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This is an illustrated novella Nulkurrak has done for 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/godzi15/

***A trek through the Nightwood chapter 2***

Her mind was so thoroughly preoccupied with the outcome of Crytrauv's massage, that Rynthara did little more than fly in circles, barely able to summon the necessary focus to uphold her promise. Try as she might to remain in the present, one that required utmost vigilance from her, she simply couldn't brush away the blissful sensations of his touch, nor her shameful reaction that forced her to put an end to it. She shouldn't have enjoyed it, let alone indulge in the improper thoughts that crept from all corners of her mind, threatening to break past her carefully groomed self-control.

And yet, they did. Despite her efforts to sample a biped's foreign touch for the first time with the dignity and restraint befitting her kind, she got carried away, all due to the same folly that her mother warned her of during their first night together.

She overestimated her strength, and in the process, empowered a stranger that might use that knowledge against her. It sounded asinine, for a pitiful arctic fox to do more with it than belittle her, but this defeat stung her more than the fangs of the first dragon that had found purchase around her neck.

And this time, she couldn't reply in kind. The pact she had in place with him saw to that. Even worse, his limited intellect might not even fully comprehend the stakes behind their agreement, and if he made himself lost on their first day together...

Overwhelmed by this pressing fear, Rynthara abandoned her current task, diving straight for the clearing nearest to his location, then dashing for the remainder of the distance. Fortunately for her, Crytrauv sat with his legs crossed in the same place that she had left him, just as he had done during the massage, as if he never moved. However, in one hand, he held a straight, smooth, pointy twig, while the other clutched one of her fallen plumes that was cut in several places, desecrated, defiled!

"Stop at once!" She demanded, roaring her spite at him as she charged through the layer of bushes protecting her den, fury singing away her discipline. "Cease...whatever it is you're doing that involves my feathers."

"Arrows," Crytrauv said over her huffs, his unusually calm tone rattling Rynthara's tension-filled muscles, too unnerving in its practiced smoothness. "It's called fletching, and since you have found an activity to preoccupy yourself with, I intended to be equally productive while my guide was away."

"For your benefit, not mine."

Creases lined the top of Rynthara's muzzle as she prepared to bare her fangs at this crude and unnecessary remark. But the snarl never came. Why educate him through the mundane means available to his kind when she could employ much more effective and reliable methods to get her point across? Alloys, such as the steel of the blade he flicked across the tip of his arrow to give it its final touches, stood dark and dun to her magic-enhanced sight, but the wood of his dagger's handle and arrow pulsated with a barely eligible thrum, ethereal wisps of life energy floating just above their surface. Every plant and mineral grown in the soil or found within it had that aura about it, reserved only to the senses of dragons attuned to Nature Imbuements. Rynthara singled out those two items, them breathed in the misty sparks with her mind, adding their energy to her own pool and leaving the arrow and the dagger's handle dry, brittle, completely hollow of the very essence that birthed it into existence.

Crytrauv jerked back with a yelp as his doing turned to dust in his paws, the dagger's blade falling onto his paw, nicking his toes. Alloys, dyed clothes, as well as other items subjected to the interference of civilization, bore no life energy, the undergoing changes stripping them of it, thus rendering Rynthara unable to Wither them.

"That...I needed that," Crytrauv said between panicked heaves, hands clutching one another, tail stiff and fluffed up. "The wood's hard, durable, better than what I had brought with me, and found lying on the ground nonetheless. I couldn't abide such a waste, so I went to work on the things I will need beyond the Nightwood. Is that such a slight in your eyes, fair dragon?"

Noticing that he began to regain his composure, Rynthara decided to get to the core of this matter. "Not unless you ask for permission to use my feathers first."

Crytrauv emitted a nervous chuckle, pointing to a pile of her feathers crushed beneath a rock to keep them from taking to the wind. "Your dried, frayed, decaying feathers you mean. You should be thankful that I cleaned your den off them. Surprised your hide doesn't crawl with mites and lice already."

She didn't bother to scold him for his transgressions. Instead, Rynthara breathed her arcane flames over the feathers, the indigo flames dispersing them into brilliant sparks of silver, mauve and indigo, identical to the colors they once held. The rock wobbled back on the unscathed grass, much to Crytrauv's awe.

"As much as I appreciate the initiative, they were mine to give, and now mine to take from your industrious little fingers. I have mentioned before that you shall have no need of weapons under the canopies of the Nightwood."

