Firey's dormroom was empty when I knocked to visit. Well, his room mate was there. Study hall being over, and night chapel still a half-hour away, I had come by for a moment, a bit of encouragement and support after a trying day.

"He's in the bathroom, Athalon."

"Thanks." I backed out, closed the door. Firefox was better at this sort of life, academics and achievement, than me. I shook my head.

The communal restroom was a little further down the hall. It wasn't my floor, so I was cautious. You never know the rules in a place like this. I nosed in carefully, expecting to find the fox brushing fangs.

The bathroom was big, cold white tile, industrial lighting. Smelled of wet concrete, too, cheap Mexican soap. Armpits, burst sneakers. The shower was running; I could tell from steam and spray, sound.

No paws under the stalls; no fox at the trough. Slow water dripped purposelessly down the urinal shelf where half the residents of the wing could have stood for a contest. The row of sinks was free of vulpine decoration, the mirrors there fogged with unvented damp.

"Firefox? You here?"

I peeked around a partition.

"Just a sec, Athalon. I'm..."

"Sorry, Firey."

The fox closed the water spigots, reached for his towel. It was obvious that the faucets weren't the only thing cranked.

"Turn around, ferret. It's not like you haven't seen a fox showering before."

I turned, blushing. Actually, I'd never seen a fox showering before. "Uh, sorry."

"You said that. So what's so important that you had to chase me down?"

"Well, I was wondering if you'd take a look at my paper. Sort of proof read it. Due in the morning."

The fox dried his headfur, ears. Toweled his groin. I tried not to notice.

Really.

"What's your paper on, Athy?"

I sighed. The irony was over the top.

"'The Virtue of Modesty in Victorian England'."