Author's Note: Just to help clear up some confusion (though hopefully the chapter will as well), wolves that are referred to as female are biologically/reproductively female, capable of pregnancy and the like. The wolves just have a great deal less sexual dimorphism than humans—they're flat-chested most of the time, when they're not nursing young pups, and tend more toward the androgynous to masculine than to feminine human features. They all tend to pass as male in human circles because try telling an alpha female that he can't do something due to being female. It's not going to go over well. For the wolves, magic ability and its concordant dominance affect are much more important than gender. To keep from accidentally outing sex to humans, their society just uses male pronouns for everyone.

Part Fourteen: A Human in Wolf's Clothing

"Come on, stray."

A hand shakes his shoulder, and Grantaire blinks blurrily up at a shadowed face.

"Come on, Grantaire." The voice that goes with the blurred face is slightly annoyed. "Enjolras wants to keep you away from the other packs, and that means keeping you away from the university. So you're coming with me today, and I don't want to be late for work."

"I…" His head hurts, and his throat feels terrible, and his mouth tastes terrible. "What am I supposed to be doing?"

Feuilly sighs, running a hand through his red hair, leaving it in disarray. "You're waking up and coming with me. Since you're already dressed, this shouldn't be too difficult. All right?"

Turning over, Grantaire stretches and sits up, feeling muscles protest. A wolf-shaped Joly raises his head off Grantaire's stomach, yawns, and twitches his tail in greeting to the higher-ranked Feuilly. Joly shifts closer to the fire, and to the human-form Bossuet and the wolf-form Musichetta who also apparently slept with them.

Feeling slightly more capable of talking now that he's partly vertical, Grantaire blinks Feuilly back into focus. "I thought I was supposed to talk with Enjolras when I woke up."

"That was before you slept through dinner and long into the night. Enjolras' already gone, meeting with a group of students." Feuilly frowns at Grantaire, clearly unhappy with the situation. "He'll talk to you later tonight, I'm sure. Until then he left you to my keeping, and I'm going to keep you at work with me. So get up."

"He's meeting with very foolish students, who believe like Enjolras does that sleep isn't important." Bossuet has pillowed his head on Joly's stomach, now; Musichetta also blinks an eye open and yawns at Grantaire before closing his eyes again. Bossuet reaches out to trail a hand along Musichetta's head, smiling up at Grantaire as he does. "You may want to go with Feuilly fairly quickly and behave yourself. Enjolras tends to value his opinion."

"I'm awake. I'm coming." Stumbling to his feet, Grantaire tries to sort his thoughts into order. How much did he drink yesterday?

Enough to survive talking with three alphas, one of whom may be frighteningly insane, and he really needs to talk to Enjolras about what Armand said.

First, though, he apparently needs to go with this red-haired wolf. This wolf who used to be human, and Grantaire finds himself suddenly much more interested in going with him. "Is it all right if I grab something to eat and wash up a bit first?"

"If you're quick." Feuilly settles down on the hearth, reaching over to stroke Joly's ears. "I woke you with enough time for you to eat. But no drinking. If I smell alcohol on you today after what happened yesterday, I'm going to be very annoyed."

"No drinking." He really doesn't like making this promise, but if Enjolras trusts this wolf's opinion and they're going to be spending the day together he should try not to start out by being antagonistic. "And I'll be back in a few minutes."

Rushing through his morning routine—glad to be somewhere that allows him to have a routine, to wash up and eat and take care of his needs without fear—Grantaire suspects that today's going to be another very long day.

XXX

The stray actually works hard throughout the morning.

It surprises Feuilly in a way, which he supposes is unfair. Joly, Jehan, Bahorel, and Bossuet all seem fond of the stray, and they tended to be fairly good judges of character. Just because Grantaire spent one night drunk out of his mind after being intimidated by three alphas doesn't mean he's necessarily going to be a poor addition to the pack.

Perhaps it's just that Feuilly's own instinctive reaction to alphas varies so wildly from Grantaire's. Grantaire drank and sought escape that way; Feuilly has a tendency to fight, to back himself into a corner and defend though every wolf-saturated inch of his body warns him not to.

He's grateful, once more, that he found first Monet and then Enjolras' pack before he went stark raving mad.

Grantaire finishes unpacking the last box of supplies that Feuilly had been planning to get to later that day and straightens with a sigh. Bending his neck first one way and then the other, the stray carefully, cautiously makes his way over to where Feuilly's working.

