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The fox made the manor uncomfortable.
Not physically.
The fox herself had only been there twice.
But her name lingered strangely afterward, like smoke trapped in old curtains.
The dog learned this the hard way when he answered a phone call during breakfast.
“Hey, Miriam.”
Silence.
Utter silence.
The kind of silence usually reserved for bomb threats and family funerals.
The dog looked up slowly from his coffee.
The little bat blinked once from her seat at the table.
The platypus looked confused.
The youngest pup looked one sentence away from homicide.
“What,” the stray said flatly, “the fuck.”
The dog frowned.
“What?”
“You still talk to her?” the pup demanded.
The dog looked genuinely bewildered by the reaction.
“…Yes?”
The old bat at the head of the table went terrifyingly still.
The dog recognized that posture immediately.
Predator posture.
The fox had once compared the old bat to a gargoyle that learned rage before love.
The dog hadn’t disagreed.
“She hurt you,” the old bat said quietly.
The dog rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“It’s complicated.”
The stray laughed once without humor.
“No,” he snapped. “Actually it’s pretty damn simple.”
The dog’s ears lowered slightly.
The little bat noticed immediately.
So did the platypus.
The little bat reached over and silently nudged the dog’s coffee back toward him before the pup could accidentally knock it over while gesturing aggressively.
Tiny act.
Easy to miss.
The dog smiled at her gratefully.
The fox, meanwhile, had absolutely no idea this conversation was happening.
Probably for the best.
If the fox discovered multiple vigilantes were debating her existence over pancakes, she’d either flee the country or start throwing knives recreationally.
Possibly both.
“She manipulated you,” the pup continued.
“She hurt you,” the old bat repeated.
“She’s unstable,” the stray added.
The dog flinched slightly at that one.
Not visibly enough for most people to notice.
But the little bat noticed.
The little bat always noticed.
The platypus looked between everyone slowly.
“…Who are we talking about?”
Five voices answered simultaneously:
“Miriam.”
“Oh,” the platypus replied.
Pause.
“…Who’s Miriam?”
The stray looked moments away from climbing into the sun.
The dog finally sighed softly and set his coffee down.
“You guys are acting like I said I’m joining a cult.”
“You kinda are,” muttered the pup.
The dog ignored him professionally.
“The fox and I are friends.”
The entire table reacted like he’d announced he enjoyed drinking gasoline recreationally.
“Why?” the stray demanded.
The dog blinked.
“Because I care about her?”
The old bat’s jaw tightened.
The dog recognized that expression too.
Fear disguised as anger.
The old bat did that often.
“She violated your trust,” the old bat said carefully.
“Yes.”
“And hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“And you still allow her near you.”
The dog looked down at the table quietly for a moment.
Then:
“So do you.”
Silence detonated across the room.
The pup looked horrified.
The stray looked furious.
The platypus looked like he desperately wanted cue cards.
The old bat went perfectly motionless.
The little bat slowly looked up from her tea.
There it is.
The real conversation.
The dog immediately regretted saying it.
Not because it was untrue.
Because hurting the old bat always felt a little like kicking an injured animal.
Even when the old bat deserved it.
“That’s different,” the stray snapped instantly.
The dog looked over.
“Why?”
“Because we’re family.”
The dog tilted his head slightly.
“The fox was important to me too.”
The stray opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Because beneath the anger sat an uncomfortable truth:
The family had forgiven each other for things that would horrify outsiders.
Attempted murder.
Actual murder.
Psychological warfare.
Stalking.
Betrayal.
Violence.
The manor practically ran on trauma and selective amnesia.
But somehow the fox remained uniquely unforgivable.
The dog didn’t entirely understand why.
The little bat finally spoke.
Quiet voice.
Soft hands wrapped around a teacup.
“Does she hurt you now?”
Everyone looked at her.
The dog blinked.
“…No.”
The little bat nodded once.
That was apparently enough information for her.
The pup looked scandalized.
“That’s it?!”
The little bat shrugged slightly.
The platypus pointed at her immediately.
“See, that’s what I was thinking!”
Nobody listened to him.
The old bat exhaled slowly through his nose.
“She traumatized you.”
The dog looked tired suddenly.
“She was traumatized too.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“I know.”
The dog’s voice cracked slightly around the edges then.
Not angry.
Just exhausted.
“I know.”
The room fell quiet again.
Because there it was.
The thing they kept misunderstanding.
The dog was not saying the fox had done nothing wrong.
He was saying pain had existed on both sides and he did not know how to pretend otherwise.
Dogs struggled with binary thinking.
Especially emotionally.
The stray leaned back in his chair with crossed arms.
“You’re too forgiving.”
The dog huffed a weak laugh.
“Probably.”
“You let people hurt you and then keep loving them anyway.”
The dog smiled sadly.
“…Yeah.”
The pup looked deeply frustrated by this entire conversation.
“How are you not angry at her?”
The dog thought about that carefully.
“I was.”
“Was?”
The dog nodded slowly.
“Then eventually I just…” He searched for the words. “Started missing my friend more than I hated what happened.”
The room went still again.
Because that answer was somehow worse.
Not weaker.
Not naive.
Just unbearably sincere.
Much later that night, after the argument dissolved into exhausted silence and people wandered off to brood dramatically in separate corners of the manor like emotionally constipated cryptids, the little bat found the dog sitting alone in the cave.
She sat beside him without speaking.
After a while she signed quietly:
You trust her.
The dog smiled faintly.
“I do.”
The little bat tilted her head.
Why?
The dog looked out toward the rows of suits glowing faintly in the dark.
“Because she worked very hard to become someone safer than she used to be.”
The little bat considered that carefully.
Then she nodded once.
Understanding.
Not agreement necessarily.
Just understanding.
The dog appreciated that.
Across the cave, the platypus wandered in holding a juice box.
“Okay but seriously,” he said. “Who is Miriam?”