I do not own Zootopia, that belongs to Disney. This a fan work made solely for the sake of amusement.

The Burrows

Chapter Fourteen: The Lone Wolf

By: Gabriel LaVedier

Major transportation between the rural counties and the megalopolis of Zootopia was by rail. The mighty iron drays chugged along tirelessly, day, night and everything in between, either powering through on the express schedule for passengers or hauling the slow and steady road of the mighty freight trains in their immense lines. Everything was the picture of motion, busy and effective at everything all the trains did.

Even with the popularity of train transport, there were still roads that ran in long black ribbons from out of the glittering city into the rural surroundings. There were no exurbs or suburbs in the shadow of the city. It was like they sucked in all the most advanced traces and left only farmland all around. The roads all ran into these areas lightly traveled but present in case of need.

Those mammals traveling into the city always had a sense of hope. Even if they came in desperate need, fleeing some fate that could be erased if the massive urban jungle opened up, if they came in fear or in dead-eyed awe of a disaster, just reaching the limits was a sign of hope. They had made the journey, through uncertainty, or in ease, in secret or part of a group. But they had made it, riding the road and entering with a sense of triumph and relief.

The ones who left by road, not commuters, vacationers, railroad workers, those who didn't use the train were a different lot. The trains had very set destinations. Measured and tracked by ticks on the second hand, noted and known by a schedule that was designed to be exact. To leave the city by road was a thing not done all too frequently, and not always completely by choice.

If someone fled the city, they were admitting they were beyond normal circumstances. If moving between entire giant districts and trying to become lost in the milling crowd was functionally impossible, there was a lot of story to it. It was no ordinary flight, it was done with some degree of necessity. Like a bat out of the Nocturnal District, they flew fast and with purpose, leaving home behind. But unlike that bat, if they were that needful of egress, they probably would not come back home.

Early in the day a single figure thundered down one of the long roads out of Zootopia in the direction of the Tri-Burrows, a major artery that largely passed by many train tracks. It was a lonely road with a single vehicle roaring along the asphalt passage. A single, large Snarly-Dholeson Bristleback with the optional giant exhaust pipes to enhance the sound. All the chrome was shiny, the main body dark black, large packs on the side made of dark fish leather. On the back where another rider could have gone were stacked and strapped a few suitcases, beaten up but still functional.

The rider was, for all intents and purposes, a mystery. A sturdy black helmet completely covered their head, their emerged ears even having cloth sheaths to prevent wind damage. The faceplate was deeply opaque and the long muzzle could have indicated any number or species. They were covered in protective clothing, from heavy denim pants, and hiking boots, up into an old, somewhat ill-fitting lizard-leather jacket. Across the back were a few worn patches. Die Luperkalien, flanked on both sides by wolf heads rendered in an ancient style; a very large faded depiction of a foreign flag over the words, Kind von Deutschland; and a small piece that looked like it was from an ad, without the company name, Mein Wolfsrudel wird deine Herde beschützen. The sole indicator of anything was the tail emerging from under the pants strap, a long and fluffy blonde-furred tail that indicated some sort of canine, most probably a wolf.

The big machine was a powerhouse but not a speedster. Though it roared loud, rumbling like a throaty growl, it wasn't exactly burning up the road. There was almost a contemplative deliberateness to the pace. Like in decades prior, riding the highway was an exercise in discovery. There were wheels turning inside the helmet, using the long span of blackness as a way to focus and consider.

To leave the city, to run out into the countryside, required thought in the wake of a rush of emotion. To find that there was nothing left, that the alien landscape of farmland was better than trying to eke out a place in the city. The why of it wasn't important, not in the moment. Eyes ahead, seeking for anything. Any small measure of civilization, to make it somehow familiar. More than train tracks and a road. Structures, buildings, something comforting to an urbanized figure.

The wolf didn't look the part of the country, but there was no choice. Leaving the city with suitcases mostly meant it was the clothes that were on the mammal's back and nothing else. It was practical for a motorcycle, and hardly outre for the city. How the rurals would take it had to be ignored. There was nowhere left to go. Living apart and among them would be acceptable enough.