"It's beautiful." Grantaire makes the admission simply, smiling as he does, his eyes scanning over the image that's slowly taking shape on the fan. "It's far better than most of the ones that you have on display."

"Yes, well, it's a commission for someone who actually appreciates the art and not just the novelty of the gift." Feuilly finds himself relaxing despite his terse words. He's impressed that Grantaire can tell the difference between the work he's doing here and the work he does when he's rushing to complete things. Though some of the Amis have an eye for art, he doesn't get to talk to them about it very often. "You have a good eye. Have you ever had any training?"

"The tutor my birth pack used taught us a bit, and I've talked with artists when I get a chance." Grantaire's hands brush near the inks that Feuilly's using, not actually touching them, reverence in his eyes. "I enjoy sketching when I can afford the time and materials, and I've learned a small amount about painting, but what I can do is very simple still."

"I'd be quite happy to see what you can do, if you wanted." He finishes the strokes he was working on, setting down the brush he had been using and picking up a thinner one to add detail to the image. "I'm always eager to see what others choose to draw and how they draw it."

"I'd be honored to show you, if you'd lend me something to draw on and something to draw with." Keeping his head bowed low, Grantaire takes a step back from the inks, twining his hands together behind his back.

He's purposefully making himself submissive while thanking Feuilly, his words and his actions all designed to let Feuilly know that he's the one in control, and it makes his wolf instincts relax but irritates the part of him that still uses human thought as the basis for all decisions. The exact inverse of how things had been throughout most of the morning, Feuilly's wolf nervous about Grantaire's lack of submission while Feuilly's saner human half appreciated the work the stray was doing, and Feuilly frowns as he continues to work. He keeps his voice low, though there's currently no one close by, always feeling ill at ease whenever he has to bring Pack business here. "You don't have to force yourself to submit to me. I spend most of each day working with humans. I used to be human. I think I can handle your oddity."

"But…" Grantaire hesitates, his head coming up. "You're his iota. You're higher ranked than me. Plus, the others said he respects your opinion."

It takes Feuilly a moment to make sure that Grantaire's ranked him properly. He's not sure why the wolves use the Latin alphabet for their ranks, but it seems to come to them as easily as breathing, something he suspects they were all taught as children. It had been one of the first things they taught to him as well—one of the first things after explaining to him how to interpret the enormous amount of information his enhanced sense of smell was trying to give him, at least. "He respects all our opinions. He respects me, despite what I am. It's why I follow him."

"I think you're fascinating, actually." Grantaire turns away, though he keeps his head up.

Submitting but not, somehow managing to be both human and wolf, and Feuilly smiles. The stray's smart, finding a way to place Feuilly at his ease. Then the stray's words register, and Feuilly isn't sure exactly how he should feel. "Fascinating? Which part of me?"

"The fact that you were human and now you're… well, you're one of us." Reaching up to run his fingers along one of the fans on display, Grantaire shrugs. "I didn't even know it was really possible before you told me. I thought it might just be a myth. If you wouldn't mind telling me, I'd like to hear how it happened."

"That would involve me actually knowing exactly what happened." Feuilly pauses in his work, not wanting to make a mistake due to distraction. And memories of his first few Changes will always be a distraction. "Why do you want to know? Are you afraid of me?"

"Afraid? No." Grantaire actually laughs as he glances back at Feuilly. "There are many more concrete things I can be afraid of. I've known good humans as a stray; I've known bad wolves. I don't care that you were a human, but I think it's fascinating that you became a wolf. I want to know what you learned. I want to know… what it was like. I want to know what you think about our people." Grantaire's head drops and his voice lowers. "And I want to know what it was like when you met him."

Feuilly stares at Grantaire for a moment before sighing. Enjolras really isn't going to appreciate the stray's fixation on him.

On the other hand… on the other hand, he can understand what it's like to meet Enjolras after having dealt with other alphas, other wolves, the rest of wolf society. He can understand how impressive and unearthly Enjolras can seem.

That's not why he's come to love his alpha and his chosen pack or why he's happy to work beside them, but yes, if he pauses for a moment he can understand it.

"There are a few more boxes in back that need to be unpacked. Bring them up here and let me finish this. Then we'll get something to eat and I'll tell you about how I ended up with Enjolras' pack."

It won't be the easiest story he's ever told, because the memories of that time are always bright and hot whenever he goes near them, etched forever into his mind as moments of terror and pain, but if this stray is going to stick around he'll need to know.

XXX

Feuilly meets Enjolras before he becomes a wolf.

