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This is an illustrated novella that I have written for Crytrauv: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/crytrauv/

Description: This 6 chapter novella is the tale of Crytrauv, an arctic fox in search of his mysteriously-vanished tribe whose journey takes him through a mythical forest. Where there is magic, there are dragons, and the one who first finds him charges an extravagant toll to safely escort him through it.

But Crytrauv has his own sly plans, one which includes charming one of the dangerous, majestic, elusive beasts.

Rynthara the furred dragoness (c) is my character

Crytrauv the arctic fox (c) belongs to Crytrauv https://www.furaffinity.net/user/crytrauv/

Cover art done by https://www.furaffinity.net/gallery/silvyr/

***A trek through the Nightwood chapter 3***

His mate.

Nobody had called her that before, for no dragon had had the courage to bind themselves to a female known for her refusal to carry their eggs. Without the certainty of a legacy, males avoided her, but not Arnalvast. He relished her companionship despite her quirks and quick temper, and now, he teased her with that most alluring word.

Rynthara enjoyed the sound of it. She might not hold him for as long as the term implied, but since he offered to merge their two territories, she planned to make the best of their partnership.

The thought of it made her hide tingle and her toes to curl inwards. Her breaths became hard and slow, and her steps turned brisk as they approached the first nest she had ever built. She should have taken offense with that impertinent request, but ever since he had spoken that word, Rynthara wanted him to be part of her life. To make him hers.

So that she wouldn't have to do everything by herself anymore.

It wasn't even a proper nest. More like a pile of hay and fluff of various prey tucked into a slim hole in the mountain, barely wide enough to allow the pair to walk side by side, and quite shallow as well. The gusts of wind had scattered most of the bedding in her absence, making Rynthara growl to herself. She strode towards the nest, but Arnalvast's leap beat her to it.

"You do that every time, as if your tiny paws are any good at..." she trailed off as she watched him scoop the errant straw methodically. He worked with great care, restoring the nest to its former glory in mere moments.

"They do happen to be quite good indeed." He gave her that cocky glare, which only served to quicken her blood and make her heart beat faster.

"If you had as much practice with keeping yourself out of trouble as you did with arranging our nest, maybe I wouldn't doubt you so often."

"You aren't doubting me. You just simply encouraging me to become ever better at what I do."

Rynthara chortled and pushed him to the side with a wing to make room for herself. The black and blue dragon already filled most of the nest with his majestic frame, leaving the thinner, outer portions of the nest to her. It wouldn't do, not when she wanted to lie down properly for him.

"Mmmmmm," Rynthara hummed. "The nest still has my scent imprinted upon it."

"It smells of your heat," Arnalvast said as he shifted onto his haunches to make room for Rynthara to clamber into the nest.

"And of your arousal," Rynthara added mischievously, smirking. "You were harder than the stone under our feet, and I was but a thrust away from you."

Arnalvast released a long, drawn-out moan. His warm gaze bespoke of both want and regret for not seizing the opportunity to claim her as a mate sooner. Rynthara chose to ignore the latter. They had fled this place as young adults, uncertain of their way in life, and returned to it as mates. That was all that mattered for now.

Before he had the chance to reply, Rynthara placed a paw on his snout, stroking at the sensitive sides as she planted a lick upon his brow.

"Why did we never mate?" She mused out loud, more as a rhetorical question.

Arnalvast nuzzled at her pads, rolling his tongue between her toes, licking at her pads until Rynthara's breath shuddered at the thought of having that tongue alight on an equally fleshy place of her body. Arnalvast noticed that, his snout rolling through the fur of her neck instead, his hum of joy molding with hers.

"Neither of us wanted the additional responsibility, and you..." he paused to rub his snout against hers, "you didn't seem ready."

She still wasn't ready. Not even now, after they became mates. That somehow flared her worries, making her even more self-conscious about the loss of control mating implied. She couldn't go through that debilitating state of powerlessness, to humiliate herself by squirting the essence of her body all over Arnalvast's sleek, beautiful fur. He would lie for her sake. Rynthara was certain of that.

And that very thought repulsed her.

Arnalvast's forepaws wrapped around her head, his soft, warm, pink pads dragging her against his chest, caressing her gently while his tongue licked at the back of her ears.

"You are wonderful, Rynthara. Every strand of fur enchants me; every toe caresses me in ways I can never properly describe. Every claw grooms me with utmost care. You used to worry about this as well, yes? That your paws are grimy, that your claws are sharp, but once you've forsaken these fears, you became my friend. My lover. And now, my mate."

Rynthara raised her head timidly, her eyes unable to look into his. "My heat. Did it..."

"Made me spill my seed as soon as I tasted it, yes," Arnalvast filled in her thoughts with his crude male japes. She shoved her weight against him, sending him crashing onto his back, her paws pinning his limbs as her jaws found his vulnerable neck.

"That's not what I wanted to know," she hissed.

"But...it's what you wanted...to hear," he added, along with a low whine of submission.

Rynthara let go of him, licking at the markings where her fangs grazed his hide. "I...perhaps I'm still not ready. Maybe we should simply eeeeeeep!"

Arnalvast's forepaws latched around her shoulders, dragging her on top of him, his haunches slamming against hers as their bellies kissed each other.

"I'm not ready either, my mate. I consider myself as unworthy of you as ever."

