As the class wound towards its end, Caureau reviewed what he had learned about how to make a salad crisp and fresh tasting. Inwardly, he hoped that he would never have to eat the green, leafy food. Still, he had to know how to make it because no one could say what species your master would be. And Caureau, more than most of the others there, knew why it was important to please your master.

His own life as a slave had started when he was five years old. Though quite young, his father and him worked hard to keep the house running smoothly while his mom was sick. Caureau\x92s fur back then had been soft with light brown highlights, the darker black barely showing through. He was wolf and something else, though his father never concentrated on what else he was. He knew his mother was smaller than his father, but focusing on a species wasn\x92t something his father liked to do. His brother and sister, three and just barely two, were handfuls to keep track of. Still, Caureau always felt like a big boy helping out his dad.

He went to school that year, learning the basics for what he\x92d need in his life, while his grandma watched over the younger kids. He loved school, and his appetite for learning was fueled by his mother who would have him sit on her bed and read to her while she rested and helped him. Looking back on it, he understood just how young he was, and what valuable gifts his mother was giving him. He knew now that she must have known she was dying. With the experience of his adulthood, he knew she understood what would have to happen when she died. Her husband would need to pay all of her debts off when. But there was no way he would have enough money to cover the many hospital bills, doctor\x92s bills, and the costs from taking care of her all these years.

He thought about his father. The long looks on his father\x92s face that hadn\x92t always been there. The pinched look around his father\x92s eyes from spending too many nights worrying. He remembered his father only laughing when his mother did, and that last year his father hadn\x92t even smiled. Caureau knew that he had inherited his looks from his father. The jet-black fur, unbroken except for a few highlights and white tufts of fur along his underbelly seemed to give his eyes an unnatural golden glow. He recognized what his mother gave him. The color of his eyes had green in them, and his longer fur tended to curl. He had gotten height from his father\x92s side. With maturity, he had filled out and stood larger than most others around. And more than anything, he remembered his father\x92s voice and song.

Caureau thought back to that day when his mother died. He had just gotten off of the bus and ran with strong legs and willing paws back home to help where he could. The doctor in the driveway sent an alarm through his head, and when his father walked out of the house\x85 the look on his father\x92s face was enough for him. Caureau knew. He stood there, wanting to run. Wanting to fight. Wanting to face death and win and bring his mommy back. His muscles quivered as his lower lip stuck out, his ears folding back and his tail curling under his legs. His father had walked over quickly, scooping him into a hug and holding him tightly, not wanting to lose his boy, but knowing what would come. "Don\x92t forget Caureau. I love you." And then they had sung their mother\x92s spirit back to the moons.

One of his ears swiveled to the side, listening to a fox joke about something. He would do well to listen to the lesson and learn how to cook. Slaves who didn\x92t learn and were sent back for some unfulfilled duty were punished by being sold into the less valued slave positions. Things where sexual favors were taken whether you wanted to give them or not. Not that usual slaves weren\x92t required to fulfill even those needs if their masters asked it of them. But, their master can\x92t force them. It was the one freedom left that would be removed if they were returned. Still, he couldn\x92t warn the fox even if he had wanted to. Shaking his head, his thoughts turned back to those early days when he was still so young\x85

His dad hadn\x92t wanted to sell him into slavery. It was a matter of having nothing else to sell. After his dad had sold everything he could, he was still left owing a large amount to the creditors. But the sale of a young wolf, like Caureau, would give the amount left. Of course, his father could have sold himself, or someone else. But there was a logic for Caureau to be the one. Grandma was too old to be sold and she was needed to take care of the little ones. His father was needed to earn the money for the family. His brother and sister were too young still to be sold. And, Caureau had learned how to read. Once a slave, those lessons would be forbidden and illegal. If his brother or sister were sold, they would never know how to read. But he had learned it and would never let himself forget. In the end, he had cried and given permission for his father to sell him.

