A/N: So it's been a long week, and I know I'm looking for something to read after having far too much turkey on Thanksgiving (and the day after that, and the morning after that, too :D). As a way to give thanks to all of you amazing readers and reviewers, here's another entry in Off the Trail a couple days early! This one was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it, too.

Also, Run is getting a new cover! The inimitable Red Velvet Panda (who you should follow on Tumblr) has crafted a gorgeous poster for Judy Hopps. I'm so excited to share it with all of you! Head on over to the story to check it out.

Thank you,

Euphonemes

Off the Trail

The Hundred Yard Dash (A Companion to Run: Chapter 4: Part V)

"Come on, Emmitt! You need to get to your book signing!"

His wife's voice carried clearly through the empty house; the kids were being spoiled by Grandma for their second day. The elder Ottertons had the run of the place, and they had thoroughly enjoyed their time together.

Emmitt Otterton couldn't remember the last time he had been so relaxed. Volunteering for Judy's campaign was a joy, but the work consumed a great deal of his time. He had spent little time with his family, something that ate away at him until it could not be ignored any longer. Nick had been very understanding when Emmitt asked for a few days off from volunteer management following Judy's critique circle.

As he bounded down his stairs and rounded the corner, the morning light cast a golden glow around his wife. Her eyes sparkled when he walked into the kitchen. "Do I have to go?"

"Yes, honey. You have fans now, and they want to see you."

Never thought I'd see the day. His book deal had been lucrative, but attached to the financial windfall was an expectation of public appearances. He now had an image to maintain; that was not Emmitt Otterton's strongest area. Fortunately, his publisher had trained staff to ease him into the role of visible author. Unfortunately, this meant demands on his time would appear with little notice. The call last night for the book signing today served as a great example.

"Fine. And you really don't want to come with me?"

"Oh, I do. But, I can't; I have plans already."

This was news to Emmitt. "Plans?"

She laughed. He loved her laugh: the way it bubbled up from her belly and how she would try to restrain it even though the bubbles would always sneak out as her eyes closed and her shoulders shook. Whenever he was nervous or when things went awry, he would stop and remember her laugh.

"No need to be protective, Emmitt. I'm meeting Marlene and Beatrice. We're doing some shopping — a few knick-knacks."

The two ferrets were his wife's good friends. They could be a little hectic at times when they all gathered; Emmitt was polite but kept his distance. And as he studied her, he caught the mischievous glint in her eye. His birthday was approaching, and she had been subtly dropping hints to tease out gift ideas. To be honest, he had almost forgotten about his birthday; the campaign had been all-consuming.

He decided not to press further; plus, the book signing would be starting soon, and traffic could be a beast this time of day. "Alright, honey, you enjoy that, and I'll see you later."

"Great! I'll walk you out."

They held paws as they walked to the front door. She must have bought a new shampoo or more conditioner because the fine fur on her paw was incredibly soft. Emmitt thought to inquire further but stopped in case he was wrong. There hadn't been much time to hold that paw before this break, and even during the past three days, he hadn't paid much attention to it. Now, he suddenly wished he had.

Luckily, when they passed through the doorway together, she was ready to shove him off the porch. "Alright my lovebug, go and make your fans proud!"

He smiled. Even though he didn't smile as often as he'd like to, his wife had confessed that it was her favorite feature of his. He didn't particularly care for it; he thought his front teeth were a little crooked and that the whole set could use a whitening procedure or five. But, after he had been torn away from her that fateful day a year ago, he had made a point to smile a lot more.

"Okay, dear. I lo— uh, who's that on the sidewalk?"

"Where?" He spun her around and pointed toward a spot in the distance. A figure lumbered down the concrete slabs that compose their sidewalk. He came to her side and watched as she squinted. "Hmm, I'm not sure."

He joined her in squinting and had a small epiphany. "It looks like a sloth, I think."

It seemed likely; its arms, covered in shaggy fur, dragged low, where its lengthy claws would occasionally snap as they connected with the rough sidewalk. In silence, they watched it take twenty seconds to cross the next slab of concrete.

"Oh yeah, that's a sloth alright." Emmitt puzzled. The DMV is in the other direction. Where is it going?

His wife, however, arrived at an answer much more quickly — she had always been the smarter one (or so Emmitt told her…but really, it was the truth). "Didn't Nick say he was inviting a sloth?"

"To what?"

"Our little critique circle for Judy."

And then Emmitt remembered. "Yes, that's right…oh, Flash! That must be Flash!"

Emmitt had met Flash before at one of his first book signings. It turned out that Flash was an avid reader and loved Emmitt's book. The laborious process the sloth went through to read that book made him quite the scholar on Emmitt's work. Flash would produce some incredibly detailed facts and opinions and would want to discuss them at length with Emmitt; they usually only got through one per day, but it was usually an intelligent conversation.