She turned her head away from his tongue, but the male always seemed to find a way to soothe her, his touch upon her tense jaw far too relaxing not to melt into his embrace. "Then why call me your mate?"

Arnalvast's purr brightened, making her fur stand on end. "I no longer wanted to do everything alone, and to always return to an empty lair. Not when there is another dragon in the Nightwood who shares this predicament."

Rynthara didn't speak. She simply turned her snout to face him, her tongue twining with his shorter, more playful one, both dragons licking at each other's jaws and nostrils until tingles crept through Rynthara's underbelly and a familiar hardness nudged at her nether lips.

She shifted off him then, leaning against her forelegs while keeping her haunches high in the air, tail lifted high enough to give him the best view of what his mate had to offer.

"Doesn't this seem like a foolish thing to do for two dragons who clearly aren't ready for each other?" Arnalvast asked, his voice rocking in unison with the throbs of his rapidly growing member. He swelled in the blink of an eye, his weight shifting back and forth to accommodate his pulsating length. So smooth, so slick, so exotic towards the base, where several meaty ridges lined it, growing thicker and ticker. The final ridges failed to push past his dark grey, fuzzy slit, requiring a few thrusts into a female's vent before they would finally come loose.

"If you miss your mark, at least we'll both be made aware of the futility of our carnal desires, and should forever fight against them from now on." She looked back at him, licked her snout in anticipation, and nodded to him to proceed. "Do not try to hold back your seed either. Better to keep our first mating brief."

The quicker it ended, the lesser the possibility for her to reach her climax, and the smaller the chances to embarrass herself by spurting her first orgasm over the underbelly of the first male she bore feelings for.

"Then you will be displeased to know that males who take their first female start with slow, tantalizing thrusts. It's too much of an intense feeling, and their pleasure gets the better of them after only a couple of strokes," Arnalvast said.

Rynthara slapped at his neck with her tail, her impatience growing in unison with her doubts. "Then ignore your pride and heed your instinct. You are my mate, which means you let go of your seed when you have to, not when your spoiled, haughty integrity gives you the permission to do so."

Arnalvast chuckled, licking at her shapely rump to tame her fire. "You haven't met the males outside of the Nightwood. They are willing to do anything to please their mate, even if it means employing contraptions created by human females that they use to tame their own heat."

"It is not the males that bother me. I hold a grudge for every female who seeks to tame the passion of their male. It is not what mating should be."

Rynthara smiled as she recalled her first attempt at mating with Arnalvast. It was the way he described it: short, sweet, and it led absolutely nowhere, for he started to shoot his seed as soon as his snout touched her folds in order to suck in her blissful scent.

Her pussy shuddered at the mere thought of it, and tingles raced along her spine as her folds grew slicker with each breath she took. A curt moan escaped her when Arnalvast's nostrils connected with her wet crevice, the smooth surface rubbing against her sensitive flesh in a deliberate, alluring motion. Her perked ears picked up his hearty whiffs as her mate inhaled her sharp, bittersweet fragrance. It set him on edge, drawing a pleasant warble from his half-parted muzzle.

Arnalvast drew back, growling lustfully as his limbs fell in on both of Rynthara's sides. The downy fur of his chest pressed against her neatly folded wings, a warm, soothing presence that made the dragoness moan in delight. Every female dreamed of having a strong male's weight resting upon their back, and Arnalvast's bulk proved far more comforting than she expected. His fur molded along her flight feathers, his strong, draconic haunches locking around hers in a tight yet gentle grip. His tail sought hers, embracing it in a fierce, passionate hold.

Every one of Arnalvast's muscles trembled with pent-up lust, yet he still hesitated in piercing her moist, exposed folds.

"Do it," Rynthara urged him. She angled her head to the side to nuzzle his neck. "Claim your mate."

He did, abruptly and without warning. Rynthara's chin pressed tight against her chest as Arnalvast parted her silken, swollen lips with a curt thrust. His trill of delight filled her ears, just as his member filled her, inch by inch, parting her clenched muscles. To Rynthara's heat-struck pussy, Arnalvast's cock felt better than anything she had ever imagined, perhaps even better than that. She huffed, moaned, and clenched her jaws under Arnalvast's slow, fluid strokes.

"Hrrrarrr, you are as slick as a pond," Arnalvast said between three consecutive strokes. "So tight, warmer than your very paws, and--grrrhhh--mine. My mate. My only..." his voice shattered into a drawn-out moan as his back arched. His claws scraped at the stone floor for purchase, and his haunches shivered harder with every passing moment.

"Don't hold back. Let go. Let go of your seed."

That gallant bastard! His eyelids shivered from the toll of mating, and his swelling cock heralded his impending release. A young dragon such as him usually spilled their seed within the first few thrusts, but Arnalvast had been on edge since this very morning, and mating Rynthara in her own nest stoked his passion for her. He was about to cum, and yet, he insisted on doing it together with her.

Which was exactly what Rynthara wanted to avoid.

She slammed her haunches tight against his hindquarters, forcing his cock to push through her folds down to the very last ridge with a wet plop.

Rynthara squeezed her eyes against the overwhelming pleasure that flooded her being. Stretched to her limits, with his tight, flared ridges lodged inside her, the dragoness couldn't help but rest her head against Arnalvast's neck and whimper her release into his trembling ear.