The mystery figure sought a sign of something other than nature and the tracks of civilization, and got it literally. First, the big sign. Now Exiting the City-State of Zootopia, Entering The United Counties. The Tri-Burrows Welcomes you! They didn't know the stranger, but the cheery governmental welcome was encouraging enough. Anything was encouraging. After that a more practical sign, Concho Fuel and Restaurant, two miles. An absolutely necessity considering the fuel capacity of a bike.

The scant two miles melted away, the structure first announced by a tall sign, a lemon-yellow conch shell over the words Concho Fuel. The structure itself was a low building with a sloped rood that was further topped by an enormous, yellow, fiberglass conch shell. The roof over the lines of differently sized pumps was also slanted, along with the separate section set aside for semi-truck refueling. It looked like the small convenience store was all original and a new area had been attached to it, with a sign over the door announcing it was a restaurant.

The little convenience shop was, at least internally, stuck in a different time. Starbursts and bright colors marked the décor, clean lines in a fashion often just described as Retro were the order of the day. The neat shelves were stocked with the usual collection of snack foods, dried fish, dried bugs, candies. A few cans and jars in imitation of a grocery store, a frozen section, and a beverage station with the ubiquitous humming, twirling ice drink machine.

The white-wooled ram behind the counter was amusing himself with rearranging the impulse items around the counter when the chimes for the door got his attention. "Welcome to the..." He started to say, looking up casually and blandly. He was stricken dumb by the sight of the biker.

The wolf strode up to the counter, seeming to take a moment to regard the ram, softly muttering, "Widder..." A quick tap on the counter broke the ram's reverie. "Zwei... number two gas pump. Ten bucks." A crumpled ten buck bill fell onto the counter, being swept up after another pause, a receipt printed up and handed over. "Und... I require the lodging haus. I have little but I have money."

The ram was stunned for a bit, yet the tone of the wolf's voice seemed to put him at ease. "Uh, uh... M-motel Galatea. Head down the road a ways until you get to the old barn on the side of the road, you go left, find the Bunnyburrow train depot, take the dirt road down a ways until your see the sign. You should get on with Mrs. Spikel."

"Frau Spikel... Ja, I feel we will do well. Danke," the wolf said, turning and walking out of the shop. After quickly filling the tank and looking down the road that had been indicated, the machine roared to life and rumbled down the way once again.

The ram watched the biker go for a little while and picked up his phone. After dialing up a number and waiting a moment he said, "Mrs. Spikel? Got a customer coming your way. Speaks the language your husband does, coming up on a big, loud Bristleback. Just be ready for it. Uh-huh. My pleasure, Mrs. Spikel. See you."

In contrast to the orderly grids that were still a confusing mess when considered in total that the city boasted, the rural roads were meandering, following hill curves and other features, moving directly on in indirect ways. They had space to play with in a manner the city didn't. The place was enormous and packed, sprawling out and rising to the sky. The rural environment stretched off in every direction, void of most everything but the gentle sway of plants and the rustle of leaves.

All the landmarks were clear, at least. Perhaps there were rural folks who gave rambling, confused directions to new arrivals, but at least the gas station sheep was completely clear. All the right turns down empty dirt roads, alongside old wire fences and fields of growing crops. Sometimes with folk out in the fields, who stood and stared as the roaring machine passed.

The train depot area buzzed with more activity, but not necessarily on the road. The train yard was heavily populated, cars being laded or cleared, the roundhouses in constant motion, loading docks on the far side of the facility from the road being used. The odd pickup or rugged, older car came into the parking lot or departed it, the occupants also viewing the motorcycle with shock, or perhaps suspicion.

It was a long trip down the dirt road, the Bristleback's fat tires kicking up clouds of dust, the heavy engine making the thing look like a roaring sandstrorm. It almost obscured the scenery from the rider, but there was still enough clarity to get a look at what was almost an alien world. Bare dirt, strange dark plants with long, thin stems or stocky, spiky cores with leaves that looked like some fierce, medieval weapon made of spikes and hate. There were even delicate little puffball plants that sent out a cloudy shower of white as the wake of the cycle hit. It seemed almost like a fairy tale, describing the bucolic beauty of some faraway place in the Old Country filled with elm nymphs and ash goblins.