It's a friend who urges him to go to the meeting, another young man who's heard Enjolras speak before and been impressed by him.

Feuilly can understand why. Enjolras is one of the best speakers he's ever heard, a man who clearly cares passionately about his subject, a man who reads and reacts to the crowd with an almost super-human alertness and awareness. The people seem to like and respond to him, and Feuilly finds himself in agreement with most of what Enjolras says.

He still hangs back, during that first meeting. He's not sure if he entirely trusts these people. They're too well-dressed, too well-spoken, too sure of themselves, and too… insular is the word he finally settles on. They work with each other too well, reacting to each other almost before they speak, and it's probably just because they're so used to each other. It's probably nothing more or less than the aptitude of a group that's been doing this for some time, and it shouldn't bother him.

It does bother him, though. It bothers him as much as the look that Enjolras gives him, those deep blue eyes holding his for seconds that feel like eternity before finally dismissing him as Enjolras turns away to one of the students who came with him.

Feuilly leaves after that, but it takes hours for him to shake the chill that went down his spine at that look, an appraising look that managed to be hot as fire and cold as the emptiest night at the same time.

He would have remembered those eyes for the rest of his life, even if he didn't ever end up seeing the man again.

XXX

"Why did he look at you? What did he want with you? Did he cause you to Change? Did—"

"I don't know, Grantaire. None of us know what caused me to Change. If it was Enjolras, it was unintentional. Now eat and listen."

XXX

Feuilly Changes for the first time a month later, in the spring, on the night of the full moon.

He doesn't know what's happening to him. He's terrified. He's sick, violently, physically sick, an illness that's been growing inside him since the previous full moon.

He thinks he's going to die.

He doesn't scream, only because there's no air in his lungs with which to scream. All he can do is lie prone on the ground, panting, retching, and wait for it to be over.

And it does pass, eventually. Unfortunately, when it passes, it takes his humanity with it.

At first he thinks he's blind. The range of colors that he can see is drastically limited, and his eyes are drawn far more to movement than to shape or shade. He tries to rub a hand across his eyes, and realizes exactly how much has changed.

He's not proud of how he reacts. He's not proud of how he screams, a long, low howl of agony and denial, or how he twists and scrambles until he's free of his clothes, or how he bolts out the window when his neighbors come knocking at his door.

He can't walk properly. It's impossible to walk on two legs, not with the monstrosity of a body that he's found himself in, and his disjointed human thoughts prevent the instincts that go with this body from getting any purchase.

He ends up curled in the corner of an alley, his head on his paws, his ears pinned back to his head, his eyes frantically watching for any threat.

He's just starting to calm down when the female wolf finds him.

He doesn't know that she's female at the time. He doesn't know much of anything, actually. He doesn't even know that she's not simply a stray dog.

He does know that she's kind, because she takes the time to approach him despite the fact that he's clearly terrified out of his mind. She moves slowly, one step at a time, waiting for him to relax each time before edging nearer. She keeps her head tilted to the side for most of it, her ears pricked forward, interested but not threatening.

And something inside of him, something that he's fairly certain hadn't been there that morning, responds to her. He—

XXX

"Are you talking about Monet?" Grantaire stares at him in puzzlement. "Because it's really, really weird to hear him referred to as a she. All wolves get male pronouns."

"I know that now." Feuilly frowns across at the other wolf. "I didn't know it then. Do you want me to tell you this story or not?"

"I'm sorry." Grantaire lowers his head meekly. "Please, continue."

XXX

He submits.

He doesn't know that's what happening. All he knows is that it feels right, that it feels safe, that he wants to turn his head to the side and drop his eyes and trust this creature.

Which isn't something that he's used to doing. He doesn't trust people without proper reason to. It's too dangerous to do so, and he pulls his head back around abruptly, baring his teeth as he stares at her, his body hunched and ready to run—well, stagger—again if he needs to.

She sits down, still watching him with that curious tilt to her head, and in the space of a few seconds shifts into a beautiful, naked woman. A woman with a chest as flat as any man's, but he can see clearly that she isn't male, so that's the only option.

"What's wrong with you?" She speaks clearly, her accent Parisian. "Are you hurt? I can smell your fear, but I don't smell any blood."

He wants to be human. He desperately, painfully wants to be human again, and she's shown him that it's possible.

Possible, but not easy, and he's panting in pain on the ground again when he finally has his human form back, the night suddenly far darker than it had been before.

The female stares at him in consternation. "There's something really wrong with you, isn't there? Are you sick? I don't smell silver."

