Chapter 1 of my new (and first) story, following Ed Winters and his life and love.
Sorry it took so long, but please, don't let that diminish your experience.
Enjoy!

++<STORY BEGINS>++

The alarm went off, the shrill buzz that Ed knew so well. Groaning, he rolled over and slapped the snooze button, before picking the alarm up, turning it all the way off, and squinting at it to make sure it had gone off correctly. Satisfied at the glowing 6:15am, he put the alarm back, and pulled himself out of the bed.
Standing there in the dark, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting woven cotton boxers, Ed cut quite an impressive figure. Standing at 6’1’’, the wolf was leanly muscled, in such a way that was neither unattractively scrawny, nor so well built as to be considered “buff”, or “hench”. His fur was predominantly a deep, rich blue, highlighted with black, with an underbelly and muzzle coloured like Cornish cream. His eyes were a similar blue as his fur, but with a far more crystalline quality, so that they sparkled rather than shimmered when they caught the light. His tail, blue on top and cream on the bottom, hung limply down behind his legs, terminating in a cream tuft maybe a few inches from the floor. All in all, Ed was what many would consider perfect, in a simple, understated way – not quite sexy, definitely not unattractive, just… perfect.
Ed worked as a pathologist at the local St James’ hospital. At 32, he’d only been in the job for just over a year, but it suited him perfectly. He’d never been much of a people person, and studying the bodies of such a myriad of species fascinated him. He’d known that he’d wanted to go into pathology from the age of 12, and had built his life up around it, spending 13 years training for the position. He loved it absolutely, and would never consider any other line of work.
After turning on the light, he slowly padded over to his wardrobe. His wardrobe was split into two halves on the inside, both very different. On the right, he had all of his more formal clothes – his suits, shirts, ties, and all of the various little accessories that went with it all. On the left was all of his informal attire – jeans, hoodies, t-shirts, and everything else that didn’t fit the brief for formal. Opening the wardrobe, he pulled out a pair of jeans, a black tee, his favourite red Games Workshop Machina Opus hoodie, and his collar, a simple strap of black leather an inch wide with a steel buckle and a little circular silver charm, about the size of a 2 pence piece, with his name engraved on it. He didn’t have to wear the collar – there were no rules regarding it, and he wouldn’t be punished for not wearing it – it was just an animal thing, and he felt more comfortable wearing it than not. Buckling it around his neck, he proceeded to pull on his jeans, fiddling around the back with the tail opening.
Being a fur with such a tail, clothes were altered slightly from normal. At the back of all of his trousers, jeans, and even underwear, was an opening a bit like a button fly, but with only one button at the top, and fitted so that only the tail passed through, and not any other less… work-friendly body parts. It was a bit fiddly, but it was vastly more comfortable and appropriate than just having his tail hanging over the waistline of his jeans. And besides, at least he wasn’t a ‘taur like Simon. That was a whole other routine that he just didn’t need to live with.
Jeans on, he pulled on the tee-shirt, and then shrugged into the hoodie. Clothes on, he walked back over to his bed, retrieving his glasses. They were simple black, like his collar, pince-nez in model. Due to the high nature of his ears on his head, having glasses with arms was incredibly impractical. Instead, they pinched onto the bridge of his nose, holding them in place that way. Corrective for short-sightedness, Ed had owned the glasses since the age of 19, and did not possess another pair, barring one pair of prescription sunglasses in the same style. Glasses on, he left the room, padded down the stairs, picked up his keys, iPod, headphones, and mobile, and left, closing the front door as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the 5 other furs he shared the house with.
He crossed the street, slipping his headphones over his ears and pressing ‘play’ on his “Old Timey” playlist, and walked into Burgess Park. The majority of the park was actually woodland, but it was called a park anyway. Ed loved the park, especially so early in the morning. It was almost completely empty, dawn was breaking, and he found it strangely satisfying seeing New Fenris waking up. His route was designed to make the most of this. There was one path he took every day that wound its way through the woodland, which not only gave him a picturesque route through the woods, but was also timed so that for the first half of the walk as he walked away from the house he could watch the sun creep over the horizon, and for the second half he could watch everything wake up, without having his retinas burnt out by the now risen sun. He particularly loved his walks at this time of year. It was autumn, and the leaves were at that point where they had turned, but not quite began falling. He was thrilled by all the different hues, and savoured the sensation of leaves crunching under his paws as he walked.
