The November sky above is as blue as can be. Not a cloud in the sky.

Fitting for Peter. He always hated the rain.

Hafsa slowly walks up to the freshly-filled grave, her still healing injuries hidden by a black dress. Solomon follows a few paces behind and the two settle in front of the fresh soil.

"Rest in peace." She mumbles quietly, unsure of what else she could offer. She didn't know Peter very well outside of Desmond's stories. Simply that he was a cheerful, energetic, if not a brash young ram. Just knowing that is enough to break her heart.

She squats down to gently rest the bouquet of purple hyacinths at the foot of the grave. They blend in with the mountains of flowers that already surround the gleaming surface of the bighorn sheep's final resting place. The two carnies read its epitaph together.

"In Loving Memory of Sheep Peter

Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend."

The female stands up with a sigh, hugging her elbows close together. "A gravestone this freshly engraved feels so wrong to look at. Gravestones should be covered in moss and faded. Seeing the words so clearly… It's just wrong."

"Perhaps it is a good thing." Solomon ponders aloud. "One should never feel comfortable over loss."

Hafsa says nothing to this. Instead, she lifts her head to observe the rest of the mourners scattered around the cemetery. The two felines stood out as the only carnies attending the procession, a fact they couldn't help but feel guilty over. The overwhelming majority is sheep, herded together a few paces away in their own exclusive haze of gloom. Most are bighorns, no doubt Peter's dozens of uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers and sisters. Furthest away from the grave stands the most diverse cluster: the ram fighting team. Their mouths occasionally cracked open, but not even Hafsa's superb hearing could pick up on whatever's being said. She doubts even they understand their own words. Empty words for empty hearts.

Desmond's is the only face she focuses on. It contains the same sorrow she saw during their imprisonment, now fermented by time into a more composed despondency. No more rage, no more hopeless despair… simply depressed acceptance. His friends reflect a similar grief to varying degrees, after all, they had been sitting with this reality for over a month. Now that their tears have dried, all they have is their pointless conversation.

Solomon's words interrupt her thoughts. "It was nice of the families to agree to a joint ceremony. I'm sure Isaac, Jasmine and Peter appreciate the company."

"So many people showed up for the funeral, too…" She agrees. "They deserved nothing less."

"You'll be attending the other burial services too, I presume?"

"Of course." The serval puts a hand to her temple. "Three burials in a week… Plus the speech I have to give during school assembly… I'm already so tired."

"I'll gladly speak in your place."

She shakes her head sadly. "You know it has to be me. Besides, you've already done so much for me."

A cool smile spreads cross his face. "For you, I would do much more. You're every bit as exceptional as I expected since we first met."

"You flatter me." She returns his smile. "Well, people are leaving… We should probably get going too."

"Are you taking the bus back to Noah's Arc?"

"No, my parents are picking me up. Do you want a ride?"

"No, I'm Brian's ride. He wants to stay a bit longer to visit his mother. She's also resting here."

"I'll see you around then." She gives Solomon one last hug, arching herself to reach his taller neck. At last, she offers Peter a farewell bow typical of ovine culture but not before stealing a final look towards the isolated group of rams in the distance before tromping back to the cemetery's gateway.

A phone call with her parents inform her they're 30 minutes away. Half an hour of loitering around a graveyard's entrance is the last thing she wants. With few options left, she opts to go back in and wander around the grounds aimlessly. Not a bad idea at all as the graveyard is very beautiful; far from the bustling dirty city center and decorated with lush greenery and winding paths. Each passing grave filled with a story of its own evident from presentation alone, names and dates engraved on each monument only hint at the animal's life. Surprisingly enough, the collection of graves didn't distress her, quite the opposite in fact. They almost serve as reassurance.

Beneath that slab of stone lies an animal. They used to have a favorite color, a nickname, an annoying habit, a mother. At many times, they must have felt afraid, or joyful, or wracked with shame. They must have experienced pangs of hunger and relief of satiety. Just as Isaac must have. Just as Jasmine must have. Just as Peter must have.

