Serval and Sheep (Chapter 39)
Hafsa and Solomon decide to search for the mysterious figure that was following them.
Hafsa and Solomon stand immobile in front of the male herbivore's dorm. Desmond and Brian had long since turned in for the night, no doubt asleep in their respective rooms. Only the two felines remain, pinned in place by the knowledge that someone had been observing them while they ate dinner on the lawn. Thanks to the highly tuned ears of a feline, they alone had picked up on the faint breaths and ruffling of clothes that lurked behind the inky black foliage.
Hafsa is the first to break the silence, her face creased with worry. "Do you think it was the same animal from Lupercalia?"
"Possibly. But not necessarily."
"Should we alert the teachers?"
Solomon shakes his head. "It's best if we avoid a panic, that would only give them more chance to slip by unnoticed."
"Right," The serval turns towards the southern path. "We should probably look for them ourselves. They could still be around."
"Correction," Solomon grabs her wrist and tugs on it, swerving her to meet his stony gaze. "I will. I'll take you to your dorm and investigate on my own."
Hafsa's brows remain furrowed but she manages a smile. "Always the gentleman. But there's no way I'm heading off to bed while you have all the fun."
The caracal's grave expression is not swayed. "This isn't a joke, Hafsa. This animal could be a predator, and a very dangerous one at that. I can't put you in such peril."
Now it's Hafsa's turn to frown. "I think you're forgetting that I'm the student council president. It's my responsibility to protect this academy's best interests. If what we heard is an intruder, or worse, a student, then this is entirely my business."
"Oh?"
Solomon's tone freezes over so suddenly that Hafsa nearly gets whiplash from just one word. She had seen snippets of his more ominous side but this is the first time his virulence is directed at her.
"So if I understand you, precisely," He continues, his voice dripping with venom. "You are physically capable of confronting a potential murderer. If so, then by all means, accompany me. Tell me, is a female such as yourself is also capable of bloodshed when necessary, Ms. President?"
Hafsa says nothing to this. Utterly stunned. She is left reeling not only by the incredible and abrupt wickedness in his words but also from the checkmate he has forced her in. To defend herself now would basically be an admission of all of her worst traits. Yes, she is strong. Yes, she is a brute. Yes, she is a carnivore. Perhaps these are things she could admit to Desmond. But not to him. And he knows it.
Tears of frustration well in her eyes as she tries to stomp out the voice in her head that's telling her to claw his face out. Her clenched jaw makes no attempt to retaliate. Instead, she gives him one final look before sprinting off down the eastern path as fast as her powerful legs can carry her. She can barely hear Solomon's cries of protest as the wind whizzes through her ears.
How dare he...! How dare he! Oough, I just wanna bite his head off! Using such a dirty tactic, too! The nerve! I should've yelled at him, I should've let him have it! How dare he!!
In a matter of seconds, she reaches the female carnivore's dorm. The serval spits on the ground, more a symbol of her contempt than her fatigue. She glowers dully at the starlit building but makes no actual move to enter it. The night breeze brings her a memory; something Desmond once told her.
I wanna see you for the carnivore you really are.
Hafsa's hands clench into tight clawed fists until her knuckles turn white.
You're gonna see tonight.
The plan is simple. Investigate the campus without running into Solomon.
Simple in theory, tricker in practice. To start, Solomon's senses are as sharp as hers. If she steps on one leaf or pebble when he's close, it's game over. Even breathing too sharply will give her away. Then there's the matter of... the actual threat. Anything skulking around on the lawn in the middle of the night probably doesn't have the best intentions. She can only pray that, given their relative stealth, the perp is something smaller than a grizzly bear. Something she could take on if forced to defend herself.
She decides to search the northern areas of campus: behind the dorms and around the Emzara and Noah buildings. Solomon is likely snooping around in the lower areas where they had been, and avoiding him is key. She dare not traverse the deepest parts of campus, where the gym and gardens are, for they are far too secluded and covered by the shadow of pine trees. It's unlikely the stalker would hike all the way up there to skulk around.
As Hafsa slinks through the night, peeking over corners and tip-toeing over grass and pavement, she loses whatever sense of fear, apprehension or anger she once had. Though her rational brain condemned her for it, she feels alive. Happy. Like a galloping horse or a soaring bird. Is this what it feels like to be in one's element? Her body completes every motion as if she's been doing this all her life. That should scare her, disgust her even, but now, all she can feel is a strange sense of pride. Or maybe gratitude?
For once in her life, she's grateful she's a carnivore. Not Hafsa, not a serval, but a carnivore. Her body is built for sneaking and pouncing. Her heightened senses, her muscles, her agility... they thank her for being put to use outside of back handsprings and splits. She holds the key to unlock her inner serval, and for once, she will willingly let it out of its cage.
Something behind her.
All rational thoughts are wiped from mind in an instant, and she silently leaps behind a nearby shrub lining the western wall of the Noah building. Solomon? The stalker? She can't see past the thick foliage. She rips off her nasal strip, hoping to catch a whiff of the mystery animal.
Her mouth floods with saliva. Delicious. The scent of a herbivore. The scent of prey.
The scent of sheep.
