Principal House greets the day with a relaxed whiff of his morning tea. Settling into his cozy pleather office chair, he turns to face the floor-to-ceiling window behind him, which he had just drawn to reveal the newly born rays of sunlight that saturated the sprawling campus of the academy he governs.

The goose can hardly remember the last time his mornings had been so peaceful. Ever since the incident that occurred more or less this same time last year (had it really been an entire year? The thought makes his eyes droop), every morning had been a never-ending session of pushing several metaphorical boulders up several metaphorical hills. Students unenrolling left and right, avoiding lawsuits, dealing with the press, the incessant needling of the board of directors, all on top of the already heavy workload that comes with being a principal of an academy this grand.

He rubs the back of his head, hand still warm from the contact with his hot ceramic mug. His feathers hardly cover that spot. Running his fingers through his plumage, he could probably count the amount of feathers remaining with one hand. He's been molting nonstop for a year now. He sighs into his tea. This job is gonna be the death of him.

No, no. He shakes such negative thoughts off. Since he was just a little gosling, his mother said to him: "House, pessimism is what cooked the goose." A wise woman, that one. If he had given up in crazier times, he wouldn't get to enjoy a perfectly tranquil morning such as this one. The water fowl wasn't sure what awaited him after the start of the second semester. More protesting from those DAVID thugs? Another scandal? Heaven forbid, another predation? He opened the school gates with almost paralyzing unease. But he had forgotten one of the cardinal truths of school life: summer vacation fixes everything.

When the students returned with their luggage, they seemingly forgot to bring the drama that accompanied them the previous semester. It turns out that all of the intertrophic conflict could disappear after two months of visiting beaches and arcades.

No more herbie picketing. No more of those ridiculous CHAMP circuses. Noah's Arc was almost a normal school again. All quiet on the Western front. Both carnies and herbies are behaving now, the student council is doing their job as normal, and House gets to keep the remainder of his feathers.

What bliss.

The principal is determined to make the most of wonderful, stress-free mornings such as this one. Perhaps he'll even bust out the tin of buttered cookies he stashes inside his locked desk compartment. After all, he deserves it.

His desk side phone rings, breaking his train of thought. He picks up with a lazy smile on his beak.

"Principal House speaking."

"Good morning, House." Mrs. Cally, the receptionist greets. No doubt, she's enjoying her morning tea as well. "I'm about to start the morning announcement. Anything I should mention on your end?"

"No, dear. Another perfectly normal and uneventful day." The principal replies with satisfaction. "And as I've said before, I'll send you any addendums via email."

"Oh, you know I don't care for those hi-tech systems." She giggles. Only the koala could make House feel so young by comparison. "Well, I'll get started now. See you at lunchtime, House!"

"Yes, see you soon, Mrs. Cally."

He places the receiver down with a neat clack, and resumes his morning musings as the mild-mannered voice of the receptionist echoes throughout the school speakers.

"Today's lunch is sautéd veggies with a side of tomato soup…"

How lovely. House loves a good tomato soup. The Noah's Arc lunch staff is renowned for making outstanding meals, and its a reputation he made sure kept its prestige, both for the student's sake and her his own appetite's. Soon enough, the koala concludes the day's announcement and bids farewell, leaving the typical silence to fill her place. Just in time for the goose to finish the last sip of his fennel tea.

He adjusts his glasses. Well, that was nice. Time to get to work. Aside from the expected duties of everyday administration, today promises to be short and sweet.

His phone rings again. House lets out an amused sigh. He picks up the receiver once more.

"Your emails, Mrs. Cally." He chides the other line. "Please check your emails."

"This is Nurse Ellie." The other line corrects.

"Oh, my apologies! Mrs. Cally has a habit of calling me instead of sending me emails you see. How may I help you?"

"Please come to the infirmary ASAP. It's urgent."

The aftertaste of fennel in his mouth suddenly turns sour.

Until the very last moment, House feels relatively unbothered, as if somehow, good news would be waiting for him in the infirmary. Perhaps it's his birthday today, and he forgot, so as soon as he opens the sliding door, he'll be greeted with the staff jumping out, yelling 'surprise!' and throwing confetti in the air.

Denial safely muffles his perception as he leaves his office, leisurely walks down the stairs of the Emzara building, and across the yellowing landscape of the campus. He reaches the central Noah building and enters through the back door, closest to the infirmary. Then, he opens the door.