Arnalvast didn't even roar. His orgasm hit him so hard, the dragon fell on his side, clutching his mate tight to his chest as his seed exploded into Rynthara's slick depths. Through bleary eyes, Rynthara watched the toes of his hind paws flex and curl inwards while his haunches bucked instinctively to secure himself inside his mate. The bulge of his last ridge plugged her pussy, denying passage to the combined juices welling within Rynthara. The pressure exerted upon her shuddering walls only served to flare Rynthara's orgasm, forcing her to screech and shrill and moan while she milked the throbbing length of her mate.

"It's too--it's too much," she huffed, her eyes wide from the great load Arnalvast put inside her. He still came in light spurts, his seed drenching her womb in a thick coating of creamy dragon essence. "Arnalvast, your ridges are too demanding. The seed--the pressure..." she trailed off as an irrational fear lodged within her mind.

"Everything is as it should be, sweet mate," Arnalvast murmured in her ear as the toes of his hind paw gripped her foreleg, allowing him enough leverage to thrust inside her a few more times. "Every drop counts for a dragoness during her heat, when your very body craves for it."

"I'm not in heat!" Rynthara shrieked. With a lurch of her hips, she dislodged herself from Arnalvast's cock. Their combined juices overflowed in the absence of that thick, ruddy shaft, each spasm of her pussy pushing some of the thick dragon seed out of her, along with her own, strong-scented climax.

Sudden relief washed through Rynthara, allowing her to draw in a deep breath. "I...I didn't expect it to feel so...intense."

"That's how mating is, how it's supposed to feel," Arnalvast said as he lifted a haunch to reveal the mess they made. "All that seed, wasted. Why, Rynthara?"

In her dazed state following a satisfying orgasm, Rynthara said the first thing that popped into her head. "The expulsion of your seed felt far stronger than I anticipated. When I have mated with this other male that was a great cat, I didn't even--"

"Do not speak of your past mates," Arnalvast roared. "Not in the nest that you vowed to share only with me."

Rynthara settled on her haunches, uncomfortable as it felt when the male's seed clung to her nethers, casting her glare upon him. "He wasn't a mate of mine. He's not even a dragon, but a great cat who simply wanted to teach me about mating, and we've only done it once."

She immediately snapped her jaws shut, yet it was too late. The truth had already fled her mouth, and there was no caging it back.

"Then what does that most shameful act make you, hrr?" Arnalvast inquired as he shifted onto his feet to smell at a few of the thick, silver-tinted droplets that had slithered past her folds and onto the ground. His lips tensed up, creases forming along them, turning into a grimace that made Rynthara's heart skip a beat.

"Perhaps...that is why you consort with great cats," her mate spoke slowly through the heaving that had claimed his body, his snout creasing in disgust whenever his eyes skipped to those small, almost inconspicuous droplets lost beneath the dry bedding of the nest. "For no self-respecting dragon would take a female whose climax smells fouler than the Ancient Bog."

*

Rynthara wrestled herself to her senses just when the male's belly lurched and his stomach emptied itself over her very nest. She blinked wide, terrified eyes, allowing the soothing twinkling of the star-speckled sky to instill the calming truth into her rattled mind.

A dream. Nothing of consequence. Easily dismissible and forgettable.

And yet, her heart pounded with the restless urgency induced by her so-called mate's reaction, urging her to action. The dampness of apprehension clung to her pads, made obvious by the night's breeze, which also revealed an even more ominous predicament to her.

She wasn't just moist between her haunches, but downright soaked, her very fur sticking to her hide.

Rynthara's breath stuck in her throat as that disgusting sensation traversed her frame. Her body paralyzed by the crippling shame that sunk its claws into her mind, all that she could do was dart her head left, right, her flared nostrils and perked ears trying to detect the nearest stream in which she could wash this terrible disgrace off herself.

"Morning already? Thought we--"

"Eeeerp!" She both growled and yelped at the petite head of the arctic fox that peeked from under the frame of her right wing. It took her a moment to realize that it was her that had allowed her charge to rest next to her, though in her befuddled state, the reasoning behind this decision eluded her.

Not that it mattered. The fox who sprawled on his back, his torso slanting halfway up with the help of the two elbows he rested his weight against, still wore his foul, brown-colored rag across his chest and back. It also wove over one of his shoulders, which provided her with even more material to use. She curled a claw between the cloth and his shoulder, tearing, then pulling with the rest of her toes, repeating the motion for the portion that fastened his chest as well, all while Crytrauv lay eerily calm and still. His demeanor encouraged her to slash through the swath that acted as his loin coverings too, unraveling his small, furred, elegant malehood in the process.

"I'm certain there is a perfectly reasonable reason and request behind all this," he said as as he shifted onto his side to accept the bundle of clothes Rynthara deposited into his waiting arms.

"Yes. You will have to wipe me, and to be as thorough as you can be," Rynthara said, splaying on her back, stretching her haunches to the sides as much as they allowed, head turned away from that revolting task. She didn't care to know how much lust she had oozed because of that dream, or whether she had expelled her essence as well. She simply wanted it gone, or at least removed from the surface of her sex until they found a lake or waterfall to wash away every trace of its vile existence.

"May I propose--"

"You may not," Rynthara first snarled to warn him, then snapped inches away from a hesitant finger when he still refused to obey.

