>True to his word, Slate was a good fluffy despite being alone.
>He's awfully glad to see you when you come in.
>”Nice hooman fin' new fwiends?”
>You did, but they were in terrible states.
>The lucky ones were corpses, baked to death in the stifling heat of yesterday.
>The unlucky ones were alive, but lame.
>The hot sidewalks and asphalt obliterated their hooves, rendering them immobile.
>You left them where they lay, even though it really made you sad.
>Best not tell Slate any of this.
“I didn't...sorry.”
>Slate frowns at you as you take him out of the cage.
>”Nee' new fwiends fo' hewd...”
>If only it were winter.
>You don't even bother putting him in the pen.  May as well let him run around.
>”Swate go fin' new fwiends.”
>He waddles toward the glass front of the building.
>When he contacts it, the impact causes him to sit down roughly and rub his nose.
>”Tingy no wet Swate out.  Nice hooman, hewp?”
“Slate, if you go out there, you'll...”
>Better not tell him that, either.
>”Nee' new fwiends fo' hewd,” he frowns, waddling over and clamping onto your shin.
“I know, I just don't think there are any right now.”
>You use the time to get some housekeeping done.
>Everything gets a good cleaning.
>Slate tries to help, rubbing up against the baseboards with his fluff.
>Just after eleven, you hear someone pull up outside.
>The smile on your face runs away when you see the car.
>Sarah walks in, immediately smirking at the emptiness.
>”A fluffy shelter without fluffies?”
>You're scowling.  Slate waddles over and hugs those stupid boots of hers.
>”Hooman dat hewp babehs.  Swate 'memba.”
>”I can't believe he's still here.”
“What do you want, Sarah?”
>She looks ever so slightly offended.  “I can't check up on my little sister?”
>You're not buying it.  Slate ceases hugging her boots and looks up.
>”Fwiend haf fwuffy fwiends?  Nee' new fwiends.  No haf hewd.”
>She smirks down at him.  ”I see that.”
>Then she looks up at you and folds her arms.
>”How long do you plan on keeping him by himself?  You know what happens.”
>”Nee' new fwiends,” he babbles, waddling around and looking.
>It's already beginning.
>The second you think that, you frown for two reasons: one, you don't want Slate to die of isolation.
>Second, you already know Sarah's end game, and her reason for visiting.
>”Of all the fluffies here, I thought he'd be the first to go,” she remarks idly, examining her black nails.
>Damn it!
“Is that why you're here?  To empty the shelter and make me do something else so mom will be satisfied?”
>She looks a lot more offended now.  “I was actually checking up on you, you know.”
>Now you feel a bit awkward, at least until she starts grinning.
>”Thanks for the idea, though.”
>Damn it!  Damn it, damn it, damn it!
>”Hey, Slate, I have a lot of fluffy friends.  Would you like to go with me?”
>Of course, he waddles quickly back over to her.
>”New fwiends, pwease.  Swate nee' hewd.”
“No!  Absolutely not!”
>She is not going to win this time.  Even if you have to smuggle Slate home and hide him in your closet, you're...
>You feel a tug at your skirt and look down.  Slate is looking back.
>”Swate go wif fwiend, nice hooman.  Haf new hewd.”
“No, she's not your friend!  She'll do horrible things!”
>Sarah pins you down with an icy glare, but you won't relent.
>Sure, she saved the foals.  It was just a ploy to get on your good side, you're sure of it!
“Fwiend h-huwt Swate?” he asks nervously.
“Yes!  She'll hurt you a lot!”
>”B-but, fwiend hewp babehs, fwiend no huwt babehs...”
>You're about to say something else, but the look on Sarah's face renders you mute.
>”You are so naïve, Lucy.”
“A-at least I have a conscious...”
>She picks a confused Slate up and sets him on the desk.
>Then, she reaches into her jeans pocket, pulls out her wallet, and slams some money on the table.
>With that, she picks Slate up again and carries him to the door.