No cake awaits him. Rather, Nurse Ellie turns around. Alongside her are the members of the student council: Hafsa, Solomon, Brian, and Missy. They all huddle around the nurse's cot, blocking it from view. None of the animals have smiles on their faces.

"Principal House." The raccoon nurse says, less of a greeting and more of a statement. She moves to the side, revealing a tapir slouched on the cot. His right eye is all but swollen shut, skin the color of a bruised plum. A dribble of red saliva trickles down from his nose trunk, which twitches unhappily while uttering wheezing snorts.

"Oh my…" House mutters upon seeing the beat-up student. "What on earth happened?"

A purely rhetorical question. It's immediately clear to the goose what happened.

He got into a fight.

And got his shit kicked in.

Nurse Ellie chimes in. "It appears George here got into some kind of altercation—"

"I'll tell you what happened." The tapir interrupts, sneering. "The predator that you let into school finally snapped."

He points a trembling finger at House, who blanches under its heat.

The raccoon nurse tries to patiently explain. "By that he means—"

"Who else could it mean?!" He snaps. "Toma! The fucking juvie psycho!"

"P-panther Toma…?" The principal sputters, as if there could be any other Toma. "H-how… did this…"

"How did this all start?" Nurse Ellie finishes the question, dabbing a cotton ball at the tapir's black eye.

"Ow— It happened, ouch! Just a couple of minutes ago. Right before class started. That dumb beast cornered me when I was getting my things from my locker. Started talking a bunch of shit about how carnies aren't going anywhere. Cuz, you know, I've been going to the DAVID protests and stuff. He said he rounded up a bunch of other carnies during the summer and that they're gonna start going after DAVID members and other herbies who want them gone. I try to book it but he grabs me by the shirt and punches me square in the face. Then he just walks off."

"Do you have an alibi for this?" Solomon interjects suddenly. "Any witnesses? Anything to confirm this story whatsoever?"

The tapir narrows his eyes, or at least his one good eye. "What are you implying? I just woke up looking like this?"

"Now, now…" Principal House attempts to defuse the situation. "Nobody is claiming anything. Once you're patched up, we'll go to my office, call Toma, and sort everything out. "

"Hell no!" The tapir spits. "You're crazy if you think I'm gonna sit in the same room as that meat-eater!"

"You will."

It's the first time Hafsa has spoken, and her voice is firm and devoid of any of her typical charm. Her facial expression is one of absolute solemness.

"You're claiming something extremely serious, and we need to sort this out immediately. Understand that you're accusing a fellow classmate of unprovoked assault first thing in the morning. Despite his previous criminal record, this classmate has shown zero aggressive or violent tendencies during his enrollment here, unlike the student 'organization' you affiliate with. You have no witnesses or any proof besides your injuries to back this up. If what you're saying is true, Panther Toma has committed an atrocious act and will be dealt with accordingly. But if you're lying…"

Her voice lowers.

"There will be consequences as well."

The tapir gulps.

Solomon places a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. The harshness of the serval's words stuns the other animals for a few moments.

"I suppose I should have Mrs. Cally call in Toma, then." House's quavering voice finally fills the awkward silence, and he quickly hobbles back to the infirmary exit. "Meet me in my office once you are well enough. Serval Hafsa, you too."

They nod and watch as the goose waddles off. Hafsa returns her gaze to the tapir, who shrinks under her amber glare.

"Figures you'd take his side." He dares to grumble as Nurse Ellie finishes treating his eye. "Meat-eaters stick together, don't they?"

"I was his walking buddy once. I know him well enough." Is all she counters with.

She strides off, and as if on instinct, the other members of the student council follow her.

Once outside of the infirmary, they settle in a group circle some paces off.

"You guys should get back to class." The serval says, somewhat abruptly. "I need to go down to House's and finish wrapping this up."

"Wow, Hafsa…" Missy whistles, a little concerned. "I've never seen you so serious before."

Hafsa looks down at the sparrow, and relaxes a hand she didn't realize had been balled up into a fist. The stinging sensation of her claws against her palm causes her to flex the hand.

"I guess it's just a bit too early to be dealing with this kind of stuff." She chuckles.

Brian doesn't return her laughter. "What he said about Toma… You don't think…"

She scoffs. "Please. Toma? I'd believe a cartoon anvil fell on that tapir before I believe Toma actually hit someone."

"So that means he's lying." The pigeon frowns. "But why start this drama all of a sudden?"