"My plan is to cross the Nightwood, Rynthara. This is the entire point of our mutually beneficial relationship," Crytrauv said, hefting his dagger's blade and sheathing it at his hip. "Once I am on the other side, I'll need every arrow I can craft, as well as a new bow. Gratitude for destroying both my main hunting tool and my only source of fletching."

"Hrrrf," Rynthara grumbled. She reached out with her arcane sense to collect all of the dispersing motes, assembling them together into an identical likeness of her feathers, down to every individual defect. "Enjoy your tinkering. After all, it's your time we spend."

"How..." Crytrauv glanced at her, then at the feathers kissed by the mellow wind. He knelt before them, studying a tail plume faded to a sickly white, then a once elegant flight feather torn in several places, and ultimately a small, soft feather tipping the frame of her wing, absent silver edge. "They're the same feathers from before, with the same..." He pulled back, gulping back his apprehension, blinking those big, ignorant eyes one too many times.

"As for your bow..." she paused to walk under the shadow of the tall tree growing to the side of her den. Once there, she eyed the branch with the least amount of life motes cluttered to it, severed their connection to it, and dispersed them through the other boughs to help nourish them instead. She half expected her quick thinking to alleviate the weight settled over her heart, but the burden only hardened, and when her fangs reached for the branch, their sharp tips trembled upon the wood, rattled by the primordial rule of the Nature Imbuers.

To give peace to the dead, to sacrifice the dying for the living, and to leave the living to their own. Bald of leaves as this branch was, it still had a modicum of life left in it that she should never have tampered with. But she did Wither Crytrauv's bow, and as such, interfered with his fate.

Snap!

The branch gave in easily enough, but the sound, together with its innate stubbornness, still shook Rynthara. She rushed over to him, spitting the foul thing from her mouth, then fleeing back to the tree to mend its stump with a portion of her magic, new tendrils of life already beginning to sprout before her very eyes.

"Thank you, but this..." Crytrauv grabbed the branch, looking it over, turning it from side to side. "This is firewood. Or a walking stick. Perhaps a Hynrathian fishing spear if I can force it to bend just a little further."

Rynthara tilted her head just enough to shift her pupil in his direction, channeling all of her rage for what she did, along with the regret that put her in this position, at him.

"Thank you." Crytrauv settled down, taking the sensible approach in a fight that he could never have won otherwise. "I could have torn that branch myself, but gratitude for sparing me the trouble."

"Rrfff!" Rynthara cut the flow of magic into the stump, shifting her full attention to Crytrauv. "You do not understand what I've done and why I did it, so hold your words back unless you seek to further aggravate me."

Crytrauv lifted a hesitant hand, and when Rynthara snarled at his request to speak, he did it anyway. "Not all, but parts of it, starting with you turning my bow into an unrecognizable husk and your guilt pushing you to do the right thing."

"Mrrf," Rynthara scoffed, slightly tempted to tear one of his rags, to take something away from him, to make him understand. "Guilt has nothing to do with it. I have taken something from you, and in return, I gave you something back. It is the rule of balance."

"Within the Nightwood, perhaps, but outside of it, the only rule is to kill or be killed, and without a bow, I have every chance to end up as the latter."

"We shall spend an additional day together, so there will be additional opportunities," Rynthara said, barely restraining the growl simmering at the back of her throat.

"That is a most welcome and reassuring promise." Crytrauv pushed himself up, bagging his arrows, as well as the remainder of her feathers, into his knapsack. "After all, you did leave me wondering as to whether I'd get that additional day or not. Your departure was somewhat...abrupt."

She did owe him a better explanation than the one she gave him, but given the nature of this topic, she chose a cruder means to slink her way out of this subject, as befitted his unsophisticated bearing. "I am equally curious to hear your justification for violating my den without my consent to collect my feathers."

Crytrauv hurled his burden across a shoulder, tilting his head sideways. "You weren't here during said desecration of your space, so I couldn't request permission, much as I wanted to do that. Besides, what I did is considered a peace and trust offering in the civilized world."

Rynthara leaped into the air, landing right in front of Crytrauv, her bared fangs shoved in his face. "I'll take this as a lapse in your judgment from which you have drawn the necessary conclusion."

His touch upon the side of her neck stunned her, even more so than his confident smile. "I will never do it again. I promise. My frustrations got the better of me, and in my foolishness, I believed that you abandoned me for good, so I simply wanted to prepare myself for a journey through the Nightwood all by myself."

Was that a jape? A taunt? Or courageous honesty?

Rynthara didn't know, nor could she understand the reason for his soft touch upon her highly sensitive fur. She should have struck him down in righteous anger for such brazen act, yet she hesitated long enough for Crytrauv to withdraw his hand and gain several steps on her.