The serval's eyes go wide. Sheep? Desmond? ...No. This isn't his scent. It's a little stronger, a little more pungent and savory. So this stalker isn't a carnivore at all?
Footsteps pass by. They tell a long story; anxious to get where they're going yet reluctant, as if they're waiting to be stopped. Hafsa doesn't breathe until this strange tale is no longer audible. Quietly, she inches closer to the edge of the wall and peers into the distance, where the footprints went. Whoever it was, they're gone.
Hafsa politely asks her brain to take over so she can ponder over what just happened. This sheep-scented stranger... are they even the stalker that had been watching the student council, much less the Lupercalia kidnapper? Who else would be sneaking around this late at night? It seemed to have come from the northern area of the academy grounds and was heading towards the south. Returning to the dorms? Or fleeing the school altogether? But wait, if the stalker was hiding in the southern lawn, why would they suddenly be up north and heading down again?
What the hell is going on here?
A wave of exhaustion suddenly collides with Hafsa. Now that the adrenaline of hunting has worn off, she's crashing hard. Not even the most intriguing mystery in the world can keep her eyes open right now. She decides to conclude the mission.
She staggers back to her dorm, unable to process anything more. Slipping her key into the lock, she creeps into her room but stumbles on a few rogue items scattered across the floor (her carnivorous stealth has abandoned her, it seems). Thankfully, Molly is the type of person who can't be woken up by a category three hurricane, so she remains undetected.
The serval pounces onto the top bunk, collapsing immediately. Face washing and teeth brushing will have to wait till tomorrow. Yes, there will be a lot to do tomorrow.
As the lunch bell rings, signaling the class to pack up and head to the cafeteria, Hafsa huddles up with a handful of female students. Giggling and gossiping, they amble out the classroom door. However, they are met with a certain caracal who patiently waits by the exit.
"Hello, ladies," He greets cooly, straightening up at the sight of them. "Do you mind if I borrow the president for a moment? It won't take long."
The gaggle erupts in delighted chittering, and spit Hafsa up from its bowels. Before she can say anything, they take off. Leaving the two cats alone yet again.
Solomon starts, his voice uncharacteristically small. "Can you hear me out?"
Hafsa's pupils remain harmlessly round and wide (they are in public after all), but the look of annoyance on her face is enough to convey she does not want to talk. But then again, she's not walking off. With a pouty "humf", she snaps her head to the side, almost like a queen giving permission for her retainer to speak.
"I would like to apologize for the way that I acted yesterday night," He lowers his ears. "I know my words were harsh, but I felt like I needed to discourage you from looking for... it, at any cost."
He takes a step towards her. "I only did that because... Hafsa, I care about you, and the thought of you being put in harms way was too much to bear."
A reddened Hafsa opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted before words can come out. "But!" The caracal continues. "I spoke callously to you. Purposefully, at that. And harm to your feelings is also unacceptable. So... please forgive me."
The serval says nothing, only gazing up at his pleading face for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, a sigh escapes her lips, and her expression crumbles into an amused, soft smile. That's enough for him.
"Did you find anything?" She asks.
"Nothing. They must have run off and not come back. Perhaps we scared them away from the area."
Hafsa hides a disgustingly smug smirk behind her hand, proud that she was more successful in her search. "I guess there's not much we can do about it now. Maybe we can arrange for another school assembly to encourage students to not leave their dorms at night."
"As long as we don't make it too alarming, that sounds like a fine idea." Solomon puts a hand on her shoulder. "For now, shall we head to the cafeteria? Your friends should be waiting."
"Actually, there's something I need to do."
Desmond admires the overhead leaves that glisten with sunlight as he gnaws on an apple slice. Sometimes, he needs to escape from the ruckus of rams for a little peace and quiet (and food). This quaint, almost always abandoned patio is the perfect spot to do so. He sinks a bit deeper into the bench, breathing a sigh of relaxation.
The sigh is forced into a choked gasp when two strong hands grab his horns.
"Oh sorry!" Hafsa swiftly makes her way around the bench so they can see face-to-face. "Did I scare you?"
Desmond hacks a chunk of apple out from his throat, shooting it onto his lap.
"Guess." He croaks.
"I guess yes!"
"You guess right."
"Sorry again." She chuckles, sitting down next to him (causing him to retreat all the way to the nearest edge of the bench). "It's a nice day, isn't it?"
Desmond raises a brow. "You want something, don't you?"
"Wha-Wh-I-Well--" Hafsa sputters in mock bewilderment, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. "I resent that accusation!"
"Resent it all you want, I know that bratty tone of yours when you want to trick someone into doing you a favor." Desmond asserts while biting into another apple slice. He shows the plastic bag of slices to her and shakes it around mirthlessly. "Want one?"
"No thanks." She replies flatly. "And you're getting a bit too good at reading my mood."
Desmond once again chokes on his apple slice. "N-no I'm n--ack--not!"
"Hmm..." The serval hums through a wide, toothy grin. "Well, I do have a favor to ask of you. But I think you'll enjoy it too."
"Hurry up and say it before something else tries to kill me."
"How would the ram fighting team like their own personal cheerleader for the day?"
The remaining lumps of apple plop from Desmond's tongue.
"...Huh?"