Tail wagging limply from the inherent pleasure Ed got from the walk, he began on the path, thinking idly to himself as he ambled along. However, his train of thought was soon interrupted. At the point where the path entered the woodland was an old wooden bench, which was normally unoccupied. On that morning, however, the bench was occupied – by an otter. He wore faded blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a thick blue hoodie, lined with some sort of white wool or fleece. His actual fur was a sort of dark, wood brown, speckled with black and ochre. His tail was of medium length, and hung out the back of the bench, the bottom brushing the ground. Sitting over his ears was a large pair of headphones, the same brown as his fur. He looked to be asleep on the bench, his eyes closed, his head lulled onto his shoulder. But it was none of these features that caught Ed’s attention.
There were several nice words to describe the otter. Huggable. Plush. Well-rounded. Most other furs, on the other hand, would simply use the one word to describe the otter – fat. He must have weighed at least 300lbs, and took up almost half of the relatively small bench. It wasn’t as if Ed had a fat fetish or anything, he just liked having a little extra to cuddle at night, and this otter certainly had more than a little.
As Ed passed the otter, he felt his ears perk up a little bit, and the wag in his tail became a little less limp and a little more active. He was transfixed by the sight of this otter, this beautiful, perfect, peaceful… he tore his eyes from him, infinitely thankful that the other fur’s eyes had been closed so as not to see him staring. Getting his tail under control, he continued walking, though no matter how hard he tried, he could not get the image of the otter out of his head.
On the way back to his house, the otter was still there – but this time, he was awake. With his right paw, he was drumming along to his music on his thigh. His left was tucked into his hoodie pocket. Ed’s eyes were drawn to the otter’s – they were a deep, earthy brown, like two – albeit beautiful – clumps of mud frozen in ice. He looked away before the otter could notice him staring again. Picking up the pace, he walked back to the house.
Digging his keys out of the pocket of his jeans, he unlocked the front door, and walked in. Dropping his keys off in the bowl by the door and putting down the iPod and headphones, he followed his nose through to the kitchen, where everyone was already sat eating breakfast. Arranged around the table were the 5 other furs that Ed lived with, the 5 furs that Ed had spent the last 7 years living with.
Sitting at the head of the table was Paulie. Paulie was a 48 year old Labrador, with rich, golden fur, brown eyes, and a smile that was simultaneously kind, stern, and loving all at the same time. Paulie had owned the house for more than 20 years, buying it back in the 90’s with his mate and husband, Nick, and their friend, Simon. A paternal figure, though everyone in the house was considered equal, everyone always looked up to Paulie for support and advice, and was considered by everyone a friend.
Nick sat on Paulie’s right. Nick, a large brown bear, was a year younger than Paulie. They had both met at university, and had bought the house together along with Simon after finishing uni. They had sort of bought each half as a wedding gift to the other, with Simon chipping in to help both of them. Despite the reputation of bears being gruff, mean characters, Nick was actually very kind, always there to lend a hand when required. He was also an exceptional cook, the source of the breakfast-y smells that had drawn Ed through to the kitchen.
There was then an empty space for Ed, but sitting in the next chair opposite Paulie was Travis. Travis was a barn owl, the only avian in the house. He was one of the managers at the New Fenris gazette, the youngest in recent years at 42 years old. He easily earned enough to move out and find a place of his own, but after living in the house for 17 years, he’d grown too fond of both the house and the people living in it to move out. He wore a 3-piece suit the same mellow brown as his feathers, and a pair of glasses with prescriptions so powerful his eyes looked like something out of a manga comic – although even without them, as an owl, his eyes were pretty huge.
Sitting next to Travis was Frank. Frank was a fox-deer hybrid, and was both the youngest member of the household – 27 – and had lived in the house the least time – 4 years. For the most part he looked like a normal fox, barring a few minor differences, like facial structure, fur – and his antlers. The other guys were always teasing him for having a “great rack”, a sentiment he had gotten used to. Like some other antlered species, he kept some of his antlers each year after they had been shed, but he did not keep them on looks or size – rather, he kept them if they’d been useful. For a number of years before moving into the house, Frank had been homeless, living on the streets and fending for himself. On a few occasions, he’d had to use his antlers to defend himself against some of the more… nefarious inhabitants of New Fenris, and had kept the rack after it had been shed, as a trophy. 4 hung on his wall in the basement, each a testament to his will to survive. He was in no way a vicious person though – he would always try to avoid fights whenever possible – but when he needed to defend himself, he’d do anything.