But in this moment, as he would soon be running late for his signing, Emmitt so did not want that to be the mammal walking down his street.

His wife covered her mouth with her paw; it was adorable whenever she was surprised. "Well, if he's here for the circle, he's…what, a few days late?"

Emmitt counted backward in his head. "Uh, try a week, dear."

"Oh, my." She turned back and watched Flash torturously cross another slab. "How far is it to our doorstep from that spot on the sidewalk?"

Numbers were Emmitt's thing. He examined a host of factors and data — his front porch, the lawn, the size of each slab of concrete, the position of the vehicles parked along the road — and arrived at a decent estimate. "I'd say…about a hundred yards."

"Maybe he should have parked closer."

"Maybe when he parked, he couldn't. Didn't our neighbors have a party last night?"

He could hear her hum. "I think you're right. Though, honestly, I wasn't paying much attention to them." She ran her paw along Emmitt's forelimb; he rather liked that.

And as much as he desired to take her back inside the house at this very moment, duty called. "So I'd love to stay, but, um…."

"Yes, dear, I'll entertain him while you trot off to your book signing. Do you think there's time for me to make a pot of coffee?"

"My dear, you could make it, finish it, and make another before he reaches our lawn."

"Now, be nice, Emmitt!" Her slap was playful but admonishing. "I'll go get it started. See if you can talk to him from here."

"Wha—me? But I—"

"Talk to him, Mr. Otterton."

As she disappeared back into her home, Emmitt Otterton racked his brain. He didn't want to be mean; Flash was a true and loyal fan. Soon, Emmitt would be seated in front of a line of half-fans, those who just skimmed his book or wanted his signature so they could resell their copy and take home some extra cash. Their mendacity would sometimes break his heart; Flash honestly made things better.

But, those conversations on details would require more time than he could commit right now. He needed a way out. His wife had said she would entertain Flash for a while, but he intuited that she expected Emmitt to stay a while to ease any awkwardness. His wife had met Flash before, too, at one of the signings; however, she still required a few daylong conversations before she really understood how the sloth thought things through.

And so, with little time to spare, Emmitt Otterton devised a truly devious plan, one that would fulfill his wife's prerequisite that he speak to Flash and buy him the space he needed to get to the book signing. He needed everything to go swimmingly, lest he be trapped in a conversation that would continue into tomorrow.

Emmitt must have been stewing for a while; when he looked up, Flash was nearly halfway through the lawn. It would be a matter of a minute (or maybe two or three) until he was upon the house. That was when Emmitt heard the patter of his wife's feet on their new hardwood flooring.

He timed it perfectly; his wife set one foot out the door when he shouted out, "Hey, Flash! It's good to see you again."

Now, Mrs. Otterton was indeed very smart; Emmitt knew she would figure out his plan momentarily. He checked around his clothing for his keys — which was something he probably should have done before he executed his plot. Today, fortune smiled upon him as he heard them jangling in his pants pocket.

From the porch, Emmitt watched Flash's face begin to brighten. "…Hi!"

He could feel the heat intensifying on his neck; his wife was beginning to deduce it.

"…Emmitt…"

Like her laugh, she always tried to hide her gasps…well, almost always; this one was loud and clear. Emmitt set a foot off the porch and onto his lawn's manicured grass.

"…how…"

He yelled out over his shoulder as his feet took off. "Gotta go, honey!"

"…nice…"

He couldn't hide his ploy from her now. And she was livid; she only ever used his full name when her anger reached its bursting point. "Emmitt Otterton: Get back here!"

"…to…"

The grass crunched underfoot as he walked speedily (running would be entirely rude) to his car parked along the curb, near the spot where he had first seen Flash. Even if his eyeball measurement was off, it sure felt like one hundred yards. As Emmitt moved, Flash's voice receded; his wife's voice did not.

"…see…"

His car chirped as he hit the unlock button on his key. Her shrill tone was much higher than any sound his car could create. "Emmitt!"

"…you…"

He had never opened and closed a door so quickly in his life. When he bought his car, he had let the salesmammal talk him into special soundproofing for the car's cabin. His wife had protested, but something in the very back of his mind said to splurge on it. That part of his brain cheered jubilantly at present.

Though the cabin was soundproofed, the windows would not block out the lethal glare she gave him. Very slowly, Flash's body was eclipsing her eyes; her pupils never wavered as they eventually disappeared behind the shaggy fur of the sloth. But, just before they vanished entirely, he looked directly at her and made sure she could read his lips; it was the best he could do as he started the car.

"Love ya, dear."

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