The road lead on to a very retro building. It was all wood panels and wrought iron, with generous amounts of stucco and curves all over the place. It was a true classic, like nothing remaining in Zootopia. The sign facing the road was decorated with more retro star bursts like the gas station convenience store. The largest letters on the sign read, Motel Galatea. Below that was a faded notice of Color Televisions, and equally faded mention of Air Conditioning and Heating and a very crisp, new notice of Wi-Fi Available.

The roaring machine rumbled into silence at a small set-aside part of the paved parking lot in front of what looked to be the office. The wolf swung a leg over the bike and tromped to the door, pushing it open and sliding into the lobby. The same retro style marked the interior, with the curving walls decorated with metal shapes in front of the wood paneling, and a deep pile shag carpet on the floor. Behind the counter was a pretty, older pink pig sow in a loose, thin-strapped red dress. "Welcome to the motel Galatea! I heard you would be arriving. Supposedly I would get along well with you," the previously contacted Mrs. Spikel said.

The wolf swiftly took off their helmet, revealing the blonde fur of her face. She looked young enough, early college at best guess. She strode to the counter and nodded slowly. "Ja gnädige Frau. Dein Name sagt mir alles."

The sow nodded slowly and smiled. "Es kommt von meinem zweiten Ehemann, Simon..." She looked aside at a folding picture frame holding two photographs, one of a fine-looking milky white pig boar, the other of a plain but pleasant hedgehog in a nice suit. "Aber... zuerst das Geschäft." She took out a rather old book and opened it up to a tabbed page. "Name? Ausweis?"

The wolf dug into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a well-worn nylon wallet. She opened it up and showed off the Zootopian driver's license behind a plastic sheath. "Gisela Howlmeyer. The address is... now old..."

"We all come from somewhere to somewhere for our own reasons," Mrs. Spikel said. "I can guess I can put in a question mark for how long you will be here."

"Until the money runs out and I retreat to the woods to see if brother and sister taught me well enough to live like a sprite. Unless you know of any place that may offer work," Gisela said hopefully.

Mrs. Spikel dutifully copied down the information on the card, and wordlessly took it out of the wallet to run it through a noisy but functional copier. "It's farm country, Miss Howlmeyer. There's always work, seasonal and otherwise. I'd warn you it's hard labor but I can tell you're not exactly fluff under that jacket."

"Any work is honest work, that's what brother says. He thought he was so right. He thought. Brother... yes. That will do. Any work," Gisela said, shaking off the short reverie.

"I'm almost certain we'll come to talk about that. You're here for your reasons and they must be fascinating,"Mrs. Spikel said, writing up a bill and handing it over along with a key marked with a room number. "I charged you for a week. Get that to me after you unpack."

Gisela nodded and turned to go, giving the sow a good look at all her patches. Her steps halted and she fidgeted her fingers a little bit. "If... if it should happen that the job is offered by a ram... I may want to think about that job first and most seriously."

A small smile spread across Mrs. Spikel's face, and she nodded slowly. "I think there are several rams that could be looking for hard workers. I'll keep you informed."

"Thank you, Mrs. Spikel."

"Call me Rose. I think we'll get along well enough for it."

"Thank you, Rose."

Gisela thought a lot about what she had found as she carried her luggage from her bike to the room she had gotten the key to, which was upstairs. A woman who spoke her language, far from the city, where she didn't expect to find immigrants, least of all from her family's homeland. Well, Rose wasn't, but her second husband seemed to have that heritage. She really did know nothing about the strange new world she was to live in.

Opening the room upstairs she was again shocked by what she found. It was a step back in time, a beautiful step back. The interior was a small, circular space that was vaguely undulating, making the walls look rippled. The most interesting thing was the décor. The floor, the walls and most of the ceiling were covered in reddish shag carpet, with the center of the ceiling being paneled in wood with a two-shaded chandelier lamp hanging down. The bed was a slightly dipped egg-shaped thing with wine-colored sheets. On a wooden stand there was a small flat-screen television, and other counters with drawers and cabinets. A door in the back led to the tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower stall.

