1989

Every month, Gazelle's father would take her to the park, where orphans often slept. Colambia was struggling with a weak government, crime syndicates, and military groups along with guerrilla fighters, all vying to claim as much territory and control as they could. The result? Millions of displaced mammals, a struggling economy, and countless instances of mammal rights abuses. The Revolutionary Armed Predators of Colambia bitterly fought the influence of the National Liberation Prey, each espousing that their beliefs about governance were superior to the beliefs of those who governed the country itself. At least, that was the message. In truth, those who fought often fell victim to battle, fighting for no reason other than to fight.

In Burronquilla, the plunging economy left many without work, and many mammals had to leave the city or turn to odd jobs. Gazelle was one of the lucky ones; her mother and father hadn't lost their jobs and could provide for her. Even so, the nine-year-old Gazelle couldn't bear to imagine the lives of the orphans she saw. She was a small girl, her horns still budding. Large, brown eyes peeked out from under her fringe of thick blonde hair. Thin and delicate, she was often seen dressed in her school uniform. When not, her parents did what they could to provide dresses and skirts in bright colors for her, ideal in the hot climate.

It was a Thursday. Despite the sun, and the warmth of the tropical savanna climate, the feelings of helplessness and worry hung over the father and daughter pair. Her father showed her this not out of cruelty, but to instill in her a gratefulness for her life and, hopefully, a willingness to improve the lives of others. His hoof held hers as they walked through the park, not gawking, but appreciating the struggles of their fellow mammals. Throughout the park, predators and prey alike had been displaced, or kicked out of their homes, unable to pay. Many had emigrated to Burronquilla from more violent areas of the country.

"Gazelle, mamita, do you understand why I bring you here?" Papa asked, looking down at his young daughter. He led her down a path underneath the tall mahogany and oak trees that provided shade.

Gazelle nodded. She stuck close to him, not wanting to stand out as a girl who didn't have to worry about from where her next meal would come. "Sí… Papa, they are suffering. I wish we had more money so that we could help them."

Her father chuckled under his breath, warmly, at the feelings his daughter conveyed. "It is not just money that helps mammals, Gazelle. It is words, and ideas. All of the pesos in Colambia would not change the militants or the criminals. Words, Gazelle, and actions, these are more powerful than anything. If you speak words from your heart, you will do more than you ever dreamed possible."

Gazelle understood enough to feel passionate about the issue. Her heart ached in sympathy despite the unnecessary nature of the feelings. It would be just as easy to ignore the plights of others, to live her life comfortably and not think of those who did not have the same means as her.

"Papá… When I grow up, when I'm all grown up like you and mama, I will help these mammals. I wanna help all mammals." There was resolution in her voice. Decision. Despite the horrors of their war-torn country, her father knew somewhere in his heart that his Gazelle would make good on her promise.

Weeks later, life continued as it had. For Gazelle, that meant school and music lessons. The music lessons were her favorite; young children often didn't have an appreciation for school, and she was no different. Dancing and singing were her favorite things, even if music teachers had admonished her for the vibrato in her voice. School was less fun. She knew she had to go, particularly because other children weren't as lucky as her to be able to attend school. Despite this sense of responsibility, she acted up in class, humming and getting up at inappropriate times, daydreaming…

The school called her parents in, as ruler-based punishment didn't seem to affect her hard little hooves. It was a large Catolic school situated in the western side of the enormous city. Only girls attended the school, and Gazelle did not know many boys her age. She only knew those in the neighborhood where she played, pretending to be una policía and stopping bad guys.

"Señor Mebarak, she's always acting up in class, do you want her to grow up to be a clown or do you want her to be a nice wife and support a great man? Do her brothers and sisters act so badly?" The stern voice of the girl's teacher, a grey-colored mare, hit her parent's ears like slaps of unwelcome water. The two gazelles sat across from the woman at her desk in front of an empty classroom. It was the third such complaint from the teacher that month.

Gazelle's mother Nydia stayed silent, eyes cast down, while her father spoke. "We tell her she must respect her teacher, but she is a strong-willed girl. She wants to do everything all the time. She- "

The mare interrupted him brusquely, her voice impatient. "Did you know that she was in a fight two days ago? She is a hoof full, this girl of yours! What are you telling her at home? That she can do things whenever she wants, wherever she wants?"

"No no no, we don't teach her that, ay, Melhem tell her!" Nydia cried, voice shaking. Melhem patted her shoulder. He adjusted himself in his seat, trying not to get too upset – trying to hide it.

"We will have another talk with her. I'm so sorry for any trouble she's caused. She has a lot of energy at this age, it is common of young gazelles." Melhem tried to explain, to assume blame for his daughter. The mare frowned, adjusting her spectacles.