The arctic fox stumbled back, actual fear permeating his eyes and tense features. His feet planted into the ground, his instinct urging him to make for the trees and save himself, but his resolve kept him in place, next to a dragon that almost crippled him over an almost trivial matter.

"I...I am sorry," Rynthara relented, most of her initial shock and panic fleeing alongside her drawn-out exhale. He wasn't her mate, nor a dragon, but Crytrauv, the same fox who was not only privy to her deepest fears, but who offered to help her fight them as well.

"It's all fine," he said, nodding reassuringly while stretching the straps of cloth over the ground, folding them to grant them extra thickness and a smaller, easier to manage size. "We all have our nightmares, and they are all unusual in nature."

He spared a glance to her soaked, swollen, visible crevice, which forced Rynthara's haunch and wing to instinctively drape over that particular vulnerability of hers. She stopped them halfway, accepting the folly of such actions, embracing the inevitability of her impending disgrace.

"Rynthara, we..." Crytrauv trailed off, more shaken by her reaction than the earlier threat. "You deserve far more and far better than just...this," he said, lifting the pile of rags in honest confusion. "What I mean is that--"

"I understand what you mean, as well as the admiration you believe that a female is entitled to, but I can't fight against my very nature and win. Not today. Not after...this dream..."

Her gaze sunk to the grass. She pinned back her ears, loosening that low, mournful whine that kept begging to be released. Try as she might to stem the flow of despair, powerlessness, and dismay that coursed through her, Rynthara couldn't, for her instinct preyed on her deepest, most firmly rooted of doubts. It shone its light upon them, uncovering them before her rational mind, proving to her that her solitude might not have been entirely her choice.

That other dragons, just like in Arnalvast's case, may have been repelled by a part of her she couldn't even tame, let alone control.

"You said it yourself, Rynthara. It's only a dream, irrational and ephemeral. Don't let it threaten you, or feel inadequate because of what transpired, for none of it is real."

She growled at his feigned ignorance, pointing her wing at her drenched underbelly. "Part of it is clearly a reality, one that I have to cope with."

The sight of her blatant weakness bothered her so much that even Crytrauv's unperturbed expression was a better--if a tad infuriating, given the circumstances--sight. "Assuming you still wish to assist me."

"Of course," he said without any shadow of a doubt. "However, you haven't heard my proposition, and I would be much obliged if you at least allow me to give it voice."

"Hrrrrrh," she grumbled in exasperation with these constant delays, but flicked her tail tip to grant him that boon nevertheless.

Crytrauv licked his muzzle apprehensively, then forced his hesitant eyes to shift from her colorful wing feathers to hers. "My tongue is far better suited for your predicament, and also grants you the respect a dragon is due. I cannot, in good conscience, employ my rags on such private part of you, not when your scent is so--"

"Enough, Crytrauv," she stopped him before he further upset her already frail balance. Bile rose to Rynthara's throat from the mere suggestion of what Crytrauv desired to achieve, and her stomach lurched as she unintentionally imagined him lapping away her slimy, disgusting ooze. It took all of her effort to keep herself from retching and end up sharing Arnalvast's fate. The memory was still imprinted into her memory, tormenting her, nauseating her, reminding her of why she should never allow a male under her tail.

Her resolve hardened, Rynthara settled back into her previous pose, her head stretched as far back as her neck allowed to put as much distance between her vent and nostrils as possible. She closed her eyes, taking in slow, shallow breaths, filtering the distinct aroma of her arousal from the fresh, crisp scent of grass. "Do what I've told you. I'll grant you two additional days for obeying me, three if you promise to never speak of this moment, nor broach the topic of my carnal needs. From this moment forth, this shall be a banned topic."

"I can do better than that. I promise to never touch you without your consent, and to follow your demands in every matter that concerns your body, even when my opinion differs, so long as you establish that it is, indeed, a demand. Just to make sure there are no misunderstandings between us," he added at the end, a tinge of apprehension creeping into his voice.

A proverbial weight shifted off Rynthara's heart upon hearing his reassuring words. "Then allow me to enhance our pact as well, and offer you guidance to the edge of the Nightwood, regardless of how long it takes to reach it."

The pang of regret that struck her for pledging her aid to Crytrauv quickly diluted under the deep satisfaction that bloomed within her at finding the perfect opportunity to ensure that Crytrauv kept his promise. Once he left the Nightwood, he no longer posed a potential threat to her, and his sense of respect for her would progressively grow until his very honor ensured the safety of the trove of compromising information he held.

Although his silence gave her pause, the swish of grass beneath his feet soothed her a little bit. He moved, which meant he valued the reward far more than his disgusting plot to clean her privates. It had some merit to it, certainly, but the last thing she wanted was to climax all over his slender frame when the fool pressed on despite her pleas to stop.

She jolted to awareness when his hands cupped one of her hind paws, claws shooting out of their den, only to flee back into their slits as his warm, dry hands warmed her cold, damp pads. "I will accept your offer, but solely because you may end up needing me just as much as I need you," he said, letting go of her paw to crouch and grab his rags instead, their rustle hinting at his readiness to proceed.

Her paw twitched in his direction, eager for more of his caress, but Rynthara restrained it, determined to put this dreadful episode behind her sooner rather than later. She kept her eyes shut as Crytrauv searched for the best angle to approach his task, unwilling to witness any part of this most degrading process.