Gisela admired and looked in awe at the dated environment. She used to love looking at the pages of old magazines and photos of the kind of decoration that the motel represented. There was something to be said for the old ways, the old designs. Getting to live in that kind of place, it was something she never expected, especially since she believed that no such places existed anymore. They had been torn down in Zootopia.

She didn't bother unpacking anything yet, aside from her savings, which she arranged into blocks of estimated budgets, and an inexpensive picture frame. Like Rose's, it was a hinged type, with two photos. A pale gray male wolf in the uniform of a foreign military, and a sooty dark-gray female wolf in mercenary-grade protective gear.

She pressed a kiss onto her fingers twice and tapped them to the faces of the other wolves. "Bruder, Schwester... Du hast mich weggeschickt, um frei von dem zu sein, was passiert ist... dieser ort... es ist so seltsam. Aber diese Frau Spikel... Sie gibt mir Hoffnung dass ich hier vielleicht Frieden und eine Zukunft finden kann."

o o o

The Ovine family was never one of major note in the Burrows, not really. Just another second-tier plugger farm. The name didn't exactly ring out like Hopps, Dreyson, Seedcache, farms of repute, or even with personal power like Weaselton, Alces, Fallow. Then Sharla left.

She followed a head full of dreams off to the air service, to university, to the edge of space. Even if she never managed to pass to the inky void, when she came back down she found her hometown still thought she was a heroine. She dared to go, and chose to come back. Unlike other small-towners when she got a taste of the outside, she still came back to a place that was her home. She insisted they make it possible to do her job in the place she belonged.

When Gideon made a name for himself, that name was Ovine. He was nothing special, because he was expected. Like sunrise and crawdad pinches in reedy water, it was expected Gideon would be there with his pastries and a smile, be singing his heart out Sundas service bright and early, a miracle of change. When he took Sharla's name that expectation passed to the family. Nothing special was the most special thing, good as a gold bar. Suddenly they were a Weaselton, a name said clearly and with some respect.

The Ovine farmstead consisted of one modestly large house, as most Burrows houses tended to be given the large families, surrounded by the active acreage of the farm itself. Set a small ways off were a barn for the storage of vehicles and some produce, a silo for more storage and small buildings for equipment. The size was modest, as to be expected from a sheep-owned farm. It was a vast spread made up of neatly ordered blocks of staple crops for the various preference types. Oats, rye, amaranth, and a large section of colorful blue fescue.

Sharla was the big mammal in the family, but it was Gareth that managed the farm that bore their name. Even if it was the shop and the technical prowess of his sister that maintained the honor, the day-to-day operations that kept everything moving fell on his shoulders. He directed the hired hands, he arranged the planting, kept things in top shape, did repairs. It was tough work but highly meaningful.

Gareth had grown up from a skinny little beige sheep to a lank ram with plenty of puff to give him the commanding bulk of a leader. His modest horns had been trimmed, shaped, directed into modest smallness. No drunken lout would be challenging him to headbutting, he wasn't worth it as they so often said. He looked the part of a working farmer, tough from trotters to top, denim overalls and a flannel shirt in a checkered red and black pattern, all topped by the adult-size version of his favorite cloverleaf hat from back in his lamb days.

The Ovine family wasn't enough to run the farm. Bunnies had more hands, and sheep had what they had. As time passed family filtered out and away. A few from his generation were around but it wasn't enough. They had to hire hands, the harder-working the better. It wasn't ideal but nothing was. At least the family was liked enough that those inquiring were serious and suggestions came from good folks who had very serious recommendations.

Getting a phone call from Mrs. Spikel down at the motel was an unusual thing. But her saying she had a wolf that needed a job... there were so many things about that. He barely asked any questions. Some Zootopian that had moved out after family drama. Family... Agnes Stonewool still lived on the property, a ghost in gray, haunted by losing her daughter to her ex's influence. He knew family drama all too well. He'd either get a broken mammal or a firebrand ready to scrap.