She moves toward him again and he pulls back, bracing himself against the wall, self-consciously trying to hide his nakedness.

"Shh, it's all right." She croons the words low in her throat, in a voice that would fit more with a young man than with a young woman. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're young enough that being a stray's fine, and this is my pack's land. You're safe. Let me see what's wrong with you."

"Who are you?" His throat feels scratchy and dry, and he swallows convulsively. "What are you? What's happening to me?"

"Hush, hush. It's all right. Let's start with the easy bits. What's your name?"

He hesitates, not sure if he should give his name, not wanting to have this—whatever this is—actually connected with his life. On the other hand, this woman has literally seen him naked. Providing his name can't really give her too much more power over him. "Feuilly. My name's Feuilly."

"Feuilly. That's a good name. My name's Monet. I'm a part of the pack that controls this area. My mother's the beta; if I decide to stay I'll likely be beta or gamma." Monet keeps her voice low, but it isn't hard to make out her words. He seems to hear things too clearly, now, the entire city a cacophony that he was trying to escape by hiding here. "That's why when I tell you that it's safe, you can trust me."

"Beta? Gamma? Pack?" He pushes sweat-damp hair out of his eyes, feeling laughter build up in his chest despite the fact that there's really nothing funny about the situation. "I don't understand this at all, Monet. Your words don't mean anything to me. I just… what have I become? What's happening to me?"

"You're Pack. It's the full moon. You Changed." Monet holds out a hand, palm-up, before sidling forward to touch his arm. "How much do you remember? When did you start not feeling well?"

"Last month. Last month on the full moon." He manages to choke the laughter back down, and he only flinches a bit when she touches him. "I felt ill, but it passed. Then yesterday… yesterday was bad. And today… today I thought I was going to die, and instead I turned into… into…"

"Wait." She pauses, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes widening. "Wait, wait, wait. Is this the first time you Changed? Are you… you're human?"

"I was." He swallows, hard, to keep from saying anything that he might regret later, to keep the panic down inside where it belongs. "If by Changed you mean turned into a four-legged monstrosity of nature, then yes. This is the first time I've Changed."

"Oh." She is suddenly backing away from him, her expression worried, closed-off, frightened. "Black night, you're a human. You're a human."

She's going to leave him. She's going to abandon him, in this world that suddenly doesn't make sense, and his heartrate speeds up as blind terror takes hold.

He doesn't mean to Change again, but it happens without his permission, and he whines low in his throat, lost and hurt.

Monet halts, turning slowly back to him. For a moment her face is frozen, unreadable.

Then she begins inching toward him again, and her fingers bury themselves in the fur of his neck. "You poor thing. You don't even know how to control this."

He doesn't like being called a poor thing. He's never liked being seen as weak, and he forces his head up, raises his eyes to meet hers.

They drop away again without his wanting them to, his body stilling, that sense of wanting to lie quiet and accept what she does with him rising again.

He doesn't like it. He doesn't like that his body wants to show respect to this woman when his mind hasn't decided to, that this monstrous body apparently affects his mind and heart as well, and he can feel the fur along his back rise as his lip curls in a frightened, angry snarl.

Monet pulls back again, but not as far this time. Biting on her lower lip, she watches him, not bothering at all to hide her nakedness. "I can't leave you here. It's too dangerous. Other humans could find you, or…"

She leans forward, rubbing her face against his, placing her head above his. "You'll have to trust me. I can only imagine how frightening this is for you, but I'm asking this for your sake and for the sake of my people. Trust me. Follow me. I'll take you somewhere safe, and I'll explain what's happening."

He doesn't have many other options, so after a tense few seconds of consideration he forces his head to rise and fall in something that could be interpreted as a nod.

"I'll keep you safe." She whispers the words into his ear. "Just stay in that form until I say it's all right to Change again, and I promise, I'll keep you safe."

XXX

Feuilly pauses, not certain where to let his memory go now. How much of his life does he offer to this stray? How much of the pain and fear of those first weeks does he acquiesce to, and how much does he gloss over?

"He did."

"Hm?" Feuilly raises his head in order to meet Grantaire's eyes. "What was that?"

"Monet kept his word. At least as well as anyone can keep anyone safe around Enjolras' pack." Grantaire pauses, hesitates. "Wait… no. Monet wasn't part of Enjolras' pack, was he? Not if his mother was the beta. Not unless Courfeyrac and Combeferre have aged very well. And not unless Armand was very confused yesterday."

