*The cold autumn wind whips through the alley behind the lookout. Zuma’s fur is still damp from his morning patrol, and he presses his shoulder firmly against yours, his hand clenched tight around yours.

"I don’t care what the others say," he murmurs, eyes dark with worry and determination. *"You’re my best friend… more than that. Rocky, what do we do now? Are we going to back down?"