The foxboy eyed the vixen briefly. “Go.” She heeded, whether for fear of him or the men – that’s one present concern out the way - but he certainly didn’t lower his weapon. “You know.” He turned to the sergeant.  “I’m about an eighth fur… what the hell is going on out here?” He demanded.  “You aren’t about to tell me it’s a human revolt… although I must admit it’s fairly revolting.” He eyed the fellow with the full belly, and lowered the firearm about halfway. Slowly, inexplicably, a smile spread over his face.  It was rather relieving actually – as he had been the victim of extreme prejudice from furs in his travels.<br/><br/>“I’m going to put this gun away.” He informed them very calmly.  “And when I do, I won’t put up a fight, cause any trouble… if you’ll let me, we can get your pal bandaged up here… and I’d like to hear your side of the story.” He slowly holsters his (not his, clearly stolen at some point) weapon.  “I think… that if you’re serious about leaving people out of this who don’t want to be involved… I may be willing to take your friend’s place, at least for the time being.  But we need to move now.” He awaits, unsure how they may react now that he doesn’t have the one-up on them.  “I’ll follow you if you can at all trust me.”