"I am sorry for touching you without your consent, but I needed to be certain."

Certain of what?

The question hung on the tip of her tongue, just as the aftermath of his touch still permeated the tips of her short fur. His insolence bothered her greatly, yet it also intrigued her to see such a small, scrawny creature stand up to a dragon. Besides, he didn't seek to belittle or humiliate her, but to warm her to the idea of accepting him through the rudimentary means available to his kind. He was ignorant, like a hatchling, requiring guidance despite his shortcomings.

When he noticed that she remained in place, he had no choice but to turn around and explain himself.

"I needed to be certain that you're not the stiff, arguably arrogant creature that you pose as, and that your curiosity about my kind outmatches your ire stemming from preconceived notions about the civilized world of the bipeds, furred or not furred."

Rynthara bared her lips slightly at the plot, only to lick her muzzle hastily to wipe away her indignation when she realized that her discipline might, indeed, be mistaken for arrogance to his primitive mind. "And how exactly does that help your situation? You are, and will still be, at the mercy of my decisions."

"Perhaps," he said, wrapping his arms around his torso. "But I'd rather suffer a cruel and unjust end between your jaws or underneath your claws right now than later into my journey, when I am left to my own devices. If a creature of the Nightwood is to be my end, then I'd like it to be a dragon. Makes for a good and heroic tale back in my world."

"Hrrf," Rynthara snorted. She had many ways to question his nonsensical judgment, but she decided to resume their journey instead, head held high to block him out of her field of vision, determined to follow through with her duty.

The sounds of the Nightwood did a much better job at silencing Crytrauv than she could ever hope to achieve with the likes of him. She liked him better that way, subservient and scared, almost eager to crawl under her wing to beg for her protection. So, she made a mental plan to accidentally visit all of her sapient acquaintances, their territories and dens simply overlapping with their chosen trajectory. Crytrauv wouldn't know any better, and the sooner he accepted the stark reality of his presence in the Nightwood, the more he would respect her compassion for frail, misguided creatures such as him.

Crytrauv started at the sight of a Moonhowler, a shaggy specimen taller than Crytrauv, with icy eyes and fur like the darkest night.

"He's only a scout for his pack," Rynthara said sweetly, bowing her head to accept the licks of the direwolf upon her brow. "You should be more concerned about the alpha pair, who demand a certain rite of submission from outlanders such as you."

She nuzzled the scout's ear, growling a barely perceptible call to arms, prompting the direwolf to howl with all his might. His pack responded in kind, their deep, resonant cries rattling Crytrauv's very bones. He turned left and right, back and forth, trying to pinpoint the shadowy silhouettes dancing between the trees. His shoulders sagged, and his tail fled between his legs as he looked up to Rynthara for reassurance.

"Aren't they your friends, acquaintances, subjects, or whichever term is appropriate to describe their relationship with you?" Crytrauv spoke quickly, nervously, retreating closer to the back of her wing to shield himself as much as he could from the encroaching direwolf pack.

Not so smug now, was he? The dragoness tipped her head, nuzzling Crytrauv's scruff in mock comfort. "You'll be fine. No harm shall come to you. They simply need to understand that you're my guest, and they will bother you no more."

Rynthara swung her head back and emitted her own version of a roaring howl, signaling the pack that the threat was false. With Crytrauv's legs buckled, half ready to piss himself, she continued with a mellower call, inviting the direwolves into the open.

"Varnrog. Vargra," she spoke the names of the alpha pair, the two tilting their ears her way and bowing their heads reverently, willing to hear her out. Rynthara stepped forth to touch noses with them while their pack advanced upon Crytrauv, surrounding him in a fluffy circle of blacks and blues and browns and purples. Varnrog, sweet as ever, nibbled and licked the fur of her neck. He deserved an equally pleasant caress upon his tailhole, yes? Vargra, his silver colored mate striped with violet hues across her back, did a less respectable job at holding herself back. She hurled herself at Rynthara, awkwardly dancing on her hind paws to give the dragoness a hearty hug, her tongue slipping into the inside of a twitching ear.

"Rrah!" Rynthara whined, embracing the wolfess and pushing her head away to stop the jarring tickle. For such heartfelt welcome, Rynthara intended to treat her to a similarly warm and delightful experience.

Lastly, to add an authentic flair to this encounter, she turned her back to Crytrauv, explaining her plans to them through vocalizations and body language foreign to the arctic fox. The two wolves cocked their heads at each other, shared a look with Rynthara, then shot straight for Crytrauv, snarling and snapping at him.