"If that was all supposed to make sense to me, it doesn't." Taking a moment to sort through the quick litany, Feuilly sighs. "Actually, on second thought, most of it does. Including Armand probably telling you that our pack hasn't had any pups, which is true and absolutely none of his business. I swear, that alpha watches Enjolras like a hawk watches a rabbit."

Grantaire's face takes on a worried, distracted look, his hands balling into fists on the table.

He's being protective of Enjolras. This stray, the most submissive wolf anyone in the pack has ever met, is being protective of Enjolras. A bemused smile on his face, Feuilly shakes his head. "Armand's also one of Enjolras' biggest supporters in the area, so don't get too worked up about it. He's just… eccentric."

"So how did the two of you come to be in Enjolras' pack, then?" Grantaire tilts his head to the side, meeting Feuilly's gaze evenly for a moment before a look of panic slides across his face and he drops his gaze down to his plate. "Oh… if you don't want to say, if it's that Monet's pack didn't take the human thing very well…"

"No." The smile on Feuilly's face is slightly bitter now, but he doesn't try to change it as he decides where to pick up the thread of the memory. "No, they didn't take it very well."

XXX

Monet manages to keep Feuilly's status as human-born a secret from the pack for an entire week. It's a week during which he learns to Change properly, learns the words that he needs to understand these strange creatures, and starts to get used to his new senses and the deficits in some of his old ones. It's a week during which he learns to walk properly in wolf form, to fight properly, and comes to understand both the feeling that assaults him when he meets other wolves and the reason behind it.

He's not sure that makes him like it any more, and finding out that he's somewhere on the lower half of magical power doesn't make him too much happier with the situation, but any knowledge is better than confusion.

Except, of course, the breaking of the knowledge that he's human-born to the rest of the pack.

The pack corners them in Monet's room. All six of the adults are present, though it's the alpha and beta who come nearest to them.

"Why?" It's Monet's mother who makes the accusation, the female wolf growling low in his throat as he corners them both. "Why would you do this to me? You know how our pack feels about humans. You know how all packs feel about humans!"

"He was scared. He was submissive." Monet keeps trying to stand in front of Feuilly, to protect him, but he won't allow it.

If there's going to be fighting, he's going to fight at Monet's side. He might not quite have the hang of Changing or using his wolf body, but he's had plenty of practice defending himself in human form. "Your daughter did nothing wrong. I've done nothing wrong."

"You're a monster." It's the pack's alpha who spits out the word, and Feuilly reels back as the female bears down on him with his magic. "You're a monster that should never have been allowed into our home, into our pack. You should have been put down as soon as he found you, and we're going to correct the situation immediately."

He might have died then. The alpha intended to kill him, to keep him still and Monet still until the rest of the pack had done their job, but Feuilly had other plans.

He was new to the pack. He was young, still young enough to become a stray if he wished. The alpha was abusing his power. Those are all the reasons Monet will babble to him later, as they run, about why he was able to sever the pack-bond and save himself.

He's not sure which is right, or if it was simply his determination not to die, not to let this bastard kill him quietly, but the pack-bond snaps in two, and he can feel blood start to slide from his own nose as he watches it slide down the alpha's face.

"Monster." The word is a hiss, a low, angry growl from the half-dozen adult wolves gathered around them, and he knows that he can't wait for them to recover.

He needs to run.

He needs to survive.

It's the second time in a week that he goes through a window rather than a door, and the sting of glass cutting into his flesh is far too familiar, but he's quite certain that it beats the rending of wolf teeth.

He doesn't realize until he's halfway down the street that Monet's following him.

XXX

"He left his pack for you." Grantaire's voice is awed. "That's quite the vote of confidence."

"Not for me." Feuilly shakes his head, smiling for the first time in a while. "He left because it was wrong. He left because he couldn't live with what they tried to do. I… was just the catalyst that let him know that the world needed to change."

For a moment Grantaire's quiet, considering. When he finally speaks, it's not the question that Feuilly was expecting, the name that he had been waiting to hear nowhere to be found. "How long did the two of you go without a pack?"

XXX

Enjolras found them ten days later.

He was looking for them. Feuilly's certain of that, though he's never asked Enjolras to confirm it. Why else would Enjolras be in another pack's territory, though, especially mere months after he'd changed everything in Paris by redrawing the pack lines?

Monet was familiar with Enjolras, but only vaguely, by reputation, as a terrifying force threatening to tear their world apart.