"That remains to be clear." Solomon concludes. "Hopefully, Hafsa can glean more into the truth of the matter in House's office. But as for now, we should do as she says and return to our classes."

The two birds hesitantly agree, and with a final anxious farewell, they leave. Solomon takes a few steps in their direction but lingers around until it is only him and Hafsa.

"…You shouldn't have those kinds of outbursts." He says finally, avoiding her gaze. "It looks bad for the student council."

"I know."

"Remember we need to remain neutral. As unfair as it is, you can't go around acting like Toma's defense lawyer."

"…I know."

Her voice catches in her throat. Solomon looks back, and notices tears beginning to form in her eyes. Immediately, he rushes to hold her.

"Hey." He whispers. "What is it?"

She rests her forehead on his chest, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as if to dam her crying. "I don't know. I just…"

She lets out a breathless wheeze; a half-hearted attempt at laughter. "I feel like this is gonna suck."

Surprised, Solomon imitates her laugh. "Yes. I think so too."

Gently, his thumb lifts her chin up to face him. She looks up with glistening jewels for eyes, and he nearly faints at the sight of them.

"Be strong for just a little while longer. Let me come with you."

She smiles almost teasingly. "A secretary has no business joining me for this." In a smaller voice, she adds. "I gotta go alone."

It's not immediate, but he nods. Like a consolation, he places a kiss on her forehead. "Then I send you my strength. I'll do what I can on my end."

"Okay. Thank you."

"I adore you."

He kisses her until she forgets why she was crying in the first place.

"I've never seen this dude in my life."

Toma's face is blankly stunned. His large finger points towards the tapir, seething on the seat next to him.

"What the hell do you mean you've never seen me before?!" The trunked male bleats. "I was outside your dorm protesting for like two months straight!"

Toma shrugs. "The mob kind of blends together."

The tapir seems genuinely offended by this.

"What's your name, even?"

"It's George!" The tapir grunts, turning to Principal House, who looks very small in his office chair. "He's lying! He's pretending not to know me!"

"Are you a junior or something?" Toma asks.

"Shut up!"

"Okay." Principal House interjects in between their bickering, pinching the bridge above his beak. "I'm getting completely opposite versions of the story here."

"Obviously!" George snorts. "Like he'd admit to it."

"I would like to believe you, George.," the goose continues. "As I never want to suspect a student of lying. But I would also like to believe that Toma would never hurt a fellow classmate."

Hafsa nods quietly behind him.

"Since there is no proof or witnesses to this alleged incident, I'm afraid there's not much that I can do on my end." House sighs. "Of course, I could give both of you detention."

The two males flinch at the very mention of the word.

"Would you feel that's fair?" The principal asks.

"Forget it." The tapir scowls. "I should've known better to think you'd be able to help. My parents will hear about this."

Principal House grimaces. "Yes, they will. In fact, we'll inform both of your parents what happened today. I should have their numbers in my directory."

Toma's ears flatten. "Uh, I've been emancipated for a couple of years now."

"A-ah," The goose stammers. "Then I'll inform the juvenile detention center."

The panther gulps, his Adam's apple catching on his collar.

House turns to the serval. "Anything to add, student council president?"

Hafsa shakes her head. "Nothing, sir. I'll escort both students back to their classes."

With that, the principal's doors close. Hafsa guides both tapir and panther down the Emzara stairwell, trying her best to look stern.

After a painfully long walk back to the main building, the trio drop off George first. He offers no words, just a grunt before stomping into his classroom, where his classmates greet him with astonished gasps at the state of him. No doubt he'll be telling some tall tales to all of them.

Now that it's only the two felines left, they can speak freely.

"What the hell was that?" Toma asks in a low voice, ducking to better match the female's height.

"God only knows." Hafsa sighs. "DAVID is up to something again. I could basically see the imprint of Ezekiel's fist on that tapir's face."

Toma shudders. "He's behind this…?"

"Who else? Only he could think of something so fucked up."

"Makes sense why they blamed me, then."

"You're an easy target, I'm afraid." She looks up at him. It's been a while since she'd seen Toma's face. His expression is far from content, but the panther looks well enough; his fur had grown a little bit, adding to the moppiness of his fur, and his eyes are still the piercing yellow almonds she remembers (one slashed with claw marks Hafsa now knows belongs to Toma's 'father').

And look at that. His whiskers are longer.