"I have explained your presence here in the Nightwood in the simplest, most earnest way to them, but these two require more than words to gauge the measure of a trespasser in their territory."

"You haven't uttered a single word, but I'm sure you did your best," Crytrauv whispered under his breath, his tail retreating further inside his legs as an oversized muzzle poked the back of his head, growling straight into his erect ear.

"Refrain from speaking," Rynthara advised. "All they wish from you is genuine proof of submission. Do that, and your harmless intentions will be clear as day to this pack."

Crytrauv swallowed hard, his gulp almost audible. "Elaborate, please."

Rynthara beamed inwardly, strolling to Crytrauv's rescue, gently guiding Varnrog around with a forepaw until his behind stood at nose level with Crytrauv.

"Direwolves show their respect to each other by cleaning their privates, but you are an outlander in these woods, so they expect more from you."

Crytrauv blinked slowly, deliberately, his disbelief wrestling with the fear stemming from his inexperience with direwolf customs. "I somehow doubt the--"

He jerked back, shuttering his eyes in an instant, a plaintive whimper warming up the faux tension as Vargra snapped her jaws at Crytrauv, droplets of drool alighting on his face.

"Don't test their resolve. Not even I can fight their whole pack." Just lick his undertail like the good, submissive fox that you are, and I'll have proof that you are not the bold, always in control biped that you pose as.

She kept the latter to herself, eyes brightening, pupils swelling with every inch covered by Crytrauv's muzzle in the direction of Varnrog's bare pucker. It wasn't his grimace that got to her, but those hasty licks and squinted eyes. Once Varnrog declared himself pleased by walking forward, Vargra's cunt followed, a more endearing treat that saw Crytrauv's loincloth rise like the moon in the sky.

"Seems the magic of the Nightwood seeped into your tribal cloth, granting it life," Rynthara purred, more than satisfied with the results of her gambit. Unless Vargra willingly withdrew from their contact, Crytrauv had no choice but to remain nose-deep inside her fleshy flower, and Rynthara couldn't help but turn around to hide her mirth, lest she gave herself away.

A last, long slurp heralded the end of Crytrauv's affair with Vargra, her femininity swollen and dripping translucent nectar from the hefty attention it received.

"The alpha pair is pleased with the proof of your genuine subordination, but the pack wants us to be on our way. We have delayed them long enough."

Growls, bared fangs and creased muzzles forced Crytrauv to hurry after Rynthara's departing form, the tent of his loins wiggling all the while. A trickle of guilt darkened her mood, induced by his irps and squeaks of discomfort.

He deserved it, Rynthara contemplated. Pride had to be smothered, lest it bloomed into nefarious arrogance, of which Crytrauv had already begun to show signs of, as proven by his self-invitation into her den, followed by his audacious touch of her neck.

His resolve had to be commended, however. Others in his place would have lashed out for being forced to walk with their cock bobbing left and right, or at the very least demand a full stop until they deflated. Crytrauv did neither, silently hissing under his breath while throwing her the occasional, dissatisfied glare. She could see it from his eyes that the matters of the body didn't bother him, and that his qualm was aimed at her methods. If she had him lick the undertail and femininity of other beasts and then march him at full mast, what stopped her from humiliating him in even viler ways?

"I've warned you of the Nightwood and its ancient rules," Rynthara played her most obvious and effective of ruses. "If you are as wise as I suspect you to be, then your ire should be aimed at yourself, and not at your protector for hire."

"You're quite right," Crytrauv agreed, his back straightening now that his meat fled back into its den. Rynthara almost swiveled her head the other way to hide her satisfied smirk, but Crytrauv's gaze pinned her in place, sharper and more imposing than she expected from one in his situation.

"The fault lies with me. Next time we come across a predator, I should be the one to greet them, solemn and unarmed and with a dragon at my side to add weight to my words."

He didn't call out her earlier bluff, but he practically robbed her of her chance at using the same tactic. Stimulating, if a tad predictable. What joy was there in employing already revealed means to educate him, when she had so many other options left to explore?

"A splendid notion," Rynthara encouraged him, then retorted with a similar glower. Her draconic features must have enhanced it a great deal, for Crytrauv visibly flinched at the very sight of her. "My presence is, indeed, iconic within the boundaries of the Nightwood, so your physical integrity is assured. I make no promises for the demands of my fellow predators, however. After all, you clearly wish to represent yourself in every matter."

Crytrauv nodded in concession, gulping down what must have felt like a very sound and bitter defeat.