Feuilly would know those blue eyes anywhere, even surrounded by the beautiful golden fur of Enjolras' wolf form.

Monet tries to protect Feuilly, once again. It's something Monet's been doing every time they've run into other wolves, and Feuilly hopes that eventually it's going to change, especially if he keeps slapping Monet's arm down every time he tries it.

Enjolras approaches them slowly, with deliberation obvious in every step. He settles down a half-dozen steps in front of them, staring gravely at first Feuilly and then Monet. The alley where he's found them is empty, the night around them still and quiet.

"What do you want with us?" Monet's voice shakes, and her head drops down, her shoulders hunching in submissive defiance. "We aren't in your territory. We're not your problem."

Shifting to human form in the space of a few seconds, rising gracefully to his full height, Enjolras continues to shift his focus from one of them to the other. "I heard about you two. A human-born and the wolf who saved his life."

Feuilly growls, low in his throat, shifting his weight so that he's ready to fight. He may not be able to look at Enjolras properly, the part of him that the wolf's invaded telling him that this man—woman—person is alpha in no uncertain terms, but he won't let anyone hurt him or Monet without a fight.

Especially not some bastard who plays at being human, who talks with humans about equality and revolution when he's really some kind of dominant werewolf monster. Does he want the humans to slaughter each other so that it's easier for his people? Is that why he's encouraging them toward rebellion and revolt?

"I wanted to offer you safety on my land." Enjolras' voice is quiet, his face serene. "I don't know if you'd be interested in joining my pack. There are currently six of us, but accepting two more wouldn't be a problem for me. If you are interested, you're welcome to talk with the others and ask permission. If you're not, that's fine. You're still welcome to make a den in our territory. I'll annex the land to you, if I have to in order for all our wolves to accept it, but you'll still have what protection I can offer you. Would that be acceptable?"

"Why?" He spits out the word before he thinks about it, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, still ready to fight.

Enjolras' eyes pierce right through him, hold him in place. "Because everyone deserves a chance at surviving, human or wolf or some beautiful combination of the two."

Monet relaxes, just slightly, and Feuilly finds himself doing the same.

Running a hand through his blond hair, Enjolras turns slightly away. "And, on a selfish note, because I remember you. I saw you two months ago. I liked the look in your eye then, and I like it now. I don't want to give anyone a chance to break it."

A brief, dark chuckle works its way out of Feuilly's throat. "You don't need to worry about that, alpha. I'm a lot harder to break than most people expect."

He's survived this ordeal with his sanity intact, and if this can't break him, nothing ever will.

Enjolras raises his shoulders in a brief, elegant shrug before falling forward onto four paws again, shaking his golden coat into position before fixing them each once more with his fire-blue eyes and turning away.

Feuilly and Monet don't talk about following him.

They just take each other's hand and do.

XXX

Grantaire is quiet, his eyes fixed on his hands.

Feuilly finishes the last of his meal and stretches. "And that's pretty much that. We met Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly, and within the week we were added to his pack. A few months after that Monet finally explained to me what the whole mate-bond thing was, after we pretty much already had one. Otherwise… life's gone on. I work. Monet's getting an accounting degree. Enjolras… Enjolras has turned out to be everything that he appeared to be and more."

Raising his head, Grantaire smiles. "Thank you for telling me your story. It can't have been an easy one to tell, but it's an important one to listen to. When Enjolras says that our people's society is as broken as the human one, he's speaking truth."

Feuilly considers for a moment before giving a brief nod. "He tends not to speak unless he thinks he's speaking truth. Pack society… it's different from human society. It definitely has its problems. But it also has some beautiful things to it that I wouldn't have known otherwise. Monet wouldn't be who he is if he'd grown up human. It wouldn't have been possible. And I do love him the way he is."

"I'd say I'll drink to that, but apparently I'm not drinking today." Grantaire gives a brief salute with his water glass, a wide grin on his face. "To all the beautiful, bold members of your pack, may they never change."

Feuilly raises his own glass in return toast. "May they only change for the better."

Clearing away the remains of their meal, he directs Grantaire on how to do the sweeping and dusting. "When you're done, I'll give you some scraps I have, and you can show me what you've learned in your travels."

Feuilly's not sure he's ever seen a wolf smile quite so happily as Grantaire does at that moment, and it cements the decision that's been slowly building throughout the morning.

He hopes Enjolras doesn't ask him for a logical reason for accepting the stray, because he's not sure he has one, but he's also quite certain right now that he doesn't want to turn Grantaire away.