"Grrrarrrrrrrr," she growled, limbs and tail tensing up when the smooth but dry texture of the cloth alighted on her puffy, highly sensitive lips. The fire of lust still burned within her despite the horrifying end of her dream, each dab drawing soft gasps from her.

"Whatever this dream was about, I'd still prefer it over mine. I dreamt of a dragon as well. The fox-eating sort."

Better that he spoke. It kept him distracted from the task at hand, which was exactly what Rynthara needed right now.

"We don't eat other intelligent creatures, especially if they can talk back. It is one of the most ancient of pacts within the Nightwood, and around it. The more dragons left the Nightwood, the farther the reach of its rules extended."

"Mmm, small world, my people say," Crytrauv hummed, dragging the cloth along the edges of her lips, deciding to collect the arousal soaked into her fur first before dealing with its very source. "Or said, in case they are truly gone. Perhaps I should simply accept that truth and renounce this self-perpetuating lie that takes me to places I haven't even heard of, like this Nightwood you're so fond of."

"There is no falsehood in hope. It may lead you where you don't belong, perhaps even to your death, but there is no deceit in it."

"I'd argue there is, with your very instincts to act as living proof. But that is a talk for another time, when we are both in a more comfortable position."

Normally, she would have bitten his head off for alluding to her weakness, but she couldn't. Not when her vulnerability wormed its way up to the surface of her sex, obvious even to the dull mind of a Sable Wolf.

"I understand my promise and the rules associated with it, but there is a matter I wish to bring to you, one that does not refer to this occurrence, or to you." Crytrauv's words came to a stop, as did the touch of the cloth upon her lower belly.

"Speak your thoughts," Rynthara urged him on, slightly curious to evaluate his sly ways of weaving around his promise without breaking it.

"The instinct to breed is ingrained into the mind of every creature, sentient and dull alike. Sooner or later, we all have to confront it, and when the time comes, we can accept it or reject it, but never deny its presence, for it always returns. And when it does, you are forced to pick one of the two original options all over again."

"Then I will forever reject mine," Rynthara said, much to Crytrauv's disappointment, whose very hesitation spoke in his stead.

"Are dragons so sophisticated, that they refuse to accept--or in your case, even acknowledge--certain functions and needs of their bodies? You are free to fight against your urges, but there will come a day when my clothes or tongue will be sorely missed if you happen to climax during sleep."

That one, single word rattled the very bones within Rynthara's body. To avoid being confronted by the terrible truth from below, her forepaw fell over her nostrils, the earthy, grassy scent of her paw pads far preferable to the stench that might have inadvertently flowed out of her. She pretended to groom it for appearance's sake, but Crytrauv's sharp, hazel eyes remained unconvinced by her ruse as they returned to his task, followed by his cloth.

"Hrrrrrrf," Rynthara growled as Crytrauv dragged the increasingly slicker material over the sides of her cleft, the toes of her hind paws curling inward in unison with the feathery tip of her tail. Her nether muscles contracted and relaxed in quick succession, the shudders soft yet intense at the same time, like sparks igniting, then quickly fading within the depth of her being. If Crytrauv continued to wipe her, and if he even dared land the cloth on her bare flesh, then one of them might finally enkindle the blaze smoldering beneath her folds, and if that happened, her very dream might come true.

Crytrauv took note of her body's signs of strain too.

"I think it is better to stop here," he said, pulling back from her, staring at the slime-drenched swathe of cloth in an anxious but equally reverent fashion. "You are teetering on the verge of orgasm, and it is...quite improper, for such a frayed thing to trigger a pleasure that is best kept for better circumstances, and with a worthier partner."

Rynthara chanced the crouching fox a glance, noticing the doubt weighing his sunken ears, as well as the pink shaft dangling from between his haunches. His previously loose pouch that housed his marbles tightened, as did his petite sheathe that bulged with the apples nestled within it. That part wouldn't come out; not without aid, but three quarters of his tapered member already did, the thin veins embroidering it becoming more prominent with every throb shaking his spire.

Crytrauv loosened a yelp of surprise when his eyes met her hers, shifting to the side to conceal his malehood, setting one knee on the ground while he pulled his other leg up so that his haunch blocked her view.

"Apologies," he quickly muttered. "Didn't expect you to look down below, given your preferences on this matter."

"Does it trouble you that I have seen what should have been concealed by your undergarments?" a hint of satisfaction coated Rynthara's words, now that Crytrauv clearly shared her predicament.

"You are a dragon, so it is all the same to me." His shoulders jerked up in that nonchalant way of his, but his downcast gaze bespoke of the inner turmoil now raging within him as well.

"You're not the only one fighting against the impulses of the flesh," he said, licking his muzzle apprehensively. "And since you made your demand to use all that I wear known, everything's far more apparent than it should be."

As their eyes locked briefly, Rynthara glimpsed an eerie familiarity in Crytrauv's furtive gaze. For all of his audacity that bordered on impertinence every now and then, he battled the same fears that she did. Given an opportune situation, he would have undoubtedly introduced her to his male anatomy, had she but asked, but now that it happened without his accord, and absent previous preparation, he felt equally small, diminished.

Powerless to defend the façade he sorely relied on to better understand the world around him.