She thinks back to the Kin. So long as animals are separate beings, suffering will exist, or so they believed. Difference is the cause of pain. So what is the cause of pleasure? Surely it is that same difference. Luca's division was a blessing, not a curse. Hafsa used to think a herbivore and a carnivore could never truly understand one another; their lived experiences are too polarized. But looking at it now, it's best that the life of another remains a mystery. Animals already have so much in common as it is. In a world where animals share so much genetic and cultural similarity, the space between them is all they have left to explore.

"Hey."

Somehow, Desmond managed to sneak up next to her. His gaze matches hers, fixated on the crumbling epitaph of a tilted tombstone, but sneaks a glance upwards to study her face.

"Oh!" She exclaims, jumping a few inches back in surprise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no, sorry I was just… lost in thought."

"Seems to be a trend nowadays."

She inches back next to him but neither animal speaks. The air is still charged with a distinct awkwardness since their last encounter ended on an… odd note. Trying to recover a friendly atmosphere won't be easy, given they're fresh out of a burial. Still, she dares to take a better look at him. Though his scarred arm is concealed by the long sleeve of his suit, he appears in good health despite the less than ideal circumstances. His piebald fleece thickened for the upcoming winter, covering his neck like a thick scarf and filling out his clothes. The serval fights herself to not squeeze his rounder, flocculent body.

"Shouldn't you be with the others?" Hafsa asks.

"I needed to talk to you. I was on my way to the exit hoping you hadn't left yet." He explains.

"Here I am."

"Right." He clears his throat sheepishly. "So… uh… I really just wanted to thank you. For saving my life. Twice now, actually."

Hafsa raises an amused brow. "You don't need to thank me for that."

"Obviously I do. It means more to me… than you'll ever know. And… I hope I can pay it back as your vice president."

"What?" The serval tilts her head. "I thought you…"

"I'm staying."

Hafsa's eyes widen, meeting his only to find a sincere gleam. A wide grin spreads across her face and before she can help it, she picks up the sheep by the armpits and spins him around like a rag doll in excitement, her tail swishing wildly behind her.

"No way!" She sings. "No way, no way! This is awesome!"

"Hafsa… please…" The crimson-face ram quietly pleads.

She seems to notice her actions and quickly sets him down, silently apologizing to the tombs around her. "My bad... But you're really staying? How the hell did you convince your mom?"

He rolls his neck, avoiding her eyes. "Well, I didn't. I guess you can say I've been… disowned?"

"Huh?"

"Well, the academy offered me a full time scholarship. So I just… took it. My mom is furious but she can't really stop me from going now that she's not paying for tuition. So, yeah, we're not on speaking terms but… I decided this was what I wanted to do."

"Don't you need parents' approval or something?"

"Enan signed for me. So I unfortunately can never complain again when he's going on and on about his baby."

"Jeez…" Hafsa exhales. "That sounds pretty rough, actually."

He shrugs. "I'm fine with it. I know someday… we'll patch things up. And if not, I have my own life to live. She can't hide me away forever."

"If that's how it is, then I'm happy for you." She beams. A beautiful, crooked fanged smile the ram adores. "If you ever need anything, just let me know. I'm pretty sure I can sneak you in my dorm disguised as a pillow if you have nowhere else to go." She pokes at his fluffy gut.

"You have a strange sense of humor, you know that?"

"That's the only strange thing about me?" She sticks her tongue out teasingly.

Desmond chuckles. "Far from it."

"Hey, are you going to Noah's Arc now? If you want, we can go together."

Desmond actually didn't plan on going there until next week.

"Yeah, let's go together."

AN: Thanks for reading. Not just this epilogue, but all of Serval & Sheep, all 74 entries, all 160,000+ words (what astronomical patience you must have!).

So ends the story of Hafsa, Desmond and the others. For now, at least. They'll be juniors soon enough.

What started out as a noncommittal, self-indulgent idea turned into a story much bigger than I ever thought it would be. I had never attempted a project this lengthy before, so for a first try, I'm overwhelmed by the reception I received. For those kind enough to share your thoughts in the comments, you have my thanks. It was a far greater help than you may think it is.

I hope you enjoyed the story.

Take it easy and stay safe.