The final member of the table was Simon. Simon was 48, like Paulie. He worked as a barista at and owned the local coffee house, the Coffee Hound. On the surface Simon seemed like a normal fur. If you were looking at him from behind his coffee counter, you’d probably still think that. There was, however, one key thing that made Simon stand out from the other furs in the house – actually, with many of the other furs in New Fenris. Simon was a dragontaur. He was predominantly black, with scales that drank in the light like hungry plates of obsidian, but running through some scales were veins of red, like lines of rubies set into coal. The top half of him was wearing a black shirt, a crimson tie, and pinstriped black waistcoat. The bottom half was wearing nothing, though his wings were folded down over his lower back. Though he did have clothes for his bottom half, they were only reserved for formal occasions, and serving coffee was certainly not one of them. Besides, running along both his upper and lower backs was a series of long, black spikes, and it was hassle enough fitting the custom-made clothes for his upper body over them, without having to worry about reaching round to sort out his lower half. Simon was, on the whole, a kind person, but he gave off a fearsome visage that intimidated most people, and his ability to breath fire – a trick he put to good use at the coffee house – put may people off getting to really know him.
Paulie was the first to greet Ed. “Good morning,” he said, his voice cheerful. “How was the walk?”
“Oh? Good, I guess,” Ed said, sitting down at his place.
“Ed?” Paulie said, concern in his voice. “Everything ok?”
“What? No, yeah, everything’s fine,” Ed replied, picking up a strip of bacon in his claws and popping it in his mouth.
“Ed,” Nick said, piping in through a mouthful of hash browns. “I know that tone of voice. That’s your ‘I can’t talk because I’m deep in thought about something else’ voice. What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, nothing, I just,” he said, pausing to swallow the bacon, “I saw this otter in the park, and–”
“Oh lord!” Frank said, turning to face Ed. “Not another guy! Listen, if the two of you are going to be coming over here tonight, could you please tone it down from last time? I’m still finding feathers everywhere!”
“I think everyone would appreciate it if you could,” Simon said. “I’m not even going to ask how you got that guy’s feathers into my wardrobe, but it was very… unsettling finding them the following morning.”
“I’d like to raise three points here,” Ed said, swallowing down a sausage. “One, this guy’s an otter, so he doesn’t have feathers. Two, I’m not the one that dragged us through the whole house, that was Graham. And three, it’s not like that. There’s something about this otter, something… I don’t know, different from most other guys. I don’t know what, but there’s something.”
“Yes, well, whatever that something is,” Paulie said, looking up from his almost-finished breakfast, “you’d better stop thinking about it and start getting ready. You all have work to go to,” now addressing everyone, “and besides Simon, none of you are dressed. Now go!” Without complaint, everyone finished their breakfasts, and then went to their respective bedrooms, to get ready for work. Ed’s room was on the 3rd floor, a considerable climb, but the room was nice enough, and he had an office and a toilet on his floor, which was very useful.
He opted for open curtains instead of lights now that morning had broken, and got changed. From his cupboard he pulled an old, grey-blue 3-piece suit, a striped purple tie and a small watch movement tie-tack, and a white shirt. The suit was actually older than he was, a relic from the 60’s picked up in a charity shop for £40. By some miracle the fittings had been almost exact, and he just couldn’t bring himself to let it go. He donned the trousers, shirt, and waistcoat, but left the jacket on the hanger, going instead for an old-tarmac grey knee-length overcoat. Though the jacket would provide equal warmth, he preferred the look – he found it had a certain charm. Finally, he put on the tie, pinning through the tack to hold it in place.
Dressed and ready for work, he picked up his laptop bag from beside his bed. It was a dull, aged black leather, and only contained a few things, notably his laptop, a tablet, the current book he was reading (“The Necronomicon” by H.P. Lovecraft), a couple of pens and pencils, and his wallet. Content that everything was in order, he trotted back down the stairs, picking up his mobile and keys on the way out, before finally leaving the house.
His route to St James’s normally took him through the park, but today he decided to walk round, lest he get distracted by the nameless otter again. It wasn’t much of a detour, only adding maybe 5 minutes to the overall length of the walk, he just really didn’t want any distractions.
