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Chapter 6: Amends

All of his actions fell to fallacy. He hated that no matter what he did, he felt it fell short. Roger thought to himself that if only he had a chance, and yet now that he had it, his actions were inconsequential.

They were at his desk, sitting and performing the duties of which were placed upon them. It was slow and arduous, but easier than the previous night. He did not know if he could attribute it to the wolf's understanding or if the material was easier. Indeed, he could not determine if the material was any easier than that of any night, since it all came easily to him.

He had been speaking soothing words and phrases, slowly guiding the wolf toward the understanding of which he sought to employ. He could not goad much of a response from him, any more than what was just a soft response.

He had brought water for both of them to drink, more so than the night before. He had taken note of the thirst that the wolf had, and made sure that it did not exist this night. He had to make it perfect, to set the stage for his reparations of which he so desired.

It was quiet up to a point. The wolf had been concentrating on the paper, but much of it, as the fox noticed, had been to veer away from the company of aforementioned fox. He peered around the room, yet never looked at him directly, or if and when he did, it was merely at his feet.

He managed to murmur out a small, "I'm sorry," finally. It seemed pitiful and Roger felt it was sincere, but it was the very sincerity of the apology and the audacity of the situation that preceded it that caused him grief and indeed affronted him.

With a furrowed brow, of which he was quick to recall, he responded, "Don't be sorry. I'm the one at fault."

He took a deep breath, recognizing that this was the opportunity he sought. It was his time to apologize again. It was his time to make things right. This was his time to make amends.

Still, Hunter was staring at the table, sitting silently, his modest stance seeming like that of a child preparing to be scolded. Perhaps he sensed the impending lecture that he assumed the fox had prepared.

The fox had prepared something, for sure. He ran through it in his head the entire day and all of the night prior. Not a lecture, but an explanation of his feelings and why he took the actions he did. Not a punishment, but the speech of which he hoped would rectify the grave injustice.

He asked calmly, "Could you please look at me?" The wolf did so dutifully, yet looked as if he had done something wrong.

"You're not in trouble or anything. I want... I want to apologize for what I did last night. I know I already did, but it feels like no apology I make will ever be enough. I'm really sorry, Hunter." The fox attempted to look the wolf in the eyes, but with each word, his resolve faltered.

"You didn't deserve it. I want to make you understand why I yelled at you, but when I think about it, there's nothing about it to understand. It was wrong. It didn't make sense. I shouldn't have been angry," he continued. "And... and I could tell you were avoiding me today, and I don't blame you for that. I wouldn't blame anyone for that, for the way I acted.

"You're trying, and I see that. There's effort, just there's something in the way, and I'm not helping that." The fox's gaze soon drifted to the table. "I can't say I'm not angry, but I'm not angry at you. I'm mad at myself. I thought I was composed. I thought I was better than this."

For a minute, there was silence as Roger collected the words in his mind. He continued, "You're probably miserable here, and it's my fault, I'm sure, and I hate to make you feel that way. I never put much thought into it, and that's the problem. So if you don't want to come over anymore, I understand - we can just do the homework at school and then you won't have to see me anymore than that. I'll help you when you want and won't bother you any more than necessary.

"With that being said, I don't want to be your enemy. I don't want you to feel bad in association with me. So, if we could start over, I would much appreciate it, but if you don't want to, I understand. In both cases, I would very much like to offer this apology, and I hope you accept it," he said. His voice had begun to quaver toward the latter end.

There was silence. He glanced up to see that the wolf had now begun to stare at the desk as he had done before. His heart sank and he knew that it was no use. His actions were not forgiven, since, after all, they were unforgiveable. He merely hoped, but it was also to no avail.

Yet, as those thoughts flooded his mind, the wolf spoke up.

"It's okay. We can start over," he said with a soft voice. He gave a forced smile and Roger could tell he was still reserved about the idea. "I forgive you."

Roger felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He stood up, saw the wolf cringe, and apologized again. The abrupt movement still worried Hunter.

He gestured for the wolf to stand up, and then extended his paw. "Okay, let's start over. My name is Roger."

The wolf sheepishly shook his paw. "I'm Hunter."

They sat back down. Before returning to the homework, the fox asked, "So have you always been from here?"

Hunter shook his head. He slowly spoke up, "No... we moved here a few years ago."

It made sense. The fox did not recall seeing him in elementary school, but at the same time, he rarely paid any attention to the students back then, or even now.

"So what are your hobbies, if you don't mind me asking?" the fox inquired.

Hunter shifted in his seat. He looked away as he spoke. "Well... I like to play ball. That's what I was doing before coming here."

Roger quirked an eyebrow. "Ball?"

At this, the wolf looked up and had wagged his tail, before coming to realization that it was a question. He nodded. He made a gesture that resembled the sport in which he played.

"Oh, you mean football," the fox said. He understood now that he referred to the sport, but he thought it odd that he referred to it simply as ball, and his reaction was not normal. He seemed to be like a puppy in his demeanor.

There was a nod. "Well, at least you can play it at school," the fox noted.

Hunter nodded and perked his ears slightly upward from their downed position. He began to smile now that his mind was occupied. Had the fox known it was so simple, he would have resorted to talking about sports earlier.

The wolf sighed, though, and said, "I wish I could play it more, though. It's fine after school. That's where I was before."

Roger tilted his head at this. "You could always play with your friends, right?"

At this, the wolf folded his ears again and returned to his introverted stance: his shoulders moved forward as his paws went to his lap, his head drooped and he gazed off at the side. His tail, were it visible to the fox, would have been noticed to fall. "I don't...."

He did not finish his sentence.

Roger inquired, "Why not play with them?"

Hunter shook his head and his voice was soft. "I don't have any."

Roger frowned. "You're on the football team, you should have plenty? What about the guys on there?"

This seemed to cause the wolf to shrink further into his ball.

Back to square one, the fox thought.

"They just call me stupid," the wolf said. "They don't want me around them."

The fox's heart began to feel heavy again. He understood them, not wanting to have something undesirable around them, yet now that he saw the effect of such actions upon the very thing that was considered undesirable....

"That's ridiculous! I'm sure they're not the brightest crayons in the box, either, no offense. They're in no position to judge," the fox responded. His guilt fueled his anger. He partly spoke against the football team, and partly against himself. "Forget them. If they don't want to be your friend, then I will."

The wolf lifted his head and looked at him directly. Roger felt slightly uneasy at the reaction. "You'll be my friend?"

The fox nodded, his resolve unwavering.

Hunter got up from his chair suddenly and grabbed the fox, hugging him tightly while lifting him in the air. He was now wagging his tail, brushing the papers off the desk and onto the ground.

Roger could barely breathe and felt uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. He did not enjoy the close encounter, especially from the pain it was causing him. He could move a paw to pat the wolf's side, but it only eased the grip, not released it.

He could breathe, and he sighed. He felt it was a better alternative to that of which preceded it.

He thought to himself, What have I gotten myself into?