That night, when the Doglefox drops his latest stick (a big one that Ozzy had found for him, with two branches jutting out at the top) at the doorstep, Ozzy holds out his hand before the little guy can turn around and trot off. 

“It’s cold at night,” he says, slowly and measuredly, “so, um… I think you’d better come in. Besides, a hero like you needs something good to eat, right?”

The Doglefox barks and runs in the open front door—or at least he tries to. The stick he’s picked back up is just a little too big, and he’s holding it horizontally, so it ends up bouncing off the doorframe and sending the poor critter flying. 

He lands on his back and Ozzy gasps, bending down to check if he’s okay. 

“Rarf!”

Ozzy laughs. The Doglefox’s tail is wagging, and he’s got a big, tongue-lolling smile on his face.

“Be careful,” Ozzy warns, and helps him back to his paws. He takes the stick for his new friend, and gives it back once they’re inside the kitchen so that he can’t hurt himself by running into any more doorways.

With the Doglefox seemingly safe and happy enough, Ozzy turns to the empty cabinets. “Now, it’s getting close to supper time,” he says, “So, um… any special requests?”

“Rrrf!”

“Hmm.” Ozzy has no idea what that means, so he decides to choose what to eat himself. There’s… not much, really. He hasn’t exactly been the best about food shopping lately, and Mr. Hornelius hasn’t brought anything around for a few days. But there is one thing, and it puts a smile on his face…

“There!”

Ozzy sets two bowls of Islandberry Crunch cereal on the table, then sits down in one of the chairs. “This is my favourite cereal. Here’s one bowl for me, and that one’s for you.”

The Doglefox jumps up on the counter. He sniffs at the bowl, the giant stick still in his mouth, and makes a weird motion with his head, halfway opening his mouth while still trying to keep the stick balanced in it. Ozzy snorts. Is he trying to eat with the stick still in his mouth?

“You sure like your sticks, huh?” he says after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. Then, with a glance toward the fridge, he hums. “Wait a second. ‘Sticks’ sounds kind of like…” 

Ozzy rises from the table. He makes his way toward the fridge slowly, and carefully peels two taped-up pieces of paper from it before returning to the table and carefully setting them down: one drawing, and one photo. He points at one of the Neopets in the photo—the tall blue Aisha he had been trying so hard not to think about for the last few years.

“This is my sister. Her name is Nyx.” 

The Doglefox tilts his head to the side, curious. “Rrf?”

“I was just thinking… um… you know, since you’re going to be living here now, you—well, you probably need a name, and…”

There are a number of pastels, pencil crayons, and markers on the table, haphazardly left behind from some of Ozzy’s art projects over the last two weeks. He reaches for one of the markers now, grateful instead of embarrassed that he hadn’t cleaned up, and takes back the Doglefox’s cereal bowl. 

On it, he writes four letters: 

S T Y X. 

“Styx,” Ozzy says. “That’s what I’m going to call you from now on. Your new name.”