"You can tie your cloth about your loins once you are done with it. Soggy or not, it still fulfills its original purpose."

"Hah, certainly," he chuckled nervously. "Wear a dragoness' arousal for the whole trek to a nearby lake or river. That is surely going to work in my favor in a place where every sapient creature seems to assume the worst about my presence here."

Rynthara gave him a puzzled look, which further flared his anxiety. "It's nothing I can't part with. This," he said, presenting Rynthara with the bundled rag lathered with her juices, "goes in the ground as soon as it fulfills its purpose. Buried, together with our emotions on this subject, so that no great cat, bear, moonlit deer, dragon, and whichever other beasts inhabit the Nightwood may ever discover it. I assume you're of a similar mind, yes?"

Rynthara bowed her head. "Proceed, so that we can be on our way," she commanded, unwilling to surrender to this base need, and worse, to let the sapient creatures of the Nightwood witness her poor control over it. Her scent might reveal the truth, but appearances told her story, and every dragon sorely relied on the latter within the boundaries of the Nightwood.

As soon as Crytrauv's attention returned to her nethers, Rynthara swept her head back and shuttered her eyes, growling and whining at how horribly delightful it felt to have her lips caressed, even if the instrument in question had a slight coarseness to it concealed by the abundancy of her juices permeating its surface.

Was that what humiliation was? How it felt? To not only be wholly deprived of control, but to take pleasure from this most demeaning of acts? It wasn't enough that the dream--that despicable nightmare-- fettered her instinct and reduced her to a specter of her noble self; it also had to torment her after she woke up, inflict this vile, perverted pleasure upon her that she couldn't hope to hold back.

No. This wasn't just humiliating. It was degrading. Although the sensations of her mating with Arnalvast still permeated her body, her emotions during her dream had felt subdued and diluted compared to the rampant flow of anger, regret and powerlessness that coursed through her right now. Worst of all, she couldn't channel her frustration at a target, nor comprehend their depth in her disheveled state. Without a doubt, this was the worst moment of her life, where a lesser creature employed his primitive clothing to erase the product of wanton thoughts she couldn't even hold back.

She added a second paw to her snout to muffle her contemptible scent when Crytrauv folded the cloth, turning it so that he could do another pass along her lips with the half that didn't glisten as much as the other.

"At the risk of my safety and that of our deal, I should mention that your arousal smells far better than your pads. At least, it does to me," he added, his eyes never holding hers for long for fear of retribution.

Realizing how ridiculous she behaved to the fox who shared her concerns, Rynthara slid her paws off her snout, snarling as her smooth, silky scent floated into her nostrils, laced with pent-up desire that she didn't want nor intended to feel.

"Wipe it all." she said, a weight lifting off her heart when the fox' words proved to be true. Had she climaxed during her sleep, the air around them would have been far heavier with smells that Rynthara never planned to discover after such rude, most shameful awakening.

"And do it with both hands," she urged, her patience with herself wearing thin. "Although us dragons understand propriety, it carries a deeper meaning compared to your shallow version of it."

Crytrauv's jaws tightened, the fox evading her eyes as he turned his belly to her, the veins lacing his cock even more prominent than before, his tapered tip leaking droplets of clear, watery arousal.

An electrifying jolt struck Rynthara's nethers, her muscles quaking visibly, her heart skipping a beat at the inevitability of what followed. She sucked in a sharp breath, willing her fluffed up wing feathers to relax, and also releasing the tension held within her taut toes to appear more in control to Crytrauv.

"If you're about to loosen your seed, do so on the grass, otherwise I'll take to the skies and bathe without you."

Crytrauv pressed the cloth harder against her vulnerable lips, forcing them to spread slightly, the sudden pressure causing Rynthara's muzzle to crease under the potency of that demanding sensation. "I know what I have to do, and that is to clean you to the best of my abilities," Crytrauv whispered, his voice hoarse, low, drained of vitality. He was on the verge of losing the battle against his instinct as well. Rynthara could see it in the winces following the arching throbs of his cock. She noticed his strain to withhold his seed in his wandering eyes and the deep breaths he took to calm his battered self. But did he wrestle pleasure to defend his pride? Or simply to impress her with his stalwartness?

Rynthara didn't know, and neither did she care. Petty as it was, his struggles brought her unexpected comfort, his whimpers and whines and snarls of longing making hers seem less awkward.

"Done," he said, yelping as he tripped on her tail, too distracted by his pressing need to pay attention to his surroundings. He fell to the side, but his arm found the ground before the rest of his body followed, his features as rugged as the cloth he clutched in one hand.

"I'll go discard this. I suppose you'll want to do a second grooming pass too, so we both have our burdens to handle, yes?"

"Hide it well." She didn't need to say more, for Crytrauv had an equally dire need to rid himself of his vestments, if not more so.

She waited for him to disappear within the tree line before she tended to the aftermath of her lust, slightly bothered by the spring in his step. It hinted at more than just the urgency to execute his task, and that both troubled and stirred her wanton interest into how males coped with their desire. Her blood began to boil from the perverted curiosity rushing through her frame, and her head pounded under the throbs of remorse for entertaining such vile thoughts. They took the guise of reason, some of them pushing her to ensure that Crytrauv kept his word, but Rynthara restrained herself from following him. She trusted their mutual interests in this matter, so she had no reason to doubt him.