As a class, they repeated the lessons they had learned for the day. His mind kept drifting to the sale that would go on tomorrow. Prices for slaves were based on how much they were originally bought to cover debts, plus any other costs that had been acquired. He had found that he was actually at a low price on the market, but his height and the reputation of wolves being untamable had made the buyers he had seen wary. Now that he was an adult, he would be harder to sell because informed buyers would assume that he was too old to control. The truth was that he still loved to learn and his mind was keen. But he would never be able to tell them that. Just as now he couldn\x92t repeat the lesson with the class.

Half of his price was for a surgical procedure done soon after he had arrived. It was believed that most of the problems that wolves gave in slavery was attributed to their expression of freedom; their voice. And so, as a teenager, they had removed his voice and left him mute. To their eyes, he was a model slave. Obedient. Quiet and quick to follow directions. Inside, his mind still worked and he waited for the day he would be free from the slavers and their lessons.

With the class dismissed, the students left for their much valued free time before they would be led to showers in preparation of the sale. Most went to sleep, as that was the purpose of the free time. He went to stand by a viewport and look at the millions of stars in view. Caureau felt very alone. Over the years, he had made friends and watched them be sold in front of him. Some of them had helped him sneak books, or written things with him back and forth so they could keep their skills keen. One of them had even taught him a sign language, the value of which he held second only to the ability to read and write. With it, he had hopes of someday being understood. But now, there was no one left. No one he could turn to and sign to, or who would write back and forth with him. He was alone, and his heart broke inside of him. He watched the stars and in his head, a song began. He could hear it clearly. With or without a voice, his song had not been destroyed.

His mind had left, carried away by the song, and it was only at the third call to line up for showers that he realized it was morning and they were calling him. Standing a little straighter, he ran to catch up with the others. Everyone was far younger than him, and smaller too. Only the bears were approaching his height. The rest were waiting for their growth. It made him feel old. And being unable to tell them what his experience had taught him made him feel stupid and worthless. His face fixated into a glare as he marched in with the others to be showered. None of them wore clothes, so there was no problem with going right into the showers and being washed.

He winced as one of the attendants grabbed him a little too roughly. Washed? Scrubbed was more like it. Ear-tips to tail-tip were scrubbed, washed, dried and brushed. His fur gleamed from the attention, and he felt like a poodle being prepped for a show. In a way, he was. Then on to makeup. Around his eyes they placed colors that were thought to help to calm his expression. Others had makeup applied to their fur to help draw attention to muscle structure or some ideal feature. With his black fur, they couldn\x92t do much, and he had to smile at that. No one was given a breakfast, on the off chance that one of them was nervous about the sale and would get sick.

They led him and the chosen group to transports, ordering them to find seats and strap themselves in. He\x85 insisted on a rabbit changing seats with him so he could have the legroom in the bulkhead. By far the tallest there, and widest, he still had trouble fitting in his seat. Still, he could feel a growing excitement. Like this time, he wasn\x92t going to go back. He hoped and prayed it would be true. If it was a good home, then he would stay and be happy. But if it was a bad place where he was driven, then someday he\x92d find a way to escape. No matter what, once he had been sold, he\x92d never come back here.

One of the slavers stood up as they began their descent, holding onto a frame for support. "Listen up! Males will line up on the right. Females will line up on the left. The first line will be if you prefer male company. Second will be if you don\x92t care. Third line will be if you prefer female company. You put yourself in the wrong line and we make no promises to where you may end up. You will be given a seat to sit on. If someone comes by and looks at you, you sit at attention and do what you\x92re told. If you are in trouble, you yell out for one of us. Remember what you\x92ve been taught and mind your manners!" The slaver looked around for Caureau, then handed him a whistle. "Blow on this if you need one of us. It has holes so you can vary the frequency. The higher the sound, the more urgent we\x92ll assume it is. Understand?" Caureau nodded and took the whistle, slipping the chain it was on over his head.

As the planet approached, he wondered what it looked like. Whether there were mountains and streams, or cities with towering buildings, or mostly water. He wondered whether he would be able to find anyone there to talk to. Anyone who would own him, but also have others that he could be friends with.