Moira dropped to all fours. Her sparse coat of coarse, gray fuzz was instantly soaked by the early morning dew. She shuddered deliciously, glad to be free of the endless round of classes and homework. The tiny state college was a bore, an utter waste of time. She would have dropped out last semester, except that it was nestled in the foothills of the Vermont mountains, surrounded by thousands of acres of temperate cloud-rainforest. Moira thrust her snout into the groundcover and cast about for a scent. Rabbit, deer, house cat . . . she was hungry enough to eat possum, for goodness sakes. Why couldn't Mom ever send enough money to cover the cost of a steady diet of good steaks? Ramen noodles just didn't satisfy her carnivorous cravings. Suddenly, her oversized ears swiveled forward alertly and the fur at her nape prickled. She knew this scent. Equal parts leftover pizza, cheap cologne, sickly-sweet clove cigarettes, nearly blotting out the stink of human male. Gregory! Moira's ears flattened as a growl curdled in her throat. Fine Arts had been the one class she got excited about. Gregory, that smarmy bastard, ruined it for her. He sneered openly at her own artwork and never missed an oppurtunity to shoot her down. What a loser. A wicked grin carved itself into Moira's muzzle. Everyone knew there were bears and panthers in these woods. Just last week a pack of coy-dogs tore apart the Theater prof's cat. Perhaps it was time Mr. Holier-Than-Thou met with a hunting accident. To be continued . . .

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