So, Mark was really, really starting to freak out now.
He'd never even been in a fight in the slightest. He was an only pup, so fighting amongst his brothers and sisters had been as nonexistent as said brothers and sisters. Back in his last high school - Michanco High - Mark had been known by his friends, fellow students, and teachers as never prone to conflict, negotiating peace and breaking up a fight on at least two occasions. Now, however, he was entering a world of pain. Remember that little rational voice that had been in his head earlier, giving him real suggestions and calming him down? Yeah, that voice was gone, replaced by fear and irrationality. Which was only made the more frustrating because Mark recognized that such pointless emotions were there and recognized that they were, well, pointless.
As he left the classroom and headed in the general direction of the library (at least, he thought it was so?) he only saw the paws, hooves, and feet of those around him with his head lowered. Of course, his parents wouldn't get on him. His Dad had always been insistent that Mark defend himself in fights or other conflict otherwise, so Mark wasn't worried about getting it from his parents. But . . . they hadn't the best insurance, and certainly not the money for real injury.
Not to mention the school, too! What kind of trouble would he get in? In his past school, the policy had simply been one of no tolerance for fights, of disciplining any and all students involved in a fight equally despite what happened or what witnesses said happened. But maybe, because these kinds of fights happened more frequently here, they would have a better policy? One more tolerant.
. . . probably not.
Soon after leaving the classroom, Mark was dimly aware that he was passing by another creature of some kind before walking through some kind of . . . hazy . . . something? The hell was that? It smelled slightly sweet. As Mark walked, he slowed slightly and raised his head, curious about what exactly he was encountering presently.