Her decision to stay put did little to quiet her unrest, however. As the shadows of the forest engulfed him, new opportunities presented themselves to her, many involving precious knowledge on how males functioned. One stood out in particular, strengthened by proof she had already witnessed, augmented by Crytrauv's own words. And if it proved to be true, it might very well banish her fears and doubts once and for all.

Focus, crisp and clear, flowed into her mind and body, dispelling the rigid hold of emotions, eliminating the tautness gripping her muscles. Rynthara's mindset fell into a predatory stance, filtering out the unnecessary distractions, retaining only the relevant information, such as the softening rustle of Crytrauv's feet, or his increasingly fainter scent.

When the former all but fled her ears, Rynthara slowly, carefully got up, walking against the wind, keeping to the shadows, approaching him from the side with the thicker underbrush to conceal her presence.

She reached him at the perfect moment, when his ears no longer wandered about and his breath settled in his chest, willed into submission by his growing confidence that he was, indeed, alone. He had waited long enough after all; the dragon had no motive to follow him here, nor should he obsess over that worry. He was small and insignificant, not worth her attention in a matter that she found repulsive and degrading.

Rynthara fought back her purr when Crytrauv followed her thoughts down to the last detail. In his attempts to slither under her hide, he revealed too much about him, to the point where he became predictable. Although her own, selfish needs initially brought her here, Rynthara decided to also savor the thrill of predicting Crytrauv's behavior. So, she eased herself onto her belly, her face concealed by the violet leaves of a Manavine shrub that she had strategically chosen to hide herself from sight.

Now that he tamed his apprehension, he would certainly wrap his shaft in that cloth, close his eyes, and imagine himself entrapped between her folds instead. His eyes had drank their fill of her, as did the rag that lazily dripped her gooey, slippery, translucent strands of arousal.

A strange satisfaction filled her when Crytrauv still followed her mental outline. Perhaps males weren't as foreign to her as she first suspected, with the arctic fox's action serving as delightful nourishment to her battered pride. First, he spread the cloth, folding it in such way that he readied the wettest portion of it to come into contact with his pulsing, eager shaft. Then, he grabbed each side between the thumb and forefinger of each hand.

Rynthara held her breath and squeezed her jaws tight against one another to ensure that no sound escaped them when the cloth finally entrapped his member.

Instead of moving down, however, the cloth moved up, lifted to his muzzle by frail, trembling fingers that could barely hold onto it. Once there, Crytrauv's slim muzzle darted across its length, his sniffs quick, eager, desperate almost.

A pang of dismay struck her when she came face to face with her deepest fears, almost nauseating in its intensity. The tongue strokes that quickly followed his rapid breaths, however, quickly calmed her, instilling a feeling of deep disillusion within her. The truth she had come here to discover, the cathartic realization she had hoped to achieve, felt more like a confirmation to what she had already suspected than a breakthrough, her gratification greatly thinned by the suddenness of Crytrauv's actions. She expected a careful, deliberate analysis of her scent and taste, only for the fox to lap away her juices without a second thought, his cock lurching in unison with the broad strokes of his hungry tongue.

Warm shudders rushed through Rynthara at the sound of his pent-up growl, at the soft whimpers laden with longing and loneliness alike, her grand moment of revelation quickly swept aside by the throbs pulsing through her underbelly muscles. Now that she had proper proof of Crytrauv's positive opinion on her arousal, lust tightened its grip on her, lulling her into a false sense of serenity, urging her to give in to the temptations simmering beneath her tail.

Rynthara carefully shifted onto her side, so that the fallen leaves and grass no longer brushed against her sex. Even their rough, dissatisfying touch was enough to weaken her, and she intended to stay here solely for the knowledge, and not for the wicked delight associated with such act of utter abandon.

"Oh, Rynthara," he whispered to himself, enthralled by the images flashing before his mind's eye. "All you need is a little guidance, a drop of courage, a spark of affection to help you understand yourself."

His cock lurched, the final whiff he took too deep and intoxicating to his mind. He immediately lowered the cloth to his groin, ready to wrap himself in the raw product of her instinct.

He didn't. Instead, he whined audibly, overtaken by doubt, staring emptily at the tree in front of him.

Rynthara's stomach sank in an instant, her own fears returning to haunt her. What if her smell bothered him, and he had only offered her encouraging platitudes to get closer to her? Or maybe he was already aware of her presence, and laid this methodical trap to make her even more dependent on him. His words certainly suggested that.

"This is foolish. If she starts to suspect--if she discovers that I relieved myself to the thought of her inside a rag smeared with her arousal..."

His silent words faded into the song of crickets as his head swung right, left, past the tree, behind him, the rising apprehension lessening the throbs and size of his girth. When he failed to spot her, his courage returned, urging him to bury the tip of his snout into the cloth and breathe in deep, a shuddering whine murmuring within his throat.

Her muscles tightened, ready to spirit her away from this shameful place, but her hunger for the more comprehensive truth rooted her in place. Abandoning her own plan felt like the choice of a coward, and there was no greater act of honesty than a male spilling his seed while his mind and senses drowned in the thought and smell of her. Words were wind; fickle, too easily bent to the will of the elements. Instinct, however, never lied, and miserable as it had made Rynthara over the past two days, she at least understood its primordial purpose and inner workings.