"How was your summer, Toma?" She asks despite herself.

Toma's eyes widen at the question, but offers a boyish smile. "Not too bad. I even got to go to that one place. Scentimental or something?"

"The Scentennial?" Hafsa corrects. "Wow, look at you. Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Smelled a whole bunch. Monteiro got some really funky flavor. It was like dead leaves and cheese or something."

Hafsa smiles back, scrunching up her nose at the thought. "Canines."

After a pause, she continues.

"I'm glad you have friends to hang out with."

"Other friends, you mean."

"After everything I did to you, you'd still call me a friend?"

"You'll always be my buddy, Hafsa."

Her heart hurts.

"How's CHAMP doing? Desmond giving you trouble?"

Hafsa has always motivated Solomon. Even since he first laid eyes on her, the serval's mere existence lit a fire under him that drove him to be greater. To be more like her. Dating her has challenged some of his ideas of her, yes, but in his eyes, Hafsa will always be his idol.

And someone made his idol cry today.

Solomon's always considered himself a terrible person. So when his heart begins to darken with the familiar wickedness of a meat-eater, he's not alarmed. He just feels compelled to act upon it.

Ezekiel gallops past him, chasing after a soccer ball. Him and the other large herbivores like to play around after classes. Solomon could hardly contain himself during his own classes, so eager was he to play along.

The caracal nimbly hops over the fence separating the campus from the field. "Mind if I join, boys?"

The herbivores immediately squint and mutter amongst themselves, shaking their heads. All except Ezekiel, who instead smiles widely.

"Of course not. The more the merrier, right fellas?"

The 'fellas' don't seem to agree at all, but begrudgingly defer to their leader. And so, the feline jogs over to join the much larger males.

"We're doing skins versus shirts." Ezekiel tugs on his own sweat-stained t-shirt.

"I've always preferred skins." Solomon smiles. In a flash, he removes his shirt and ties it around his waist, revealing his slender torso.

"If you insist."

And with that, the game resumes. Or rather, commences. It's immediately clear to Solomon that these herbivores are playing with house rules. No kickoff, no meeting in the center field, just kicking the ball and tackling each other.

A wildebeest, the speediest of the herbies, is first to nab the ball, criss-crossing it between his long legs and in doing so, avoiding a couple of charging males who vie for its possession.

However, not even a wildebeest can outmaneuver a caracal. Though Solomon may be the smallest of the animals, he is also the most agile. In a game like soccer, where physical bulk pales in comparison to stamina, he is the deadliest player. In one sweep, he steals the ball from the bovid and runs the opposite direction. A couple of other skins ask for a pass, but Solomon ignores them, shooting it square into the goal almost halfway across the field.

"One to nothing." He states. Not even his teammates look pleased.

"Not bad!" Ezekiel shouts from across the field.

The goalie, a bored-looking moose, kicks the ball back to the players. A shirt grabs it first and makes his way down the field. A few kicks and passes later, and the ball winds up between Ezekiel's feet. He's lined up to shoot his shot; the goalie is leaning right, so a solid kick towards the leftmost post is where to go. He winds up the kick—

A sudden presence next to him interrupts the motion, snatching the ball from under his feet before he can think. Solomon heel turns, the ball now his, and sprints off before Ezekiel can even finish his kick, now impacting with air and some clods of dirt.

The caracal passes around to the other skins, but weaves in and around players so as to always be in the lead. The bulky herbivores are practically helpless. He scores another goal like he's breathes air: effortlessly.

"Two to nothing."

The other players begin to grumble. Only Ezekiel remains unfazed. As another round begins, the game becomes centered around keeping the ball as far away from Solomon as possible, a feat much easier said than done. Inevitably, the carnivore winds up in possession of the ball soon enough, about a quarter of the way to the goal. He ducks and dribbles and dodges around his clumsy opponents, making it to the center field. Ezekiel meets him there, and Solomon smirks. He feigns his right, and just as he sees the rhinoceros take the bait, he jolts towards his left, sneaking past.

He leaves Ezekiel in the dust and regains control of his ball. Perhaps he can pass it to a teammate. No need. He can take on all of these herbivores by himse-

A tremendous force slams into him, sending him flying. He crashes on the ground, bouncing two or three times before sliding to an agonizing halt. His shoulder and back, now grimy with dirt, grass and blood, sting in the open air.

The cat hisses into his chest, curling against the ground. He feels the vibrations of stomping as a handful of herbies close in on him.