15 minutes later, he arrived at the hospital. It was in a relatively central location within New Fenris, and was almost as old as the city itself. It had a grand, imposing look to it, though the inside had been modernised before Ed had started training there, so he wasn’t quite sure whether the gothic architecture of the outside had once hold any sway over the internal structure. It certainly didn’t now. The inside was the sterile white standard in all hospitals, with clean-cut designs and an internal aesthetic that was simultaneously pleasing and cold.
After signing in at the main desk, Ed proceeded to walk through the hospital, through winding corridors and countless doors until he eventually reached the morgue. His lab had not changed much during the modernisation process (apparently – he only had a few ‘before and after’ shots to go off of), and he found it quite a nice space, considering its purpose. It had a decently high ceiling, with hints of the arches and columns that had once held it up, and there was a lot of space to move around – the original hospital had been built by a ‘taur, and as such had a lot of space for movement. Along the right wall was body storage, partitioned off by a glass wall. There were drawers of various different shapes and sizes, to accommodate the range of different species that may come through. The left wall held testing equipment and 3 large windows, which filled the lab with light. At the end of the room was Ed’s office, which had remained unchanged by order of the previous medical examiner. It was small, but it had a decent sized mahogany desk, and the walls were lined with bookcases filled to the brim with old books, knick-knacks, and various old medical tools and oddities held in display cases.
Hanging up his overcoat on the rack at the door, he noticed his assistant’s coat was already there. He turned around, and saw her already hard at work on a body on one of the examination slabs. The assistant in question was a short, bubbly avian girl named Caitlin, though everyone just called her Cat. She was a hybrid – her mother had been an owl, her father a crow – and the result was very interesting. She had the same height and beak as her father’s breed, but the eyes of an owl, if slightly smaller. Her feathers were particularly odd, crow black shot through with snowy owl white. However, none of these hybrid features made her stand out. What really made Caitlin stand out was her wings. Like all avian species, her arms had the same structure as a feral bird’s wings, with the fingers ending in long, flexible feathers, but she also possessed another pair on her back. Known as “angels” in the avian community, birds like her are capable of full flight, and are envied by other birds. She made a brilliant assistant, and Ed was thankful h had her to help.
“Got anything interesting?” he said, walking over.
“Why yes I do!” she exclaimed, flapping over and landing a metre in front of Ed. “I came in this morning, and found this!” She gestured with her finger-feathers to the large body on the slab. The body in question was an incredibly large, muscular bull, one horn snapped ¾ off, with their torso perforated by countless large holes. “He was bought in overnight. CSI unit found his wallet a little while away with no money but an I.D. putting him as a one George Davies. Cause of death appears to be the dozens of horn or tusk wounds covering the body. Gruesome, right?”
“Indeed,” Ed said, donning his lab coat. “Have you had time to do any sort of examination?”
“Mm-hmm!” Cat hummed. “I counted over the holes – there’s 47 in all, 32 of them are in pairs, there’s 3 different sizes for the paired holes, and 2 for the single horns. That gives 5 assailants, each one hitting around 8 times. I also found–”
“Ok, Cat,” Ed said, cutting her short. “That’s very impressive, I must say. Do you have anything that could tie this to any possible attackers?”
“Yup! As you can see, he’s missing about ¾ of his right horn. It’s intact in his I.D. photo, so best guess is police will want to be looking at any hospitals in the area for a guy with tusks or horns who’s got the rest of this guy’s in his chest.”
“No blood?”
“Oh, no, there probably is, but this guy’s covered in blood, and holes, so it’s kind of hard to tell what’s his and what’s the attacker’s.”
“What about the blood on his other horn?”
“What?”
Ed walked over so that he was next to the body, and pointed to the blood coating the bull’s left horn. “Why not test the blood on this horn?”
“Oh,” said Cat, looking a bit embarrassed. “Um… I assumed…”
“Cat,” Ed said, placing a paw on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, but next time, look for things like that. They tend to be useful.”
“Ok then Ed,” she said, before flapping over to the equipment racks to get a swab.
Suddenly, the doors slammed open. Through them was pushed a body on a gurney, accompanied by Detective Sam Perth, a relatively tall rat wearing jeans, a blue shirt, a poorly tied tie, and his badge. He was only ‘relatively’ tall – compared to most other rodents, 5’6’’ was a giant. His long, thin, hairless tail swished along the floor, making a light sound akin to a mild breeze.
