My better half is an ecologist with a thing for the weasel family, and has been known to throw herself across a van full of people in order to see one bounding up a hill. I am constantly regaled with videos of weasels taking down prey three times bigger than they are-which I find absolutely fascinating. Some people find it disturbing, but look it up on YouTube if you're interested. As a result of all this, I see the -sel in ottsel, rather than the ott-.

~Tawnya

Animal – Daxter

That very first night proved beyond a doubt that Daxter was no longer human. Yes, he could talk (and took full advantage of the of by startling people with the incongruity of fur and wit), he could reason and problem solve, and he could create, so he was no mere beast. But he had clung hard to the idea that it was all temporary, clothing he could take off once he found the zipper. It was supposed to be a change that only applied to the way he looked, not the way he acted.

But that night, he was terrified, disoriented, lost and alone. In the midst of his panicked flight, something else had taken over, driving him harder and faster than he'd ever gone before, completely blind to the world around him. He didn't notice how many times he turned right or dashed to the left, what sign had passed by above or if he'd run over a grate of some kind. He'd simply run (for the first time on all fours, but he didn't notice that until later) as fast as he could for as far as he could, and then for a little bit longer. Only once his heart left like it was going to explode in his chest did he manage to collapse into a dark corner, gasping and trembling from the strain. It seemed like forever before his thoughts came back, something other than the command to flee. It was only then that Daxter realized he had no clue where he was, or how to get back to Jak.

Just the thought of trying to go back brought on a panic attack and he had to fight hard against the urge to blindly run away again. By the time he could manage such thinking, the sun had gone down and it was starting to get cold. He had to psych himself up into stepping out of his niche for nearly an hour before he could actually do it. It was unsteady progress from there, out into the metal monstrosity he could come to know as Haven City.

He crept from shadow to shadow, still down on all fours and slinking along to the ground, eyes open and ears twitching toward every unknown sound…and was amazed at how much he could actually hear from a distance. Footsteps, voices, the clink of armour, and the rustle of clothes, all distinctive from the background buzz the buildings themselves produced, or the howl of the wind as it pushed through such unnatural structures. The knowledge helped ease still quivering nerves the longer he watched and correctly matched sound to source. He also noticed how much sharper smells were too. The whole area stank, inciting a gag reflex every time he breathed through his nose, but there was more than rot to the odor. Food, people, other animals…he could even smell warmth. There was more in the air than just those things, something vaguely metallic that made his fur stand on end whenever it was more than a whiff on the breeze.

It took a bit to coordinate the two senses with each other, but when they started working together, it was like a while new world had been opened up to him. A touch of his old confidence came back, fighting with the instinctual fear that had so blinded him earlier. He was less than successful trying to get those feelings to play nicely together. Panicking, however, had been what got him into this situation in the first place, so he firmly refused to acknowledge the emotion. He had to focus. It was late and it was dark. He needed food and shelter if he was going to survive the night… Okay, that was as much the truth as it was a stall, but he was barely functioning as it was. It was taking a considerable amount of willpower to simply stand upright instead of crouched down.

A fact that probably saved his life, allowing him to duck under the snap of teeth that would have otherwise snapped his neck. Instead, the Lurker rat sailed right over him, landing and turning with a disgruntled hiss. Daxter opened his mouth to scream for Jak, but the name died in his throat. The wave of guilt and sadness was staggering in its intensity, distracting him enough that he couldn't dodge the rat's next lunge. They hit the ground hard, his arm the only thing keeping sharp teeth from his throat. He screamed when he was bitten, sure that this was the end of everything, even as a different feeling surged through his system.

He could not die here. He would not. The world narrowed down to just him and the Lurker rat, every trace of fear or trepidation replaced by one command seemingly hardwired into his brain. Daxter didn't think about it, only responded. He kicked out with his legs at the same time his free hand clawed out an eye. His arm was released with a squeal of pain and the body was shoved away. He rolled to his feet in a flash, leaping for the other creature and landing on its back. Claws dug into flesh as jaws closed with as much force as possible on the back of the rat's neck. It tasted worse than it smelled, blood mixing with the greasy, dirty fur, but he hung on as it thrashed around. Finally, they twisted around in just the right way, the distinctive crunch of bone accenting a sudden screech before the body went limp.

Panting, Daxter backed away, jaw and hands aching. He spat and scrubbed at his face, trying to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth. He was unsure if he should feel proud for killing the thing himself, of sick because the same instinct said to eat it. In the end, he left the body untouched, wandering back the way he'd come until he found where it had come from. It was a loose grate in the side of a nearby building, filled with half-rotten food and scraps of paper. He poked around carefully, in case there were more rats in the nest. Determining he was alone, he choked down a few mouthfuls of less rotten food even though he wasn't hungry anymore, and curled into the crumpled paper, hoping he didn't dream about eating a corpse or his teeth sinking into someone else's neck.

I was just scared… I didn't mean it. I didn't want to… I'm not some mindless beast…right?