The cub ran with the others, the exuberance of youth pressing him to run faster than he could. His large paws tripped him up and some of the others laughed. Standing, he defiantly howled and ran after them again, but this time more carefully. He was young, only 6 years old, but old enough to know that by thinking he could catch them better than if he merely ran. The large tiger watched curiously, his large paws folded amid his arms.

"That\x92s the one. Look at him. Already at this age he\x92s commanding respect. And he\x92s singing his song. You know how dangerous their kind can be when they sing." He looked at the Lion who rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The tiger continued. "My recommendation is to get rid of him. Return him to his own kind."

"That\x92s not an option. He\x92s worth a lot if he makes it to adulthood not scarred. Are there other things we can do with his kind to keep him under control?" The lion looked at the tiger, standing slightly shorter than the tiger but still commanding respect.

The tiger sighed and shrugged. "Most of what we could do would scar him. Take away his hearing and his chances of survival are diminished greatly. Take away his sight and it\x92s the same. The most that can be done would be to take away his voicebox. De-voice him. You do that and he should fall under control. But we\x92d have to be careful not to scar him with such a procedure."

The lion nodded. "Make it so then. Tell the doctor you have my approval for the procedure."

The tiger frowned. "It\x92s not that easy sir. If we do it at this age, then he\x92ll adapt quickly to it and will probably forget a time when he had a voice. It\x92s best if we wait for the age where he\x92s his most awkward, and is going through lifestages. That might happen when he\x92s 11 or as late as when he\x92s 17. It\x92ll break his spirit then."

The lion stood for a moment, watching the cub run. With a swift movement he scooped the cub up. Snarling, the cub fought back, trying to get back into the game. He was silenced with a loud and menacing roar in his ear. The cub\x92s ears folded back and his tail curled under as he tried to show his submissiveness. The lion glared into the cub\x92s eyes for a long moment, and then set him down. Running away from the lion, the cub stopped when he was out of reach and gave a high-pitched howl. His song affirmed that he was alive, strong, and was not going to be stopped. "Yes, then that\x92s what we\x92ll have to do. We\x92ll wait until he\x92s beginning to enter adulthood, and then take away his voice."

Years passed and Caureau grew from cubhood into adolescence. He was strong and his fur came in black as space. His singing was a constant about him, something that gave him freedom from the life of a slave. His songs also called to others to come to him, to be a part of his life, for he was a very lonely young wolf. Those who were his age avoided him, or made fun of him. He had no real friends except for a set of bobcat twins. Rast and Kerl were always pretending to be his friends, but in truth were trying to get him to behave and obey what they were expected to do. When he turned out to be uncontrollable, then they dumped him quickly and he was left alone again.

Not that I mind being alone. He thought to himself as he looked out a viewport at the stars that were constantly changing shape. I know where I stand with myself. I didn\x92t need them to give me a name, I gave myself a name. No slave was given a name until they were sold, and the name could be changed by whomever owned them. But he gave himself his name. Caureau. Pulling his head back, he sang about his life. The repression and lack of control of his fate gave the song a sad feeling, and yet singing about these problems made him smile to himself. So no one here could understand him. By admitting to his feelings, he could understand himself. He howled again, his voice high with the unchanged voice of youth.

"That is so freaky." The squirrel\x92s fur stood up on end as she watched the figure of the wolf sitting by himself and howling to the viewport. "You\x92d think he\x92d have given up by now. I mean, he\x92s been a slave like the rest of us for all his life. I don\x92t know why they don\x92t just sell him."

"I know." The squirrel found herself being picked up and lifted up by a young ram whose horns were just barely coming in. Puberty had found him and he was enjoying every female he could dominate. She struggled in his grasp, but knew that her size just wouldn\x92t allow her to escape. He chuckled. "Relax. I\x92m not going to do anything to you. You\x92re too small." He looked towards the wolf again. "His kind are really rare. Wolves are really hard to control, so until they get him under control, they could be liable for any damage he might do if they sold him. Understand?"

She nodded, shivering slightly still. "But why does he keep singing?"

The ram shrugged. "I have no idea. Personally I\x92ve never liked singing. It\x92s too hard on the throat. I mean, I\x92d call to someone if they were pretty. And I ask questions so I can learn how to do the duties of a slave. But unless the singing helps you do your job, then I don\x92t see a point in it at all." He let out a puff of air through his nostrils. "And his singing is only about being free and the pain of being a slave. It just makes him more and more uncontrollable and I think if we\x92re caught listening we could be in deep trouble."

The squirrel nodded again. "Yeah. There is a sort of\x85 I dunno. It\x92s pretty sort of. But it makes my fur stand on end."

He grinned. "You\x92re pretty when your fur stands on end." Walking away from the viewport with her, he holds her firmly. "Did I ever tell you about the butting contest I had with the deer\x85"

Caureau didn\x92t care. They didn\x92t have to understand his music. He thought it was funny that they didn\x92t think he was listening as they walked away. Out the viewport the stars twinkled and he wondered what it would be like to live on a planet where the stars never changed. To feel the soil under his paws. All his life he\x92d been taught how to be a good slave. How to clean and cook and do all the domestic chores that so many beings didn\x92t like to do. His paw instinctively rose to his throat to feel the collar that held him there. Lifting his head, he broke into another song, singing of being free and the longings he felt for that. As he gave a long howl, his voice broke and dropped then rose out of his control. He coughed and rubbed at his throat. He knew his adulthood change was coming and grinned at his voice beginning to change. He imagined what it would be like to have a low voice, to sing strongly with the voice of an adult wolf. He wagged his tail slightly, a childish maneuver but one he was taught he should keep as a slave. He could handle being a slave. As long as his music was free, then he\x92d always be free in his heart, no matter what they did.

"You, wolf." He turned towards the voice, his ears alert and his tail held down submissively in the trained pattern. "You need to come with me." The cougar waited, her tail twitching behind her.

Knowing better than to wait for an explanation, he hopped to the ground and ran a paw through his unruly headfur. "You\x92re new. My name\x92s Caureau." He smiled at her and put a paw out to shake, admiring the tone of her fur.

"Slaves don\x92t have names. Come on. You\x92re keeping important people waiting." She put a slight emphasis on the word important, as if he was not important in the least. He blinked, then followed her as she guided him along, content now to keep quiet.

The medical center had a peculiar odor of sanitizing soap and the lotion used to fight the drying affects of the soap. It always made him feel slightly queasy and his ears folded back as he was shown to a room and instructed to lie down on the bed. He really hated lying down on strange beds, especially when you felt like they went to all that trouble to keep them clean. The punishment for not obeying though wasn\x92t worth it. He had disobeyed once when he was younger and still remembered the medicine they had given him. It had caused severe vomiting for the next 5 hours, and they STILL expected him to do his duties and learning. He had made a vow from that point on to never have to take the stuff again. He lay down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. To keep his mind occupied, he connected the patterns on the ceiling into shapes and hummed to himself.

The doctors walked in the room. There was the cougar again, though this time cleaned up, and by her side was a smaller squirrel. The squirrel\x92s fur was black and Caureau watched them curiously as they began checking him out. Neither spoke to him. When the cougar placed a mask on his face, he tried to object and found exactly why she had this job. Her paws held him easily against the table with a great deal of strength. He soon found that he had no cares in the world. She could hold him down there for as long as he wanted. While she fixed some sort of tube in his mouth to wedge it open, the squirrel put in the IV unit and gave him a shot. His eyes drooped languidly and he grinned, even though he couldn\x92t close his mouth now. He gave a drunken howl as he

drifted into sleep.