He wasn't sure what to expect when the meeting time drew near, but the last thing he could have predicted was the thrumming growl of a Bristleback's engine roaring up the dirt path to the farmhouse, the figure wrapped in lizard-leather with a helmet covering her face. He knew generally what to expect. Even still, that wasn't it in the slightest. That wasn't a sobbing or infuriated family-stung figure. That was a Desolation's Drifter here to take over his farm to create a roadhouse.

Gisela whipped off her helmet, showing off the golden tone of her features, like waving wheat in full harvest readiness. "Guten Morgen, Herr Ovine. Exactly the time you had requested, punctual. You will find me reliable. This is acceptable, ja?"

It took a while for Gareth's mind to catch up to the present. He was still, as his sister said, performing a handshake and loading the data. She didn't look unfriendly. She looked professional. Fierce, but contained in a subdued and tamed package. She wasn't a Desolation's Drifter. She was Gwenllian. Her Gruffydd would be quite the fortunate mammal. A few blinks and a shake of his head got Gareth back to his senses. "Yes! Yes... you're even early. I like it. We start early and we work long hours. Think you can manage it?"

A short, barking laugh emerged, before Gisela composed herself. "Bruder made sure we lived like the soldier. Early rise, cold water, quick meals. I will not waste your time, Herr Ovine. I will work."

Gareth nodded slowly, still in awe of Gisela's entire form, her whole bearing. "I... guess I don't have to ask if you have farm experience. But I can teach you as you go. The complicated tasks can be left to professionals, but a lot of the hard and repetitive tasks should be easy to pick up. Lots of weeding, spot-clearing, some harvesting and processing. Did you do a lot of work with tools?"

"I did not have skill like the woodcarver but Bruder trained us. I can survive if I must... und might need to..." Gisela shook her head and cleared her throat. "Es tut mir Leid. You are not concerned with this. Ja, tools. Small ones I can use. Large ones that are not weapons, you show me."

"Weapons... I don't ask this a lot but... are you a soldier? A veteran or something?"

"Bruder is. We only learned what to do, und Schwester worked to help him protect," Gisela said, showing off the advertising patch on the back of her jacket. "My wolfpack will protect your herd. He believed so much in being the good wolf. He was. Too good. Too trusting... but, you need security? I did not train well, but know some things."

"With the way you talk about it I'm willing to bet you're withers and hocks above the head-butting dregs who would try to get a job involving security around here. I can tell you'll be a fantastic worker and add a little bit of security, for all that I need it. I'll probably hire more hands but I think you'll do very well."

"Danke! With this I hope that I will do well here. I will do all I can to impress you, Herr Ovine," Gisela said, a smile finally cracking her muzzle.

Gareth watched the smile grow and offered a hoof. "It's nice you say that but we're not as formal as all those businesses you see in the city. And as nicely exotic as it sounds, you can just call me Gareth. Rose didn't happen to tell me your name. I'll need to jot it down on all the paperwork and such. It would be easy to slip you something under the table but the Ovine name is in the same breath as Weaselton and Hopps, we have honor."

Gisela hesitated in her taking the offered hoof, looking shocked, slightly wry and a little bit intrigued by the statement before she quirked her brow in thought. "Unter dem Tisch... Oh! Ja! The expression... ja, sehr gut. A mammal has little but their honor. It cannot be stolen, only lost. The head held high when they did good... für einen Lügner..." She quickly took up the offered hoof and shook it, before any questions could follow. "Gisela. Gisela Howlmeyer. A great pleasure to be employed by you, Herr... Gareth. When may I begin work for you?"

"Come into the homestead, we'll fill out all the forms and you can start day after tomorrow, soon as Sharla does her electronic Moon-tongue and gets it filed away with the counties."

"Moon-tongue... you are Selenic, Gareth?"

"Brother-in-law used to be. Picked up a term here and there. Are you gonna need to head to the Convocation chamber? There's a bus that takes folks out there on Moondas, just need to tell them you need a ride."

"Ja, perhaps... I have had little need to talk to der Mond..."

Gareth motioned to the farmhouse and started walking. "Your story is yours. Might come out sooner or later. Not yet, but it will. Come on. Sooner we finish, sooner you can start working."

Gisela stepped lively, taking a moment to watch Gareth's rear in his overalls as she followed along. "Ja! Of course. I am... very eager to be here. To work."