And, with Crytrauv's help, she might even be able to surmount this final obstacle, one that had plagued her mind and dreams for far too long. Her most recent nightmare reinforced the fallacy of allowing a dragon under her tail, but Crytrauv was a biped, easily dismissible, whose opinion of her bodily secretions would never flee his muzzle, now that he made promise to her.

Stiffness began to flee her muscles little by little as the fox wrestled his muzzle away from the source of her fertile scent. His tongue licked the motes of liquid passion off his whiskers while his eyes shuttered to fully immerse himself into the gift she undoubtedly bestowed him with. There would be no better chance for him to experience such exotic pleasure, and the fox, despite his initial reservations, knew that too.

Rynthara's jaws tightened to suppress her gasp when he furled the moistest parts of the cloth around his bare, vulnerable cock. His whole frame shook, rattled by a delight too foreign to his limited mind. In his world, breeding a dragon was unheard of, so Rynthara could only guess the effects her slickness, in concert with his thoughts, inflicted upon his body.

Nestled within a poor substitute for the real thing, Crytrauv relied on his mind's eye to flare his breeding instinct to life. He clutched the cloth with both hands, swinging his hips forward and backward to thrust into it, the motions sluggish and timid. His thin, high-pitched, continuous whimper reflected the battle between will and instinct, each trying to subdue each other. Were it not for her dream, Rynthara would have averted her gaze and ears from that pathetic mewl and swaying silhouette, but because of it, she stared at Crytrauv intently, absorbing every motion of his body, observing all of his reactions while he bred.

His whiskers twitched, muzzle scrunching more and more with every stronger, deeper, more confident thrust. Rynthara caught a brief glimpse of his clenched teeth, the pressure exerted upon them as intense and demanding as his tightening grip around the cloth. He no longer held it, but squeezed it, eager to make it less disorderly, more compact, to shape it closer to how her nethers would feel around him.

Rynthara clenched her paws, kneading restlessly at the ground with the pads of her toes, utterly absorbed in what she witnessed. She never imagined a male's nostrils to twitch and flare the way they did, desperate to take in more of the female fragrance wafting from the cloth, nor for his form to turn so taut. His claws didn't rake at the earth. His tail didn't wag, like she imagined it would, and his head bowed forward instead of arching backward. But for the motions of his haunches and the trembling of his lips, nothing else moved, as if his whole focus, his entire purpose, lay within that bundled cloth, relentlessly assaulted by his member.

Crytrauv hunched forward, his vocalizations acquiring a higher pitch, stifled by his deep huffs, and not subverted by his willpower, like Rynthara had expected from a fox previously worried about being discovered. In contrast with him, Rynthara's breaths turned scarce and shallow to minimize every sound that didn't come from Crytrauv, and also to muffle the increasingly noticeable scent of his musk. Its salty, metallic tang differed from that of a dragon in ways that intrigued her, more so when his ripe pouch that housed his eggs swung so wildly, so feverishly in unison with his thrusts. The two round swells flanking the base of his member engorged to an impossible size for such a small sheathe, making their exit nigh impossible.

Soft, warm prickles creeped through her hide, welling within her stomach where they combined into a fluttering mass that turned her unnervingly giddy. She felt suddenly invigorated, struck by the same familiar excitement that she experienced as a hatchling while discovering new things her parents hadn't introduced to her yet. Few bipeds ventured into the Nightwood, and of those, fewer still exposed their nakedness to a dragon. Right now, she might have very well been the only dragon about to witness the ejaculation of a fox within the cloth he used to wipe off her arousal.

Yelps, yips, whines and whimpers burst from Crytrauv's muzzle in quick succession as he lurched forward. Slumped against the tree in front of him, he loosened his seed within the confines of the lubricated sanctuary, holding it tight against his groin during that short, precious moment.

Rynthara's heart leapt up her throat, her feathers fluffing up, and her ears turning as erect as Crytrauv as she aimed them at the source of those frail, chocked, melodious sounds. Dragons roared during their climax; they didn't moan, as if unable to withstand that overwhelming pleasure. And yet, she found Crytrauv's sounds quite endearing thanks to their genuine touch. Unlike a male dragon, he didn't try to impress his mate or protect the bearing he had groomed since his days as a hatchling. When struck by that sudden wave of bliss, he simply allowed his instinct to overtake him, savoring it rather than forcing it back.

Crytrauv slowly crumpled on the ground, his eyelids shuddering under the might of his climax, toes clenching inwards as soon as his weight shifted off them. The occasional yip still broke loose past his shuddering jaws, and his hips still jerked every now and then to bury himself ever deeper into the cloth, hinting that his orgasm, although diminished, still continued to drown his senses.

"Rrrrrh," Rynthara found herself unable to contain her frustrated growl. Due to the way he bundled his shaft into that rug, she hadn't seen a speckle of pink. Aside from his pouch, the entirety of his cock and sheathe lay hidden beneath that cloth, and now that he surrendered to the ground's embrace, all that she could witness was his twitching tail tip and arched back that curled inward. Part of her wished to linger for a moment longer, in case he shifted positions, but once Crytrauv's guttural moans died down, so did her interest in his orgasm. She had already extracted the necessary knowledge from this outcome, after all. The rest was simply irrelevant.

***The End of chapter 3***

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