"Very well. But if gazelles have so much trouble sitting still in class, then perhaps gazelles will not be welcome at this school. Good day." The mare snorted, shuffling her files together and sliding them back into her desk. She pushed her chair back and stood up, indicating with her body language that the two gazelles should leave. They understood, and, father holding mother with one arm, stood up to leave. As they trudged through the empty halls of the school for girls, they stayed silent for some time before talking to one another again.

"Meli, what do you think will happen to our Gazelle if she doesn't do well in school? We can't just let her sing her songs, dance, and expect her to be able to provide for herself, for her husband, for her children when she has them. She has to go to school, and…" Nydia was beside herself. She had been worried, crestfallen over her daughter's apparent direction for the last few months, the age of ten seeming to bring about a change in the girl's behavior in school.

Melhem sighed, one hoof in his pocket, the other around his wife. His ears flicked unconsciously. "We have to raise her the best we can, Nydia, we have to give her a good life. Keep her safe. One day she will be part of a new family. Let her enjoy her music and her dances; she'll go crazy without them, and this will all even out soon enough. She'll finish school and marry… Maybe a horse is not so bad? There aren't many gazelles in Colambia."

It was all they could do to hope.

Two days ago. The dark asphalt of the schoolyard shone with wavering heat, causing most mammals to take comfort in the shade. It was a hot day, even for the equatorial Burronquilla. There was nary a breeze coming from the Caribbean Sea, and the lack of clouds let the sun hit the city unhindered. It was afternoon, post lunch, and the children were feeling the agitation in the air. The tense atmosphere of political upheaval was all around them. Little did they know they were on the eve of a new constitution for Colambia.

But the squabbles of children were smaller, as much smaller as they were reflections of larger conflicts. A jaguarundi girl had been tossed on the pavement, her thighs aching from the tumble down. Around her an ewe, jenny, and mare were gathered, slinging horrific insults at the girl.

"Oye! Go back to the forest and hunt!" They yelled, threatening the feline, who began to cry. She rubbed at her eyes, mewling pitifully. No one thought to intervene, not even as they kicked at the smaller mammal and pulled at her uniform.

"Leave her alone!" A resolute voice rang out over the playground, reaching the ears of other girls just trying to mind their own business. "What are you doing this for?" It was Gazelle. She pushed herself between the three girls and the fourth, stamping her hoof in indignation.

"What do you want, belly-dancer girl? Uhh, we don't like seeing her kind around our school? Because she's a predator, and we're prey, and predators and prey are not meant to be anywhere near each other! Don't you know that's what this war is all about? My mama told me." The donkey girl replied, sneering at Gazelle.

Gazelle was unconvinced. She turned around, unafraid to leave her back exposed to the bullies, and bent down to help the jaguarundi up to her feet. "Look around you! There are so many predators here. I see predators almost every day. Just because your parents tell you they're bad, you think it's okay to hate them? And hurt them? They are mammals, the same as us. They don't chase us, and they don't eat us, and you're the ones who are being… like monsters!" Gazelle shouted back at the group, her hooves balled into fists. The hesitation was evident in her voice.

It happened in an instant. The girls surrounded her, punching her in the sides, shoving her, shaking her nascent horns. She refused to fight back physically, to be just like them. Instead, she yelled, "Stop!" and covered her lithe body with her arms to protect herself. It was less than a minute before a teacher stomped out into the school yard, the haggard old rhino woman felt in the vibrations of her steps before she arrived. She separated the girls, who all singled out Gazelle as the instigator of the fight, and pulled Gazelle away.

The rhino held her shoulder, leading her inside the school to the office, and clucked her tongue. "Señorita Mebarak, you are not going to get anywhere in life if all you do is sing and fight!"

The night her parents talked to her, after the meeting with her teacher, she told them the story. Nydia cried, hugging her daughter, and her father Melhem shook his head in disbelief.

"Gazelle. You did all that for one predator?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "I love you mamita, but you do not get to decide who feels what about predators and prey. You should keep to yourself. Your brothers and sisters don't live here with us; you don't have anyone to help you!" Melhem chided her as he stood, then left the room to be alone with his thoughts.

Nydia pulled Gazelle close, pressing her into the thin, rose-colored cotton blouse she wore. She rubbed her snout into Gazelle's blonde hair, her eyes closed. Her breath felt warm and comforting against her ears.

"Mi princesa…" Nydia began, holding the back of her daughter's head to her chest for a moment before pulling away and gently holding her by the shoulders. Deeply held affection, love that would always be there, no matter what, radiated from her calming gaze as she looked into Gazelle's eyes.

"Do you know why we named you Gazelle? Because you are a gazelle. You are not greater or lesser than any other gazelle. It is a plain name, no? But that is why it is beautiful. You are who you are, a mammal, and if you become well known, it will be because of your deeds, not of your beautiful name. To be Gazelle is to be grateful. Grateful to be our daughter. Grateful to be in this world, to have the gift of life, and to share it with others."