"It's over," whispered the boar sadistically. "The humans have fled, and the world is ours." He panted, looking up at the sky. The moon hung above his head, looking down on him.

There was a shuffling sound, and the fox approached, blood on his tailtip and paws. He was drenched in red, a specter of death against the night. The boar was about to congragulate him on his ability to kill, when he noticed the bullet hole in the fox's chest.

"Fox!" he exclaimed, jumping to all fours and rushing to his soldier's side. "Who did this?"

"How should I know?" the dying creature laughed. "Humans all look the same." He made his way over to his leader, leaning against the boar's side. Blood soaked the brown fur, but the wild pig did not notice.

"The moon is beautiful tonight," he said at last. "She looks down on our triumph, and she smiles. She will welcome you, Fox."

"Yeah, yeah." The fox was slipping, now, his eyes half-closed as he struggled to raise his head. Beneath them, in the city, the lights went out one by one. Yet they did not go quietly. No, each one of them brought on an explosion. And finally, as the animals began to reclaim their land, the explosions gathered, becoming one large noise that rang in his ears.

It was really annoying. He just wanted to sleep, but it wouldn't let him...

As a clock below tolled twelve times for the last time, the fox's life slipped away.

"Fox, what a beautiful noise. The last explosion we hear, is not that of a fire-stick, the killer, but rather the sound of our reclaiming."

There was no reply. The boar nodded, knowing that his brave warrior was dead.

"Rest in peace, my friend. The moon shall watch over you. And our descendants shall remember your name."