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Vizsla123
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A backstory for Max that I'm not entirely sure I should add. Full chapter.
The echo of a single shot rolls over the hills like a rattler’s warning before a strike. The man falls down on the ground near their buggy, clutching his bleeding side.
Max can’t stop heaving when he reaches their parking spot – now a scene of a deadly confrontation. His poor feet tried to carry him as fast as they could, but alas, when Father Virt takes to running, there’s no matching his speed, never. He reaches the destination right on time to witness his gloomy mentor standing over the unfortunate thief; his grip on his six-shooter is morbidly white-knuckled – something that is always hard to miss in the posture of an anthropomorphic animal that lacks fur and basic impulse control.
“Was it necessary?” Max can barely ask; his lungs are still on fire from the recent sprint.
The feline in the pastor’s suit doesn’t bother looking at him, but his right ear cocks slightly back.
“It’s the third time already.”
The man on the ground wails in pain.
“Reverend, please! It’s been a harsh hike; I only wanted to borrow some food! Have mercy, you are a creature of the cloth, after all.”
Max watches them wide-eyed, slowly stepping closer to stand beside Father Virt.
“We gotta let him go again, don’t we…” the lagomorph utters quietly – not a question yet not entirely a statement.
“True,” the feline says, “Mercy’s granted unconditionally, because you’ve got to assume good faith in your fellow mammals. But nobody says what’s granted cannot be taken back. Good faith is an investment. When it doesn’t pay back, there’s no use in keeping investing.”
The man’s eyes go round like pennies; his mouth stays agape, on the verge of saying something in protest but utterly failing. Virt aims his gun at him again.
“I’ve spared you twice. The lesson hasn’t been learned. Let the Lord be your teacher and judge now.”
“Father Virt, he’s hungry!” Unexpectedly, Max finds enough air in his exhausted chest to raise his voice. The cat spares him a one-eyed glare only then.
“He’s a thief. He’s been following us for days. The minute we step away from the buggy, he’s there, elbows-deep in our stuff. It’s deliberate. He’s not looking for food; he’s looking for valuables to fence.”
Max’s eyes are defiant when he glares back. The single yellow orb with a full-blown pupil holds his stare for the longest second, until, admitting defeat, the rabbit blinks and turns his gaze to the man on the ground.
He remembers the first day they found him near their tiny wagon, trying to force open the casket strapped to the buckboard. They were gathering firewood in the brush when they heard the pony go feral, crying desperately until the cat and the bunny came running. Only to see the disheveled-looking stranger freeze like a statue, studying the wagon’s owners for a long moment, then flee into the woods without looking back.
The second encounter happened four days later. They were coming back from gathering water by a nearby stream to catch the same man rummaging through their travel pouches. Father Virt managed to fire a warning shot that grazed the burglar’s shoulder – not a serious wound, but enough to force the man against a tree with Virt having him in cross-hairs two steps away. He promised to blow his brains out if he saw him snooping around their buggy again. He did let him go. But this time…
“Is it really what a righteous servant of the Lord would do, Father Virt?” The bunny’s voice is smaller, but he can’t hush the tone of stubborn disapproval.
“It’s what I would do,” shrugs the feline. “Now watch closely, Maximin,” he adds as his finger slowly presses the trigger.
“Please, Reverend, listen to your disciple!” The man begs again, “He’s got some soul left in him yet.”
Max swallows. Holds his breath.
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