Frankly, she had never even considered he could emote past that.
But look at him now. With a smile so jovial it would make a schoolboy blush, he looks positively angelic. The soft curve of his lips forming a smile, the way his muzzle crinkles with each choked breath, the way his nose seemingly pinkens from amusement, the small tear drops forming on the corners of his eyes. He looks like... a herbivore.
"You're really something else," he chuckles after calming down a bit, wiping the corner of his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."
Straightening himself out, he walks past her towards the large field. "I'm gonna head to the hospital now. I probably won't be back 'till tomorrow. See you."
As Hafsa watches the ram disappear in the afternoon air, just one question bounces around her brain:
...What?