The moment the foxboy holstered his weapon, the sergeant unsheathed his sword, holding it in a low, non-menacing position.  The privates, Janus and Fenson, moved to unsheath their own weapons, but the sergeant held them back with his arms.  His voice, like wet gravel, began the explanation.<br/><br/>"Just for safety," he said, waving the sword gently.  "This isn't just a revolt, son.  This is a full-out war.  We've been planning this for years.  The furs have kept us under their heels for too long.  We've had enough."<br/><br/>A scream echoed off the walls nearby.  One of the privates looked around the corner and grabbed his fellow.  They both dashed out of sight for a moment.  After a second scream they returned, their switchblades in their hands, splashed with a fur's blood.  The sergeant looked back at the foxboy.<br/><br/>"If you want to join us, that's your call," he said.<br/><br/>"Sarge, we can't trust him," said one private, the angrier of the two.  His curly red hair set off his pale blue eyes, making him look more fierce than he actually was.<br/><br/>"Janus, I didn't say we would," replied the sergeant.  "But now we're short a man.  And why shouldn't we trust him, anyway?  Because he's part fur?"  Janus looked sheepish for a moment.  "He's just as oppressed as you or I.  He just didn't have a master."  The sergeant looked at the foxboy and pointed his sword at the stuffed man, the one named Collins.  "You're right that we need to move, but you and Fenson will bandage him up first.  Then you can follow us.  Fenson will always be behind you, though."<br/><br/>The other private, a squat young black man with his hair cut short, approached the foxboy, closing his switchblade and putting it in his belt.