“Hey!  You can't take him!”
>”I've paid you the fee.”
“You didn't sign the paperwork!”
>”The paperwork has no legal binding here, Lucy!  They're toys!  Are you going to call the cops?  After all the heat from mom I've taken on your behalf?”
>”N-no wike yewwin'...”
>“...it's time you moved on.”
>Your hands are tied, and even worse, you're so beta compared to her.
>Then again, even Chuck Norris would be her bitch.
“Fine...but you're going to sign this.  It may not matter to the law, it matters to me.”
>She gives you an annoyed look, but comes back to the desk.
>After signing the paperwork, she carries Slate to the door.
>”Swate go now, nice hooman.  Fin' fwiends, make new hewd.  Swate say fank yoo fo' be nice.”
>You run over and take him out of Sarah's arms to give him a big hug.
>”No cwy.”
“Don't you dare hurt him.”
>She doesn't reply to your request.  You reluctantly give him back, and Sarah leaves.
>You watch him sit in the passenger seat of that damn Porsche.  He waves a hoof at you and smiles.
>Then she pulls out and drives away.
>Gotta get some tissues.  Oh, you're out.  Great.
>There's no reason for you to be here any longer, so you lock up and drive home.
>Might as well try to catch up on the sleep your dreams of Nimbus kebabs keep robbing.
------
>Well, that failed.
>You were mired in a fitful sleep for about three hours.  It's barely past three in the afternoon.
>Even worse, Slate kept popping up, asking 'why nice hooman wet dis happen?'
>You know what?  To hell with it.  You're going down there and seeing exactly what she did to him.
>And if she condemned him to that life, well, you're going to throw a fit about it!
>Then you're going to go find some stra--
>Maybe not.  It feels like an oven out here, if the oven were on fire in a volcano in the center of the sun.
>The closer you get to Sarah's store, the more nervous you feel.
>If you damaged her business, she would probably beat you to death with a tire iron.
>Not because of lost income, mind you, just out of principle.
>Still, Slate is the only one left you can save.  You have to at least find out what happened to him.
>You're here, but it takes you a minute to find a place to park.
>You walk briskly up the sidewalk to the door, but something catches your eye through the big window on the right side of the front.
>It's Slate.  He's in the foal pen with Cherry and a dozen little fluffies, looking very serious.
>When he sees you, he waves.  So does the red pegasus.
>This apparently attracts Sarah's attention, because a minute later she comes out the door.
>“Fancy seeing you here.”
>She stands beside you as you look in the window.
“What is he doing?”
>”I needed another trainer to help Cherry.”
“Why didn't you just tell me that?”
>“Because, in your words, I'm a 'horrible person'.”
>Ouch.  Okay, you might have deserved that one.
>You both watch him nudging a little white pegasus toward the litter box.
>”Do you really hate me?”
>You clasp your hands in front you and look down.
“I don't like what you do to them.”
>You see her shrug out of the corner of your eye.  “If I didn't hold them in the basement, they'd die out here every summer.”
“You end up killing them anyway.”
>”Not all of them.”
>You turn to her in disbelief.  She just grins back at you.
>”Drop by in about a month.  I'll show you.  Anyway, I've got to get back to work.  Do you want to say hello to Slate?”
>You look in the window again.
>Slate is fully occupied with the foals, even helping Cherry break up fights.
“No...I...I should be going too.”
>Sarah actually gives you a half-hug as you go.
>Out of habit, you drive up the street to the shelter and go inside.
>You open the desk drawer and begin rifling through the paperwork.
>Each document has the name of the fluffy adopted and the date.
>You skip the mass adoption of the day before yesterday, as it makes your stomach turn.
>The others you linger on.  This is why you make people fill this stuff out; it's a record of when your fluffies started their new lives.
>Slate's papers are still on the desk where Sarah left them.
>You look at them last and realize something.
>For the first time in a year, you have no idea what to do next.