"Woah, you took a dozer." Ezekiel sucks in air through his teeth. "You alright, secretary?"

"I-it's nothing." Solomon pants.

"You might want to head to the nurse's. Those scrapes can infect real fast."

The others chuckle under their breaths.

"I'll be fine. I just need a few minutes to catch my breath. I wouldn't want to go to the infirmary twice in one day."

Ezekiel's ears flick at that. "Sure. Let me help you up." He extends a hand down.

Solomon accepts, tightly gripping his rugged palm and hiding his claws in his skin. Ezekiel doesn't flinch.

Together, they limp towards a nearby bench. After placing Solomon down on it, the larger male joins, sitting down alongside him. The others seem to accept this as a small break and resume their playing.

"That's a hell of a scratch, secretary." Ezekiel chuckles. "My bad, didn't mean to push you so hard. You're lighter than I thought."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Solomon flexes his shoulder blades, feeling out the scope of damage.

"Here." The rhinoceros ducks, and reaches for a nearby sports bag. He fumbles around until coming up with a half-empty water bottle, which he unscrews and promptly pours the liquid down the caracal's back. Despite being lukewarm, the water indeed provides an ardent relief from the pain.

"There, fit as a fiddle." He slaps the caracal's wet fur, reigniting the pain all over again.

The two males chuckle.

"Didn't I tell you before that if you threatened any more students, I would make your life a living hell?"

"Didn't do any threatening as far as I know."

"The stunt you pulled today falls under that range."

"George signed up for it. He was real gung-ho about it, too."

"So you're framing carnivores now. Doesn't seem like the work of the innocent, now does it?"

"This is just a little stepping stone. The rest will come naturally, more or less."

"You cockroach."

"Don't your kind eat those?"

Some meters off, an elk scores a goal. His teammates cheer.

"I'll have you expelled. You and all of your pathetic cronies."

"What, with the cigarette stub?" Ezekiel cackles. "Be my guest. You still got that thing?"

"You truly believe you won't be caught? When you admit fully to it so easily?"

"Something tells me it won't matter who started what. Soon enough."

Solomon's pupils narrow.

"Is that a threat?"

"Of course not. You said I can't threaten people anymore."

"Ezekiel, I truly don't care what game you're playing at," The carnivore's voice scratches down the rhino's skin, low and growling. "Your perverted sense of justice is worth less than dirt to me. But you have to be beyond demented to interpret your actions as anything beyond pure destruction. You're poisoning the minds of herbivores into believing in a monster you created."

"That I created…" Ezekiel smiles fondly at those words, as if remembering an old memory. "I don't recall creating that white tiger. Or you. Or that whore you stick your dick in."

Solomon snarls and springs to his feet.

"Shut your worthless mouth."

"Or what?" The herbivore sneers. "You'll maul me? Please, go right ahead." He cranes his head, exposing his cheek to the caracal. "I won't even have to fake this. Because all of you disgusting meat-eaters are the same. Just waiting for an excuse to hurt others."

Solomon grits his teeth.

"Once upon a time," Ezekiel continues. "I told you a storm's coming to Noah's Arc. Hell of a forecast, wasn't it?"

"A storm is approaching all right. But you might be surprised who the lightning hits." The carnivore straightens his posture, his fur still bristling.

"Storms can be mighty unpredictable." The rhino winks. "But I see a cloud forming above the student council."

"So much as breathe in the direction of Hafsa and I will stop being so fucking civil."

"God forbid." Ezekiel also stands up, now towering over the feline. "Seems you've played enough for today."

They lock eyes. It takes a lot of nerve for a herbivore to stare into the murderous eyes of a carnivore, but Ezekiel powers through. However, he is still ultimately the one to break contact, suddenly jogging back to his friends as if the conversation had never happened.

Solomon slowly trudges back to his dorm, but as he passes by the gymnasium, his terrible mind once again takes over.

The next afternoon, members of the ram fighting club open the club room doors only to find their punching bag ripped to shreds.

Generously, the student council provides funding for a replacement.

Thank you for reading! Another day, another absolutely insane ordeal in Noah's Arc Academy. The fuse is beginning to burn on both ends, so peaceful times are coming to an end. Why oh why can't teenagers just learn trigonometry in peace?

Solomon and Ezekiel "DeNiro and Pacino-ing" each other in a soccer field is equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Just kiss already.

Take it easy and stay safe.