“Found another one for you Eddy,” he said, having to crane his neck slightly to look into Ed’s eyes. “I expect a report before I leave later – apparently this guy’s ‘high priority’.” He made quotation marks in the air around “high priority” with long, slender digits.
“We’ll do the best we can,” Ed said, wheeling the gurney to a fresh slab. “Why is this one priority?”
“Apparently he was meant to give a speech today on the future of wind power,” Sam said, his tone that of someone who couldn’t care less. “Anyway, have him done ASAP.”
“Will do,” Ed sighed, removing the sheet from the body. Underneath was a middle-aged lion, looking almost pristine – barring the gaping bullet hole in his head. “Now, Cat, if you look here…”

Ed finished work at 6:00pm. On the way back from the hospital he popped into the Coffee Hound, as there was only 20 minutes left before Simon would close up for the day and head home.
As he walked in, his sensitive canine nostrils instantly picked up on the rich smells that inhabited the coffee house – freshly crushed beans, pastries, milk, tea, and a myriad of other smells. He walked up to the counter, and greeted Simon.
“Hey Ed!” Simon replied, walking over. “The usual, I’m guessing?”
“There’s be no point calling it my usual if I didn’t always have it,” Ed said, grinning. “Seems quiet. Having a slow day?” The place was, indeed, almost completely empty, save for two Pomeranians sitting in a far corner, looking into each other’s eyes with the sort of sickly-sweet love look Ed thought only existed in cheap rom-coms.
“Nah, you’ve just managed to come just before closing,” Simon said, setting the coffee machine going to make Ed’s drink. “Good day?”
“I’ll explain when the drink’s done,” Ed said, leaning on the counter. “£3.15, right?”
“Just £3,” Simon said, finishing up the drink. It was, at heart, a cappuccino, but it had an extra shot and a half of espresso, ¼ of it was chocolate, and it had a dash of cinnamon in it. “You know, you could just order coffee.” He set it down on the counter in front of Ed. “Stand back.” Simon proceeded to shoot a jet of flame into the rather large mug. There was a brief hiss of steam, and then it settled. “There you go, piping hot. Now, shall we sit down?”
The two of them walked over to a small sofa near one of the windows, after Simon had quickly wiped down the counter and machines and switched the sign to “Closed”. Sitting down was a bit impractical for Simon – due to his nature as a ‘taur, only specially built seats would fit him, and even then he was really just laying down. Instead, he opted to simply lie next to the sofa.
“So,” Simon said, once he was comfortable. “How was your day?”
“Good,” Ed said, sipping on his coffee. “Only got 2 guys in. One was an ex drug dealer, the other was this lion bloke who was meant to be giving a speech on wind power.”
“Jeffery Orwell?”
“That’s the one. Great coffee, by the way.”
“Thanks. How was he killed?”
“Jeffery?”
“Yes.”
“Bullet to the head. 9mm, CSI found paw-prints leading into and out of his house, but the guy had covered them with latex so they couldn’t pull prints. Why the interest?”
“He was featured in Focus magazine last month. Meant to be a pioneer in green energy research.”
“Doesn’t Travis subscribe to Focus?”
“Yup.”
“And he wasn’t bothered about you pilfering his copy?”
“I put it back. And you read it all the time!”
“Yes, but I ask.”
“Whatever. How’s that assistant coming along, Kathrine?”
“Caitlin. She’s doing ok, but she needs to remember not to discount the blindingly obvious. This job isn’t about being a little Sherlock, looking for every last detail. Sometimes it’s the simple stuff that solves a case.”
“Insightful. You nearly finished?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ed drained down the last of his coffee, and set the mug down on the table. “You ready to go?”
“Just got to lock up,” Simon said, getting up. Ed followed suit, and they both left, after Simon had put the mug in the dishwasher and locked the doors.
They walked back to the house together, debating about the details of the Jeffery Orwell murder. By the time they got back, everyone was already home.
Everything proceeded that night much like any other night. Everyone had dinner, they stayed up watching television until late, and then went to their respective rooms, to sleep, recuperate, and prepare for the next day. For Ed, however, things were not quite so simple. Because no matter how hard he tried to block it out, one thought kept coming back to him, one image that invaded his dreams and kept him awake.
He could not stop thinking about the otter.

++<STORY ENDS>++