Unexpectedly, his sour mood transferred over to Rynthara, tarnishing her good disposition, turning her eerily restless. The silence between them grew heavier by the minute, the song of birds now a nuisance to Rynthara's ears, the scent marks of other predators irritating in their foulness.

"Have dragons ever offered to carry their charges on their backs?"

Rynthara tensed up at the sound of his voice, her feathers fluffing up. She first analyzed Crytrauv's height and potential weight, determining that a slender fox whose head reached her shoulder while standing could mount her without her ever noticing the burden.

"Depends on the dragon. Mated dragons often speed their proteges wherever they desire so that they can return to their mates the same day if possible. Solitary dragons are quirkier, some preferring to accumulate as much knowledge about the civilized world as possible by prolonging the journey. Others may treat you even worse than I do, depending on where you hail from."

"So I haven't drawn the short end of the stick with you."

Rynthara cocked her head at the foreign wording, a bemused growl rippling in her throat.

"It means that I consider myself quite fortunate to be in your presence."

Rynthara's heart skipped a beat as a potent and most sinister shiver rattled her senses. "You're anything but fortunate," she tried to fall into her usual demeanor, but her voice still shook with a pang of guilt. "I took all of your gems and in return, I fulfilled but a single obligation."

"The most crucial one, which is all a fox like me needs. Besides, you gave me one extra day for massaging your paws, so that came as a truly shocking surprise, given that you haven't enjoyed it. Thank you for that."

"It was...a fitting reward for the initiative you've shown," she quickly rushed to shorten that moment of hesitation, only now remembering that she lied to him in order to protect her dignity. "Your culture does find it demeaning to tend to somebody else's feet, right?"

"Or honorable, depending on the species. Was I to tell the tale of how I massaged your paws, many in my tribe would see me as the bravest fox of the lot. Some would consider it degrading though, while I will forever treasure that memory."

He glanced at her paws, then at her, a sheepish smile on his face. "I only wish you could have helped me understand what I did wrong, but I suppose that is no longer relevant."

Yesterday, she would have bitten off his hand for touching her neck without permission, but right now, she did naught but stare at the way he pulled ahead, humming a merry tune, his tail wagging in rhythm with the music.

What manner of force kept his chin up, his shoulders straight, and his pace brisk? Was it courage drawn from her heroic presence? Or perhaps confidence in her tightly established relationships with the other predators. Could it be foolishness as well?

Rynthara ruled that one out. Crytrauv had a power to him, one that she didn't understand just yet. It contradicted most, if not everything she had learned from her parents, siblings, other dragons, and the denizens of the Nightwood alike. It both impressed and agitated her at the same time, for it had the potential to either empower or demean her.

She dwelled on that matter for longer than she should have, instinctively evading the trails left by their respective predators, her playfulness all but gone. There were plenty of other opportunities to test Crytrauv's mettle, but for now, she intended to march him for as long as his tiny legs would allow. So long as he walked, he murmured and hummed his intricate melodies, which in turn allowed her a moment of peace from conversation.

They stopped on the fringe of a gorge to give Crytrauv the chance to refresh himself. While he gorged himself on brittle, tasteless morsels, Rynthara studied Lorugoram's territory, her father's brother. The navy and white colored dragon had a disposition worthy of contempt from the more competitive dragons drowned in their own ego. Rynthara had simply considered his playful nature queer, but his kind, acceptant nature of the civilized world brought Jalvrasna to him, a female older, bigger, and much more powerful than him in every regard. Why such a striking figure glued herself to a creature such as him, Rynthara couldn't fathom, and it was this very conundrum that puzzled her. She could have picked Crytrauv's mind for opinions on this topic, but his smile made her reconsider, all too similar to Lorugoram's carefree, ignorant expression.

As soon as Crytrauv finished eating, Rynthara planned a detour around the gorge, turning Lorugoram into a monstrous, savage creature to spare herself the many suggestions involving the possibility of simply flying over gorges and valleys.

With no clouds to blot out the sky nor brisk winds to require shelter, Rynthara chose a clearing to rest for the night. The dragoness lowered herself on the ground in the slow, elegant way specific to dragons, while Crytrauv dropped down like a weary boulder. Rynthara snorted at that, downright embarrassed to have such deprived creature share a resting spot with her.

If only that was the only thing about him that bothered her... Another trigger for her distress was the deplorable state of her very body. An entire day's walk, and her paw pads already pulsed with a dull ache. Her haunches almost threatened to cramp, and her head turned light and dizzy from the lack of food.

She splayed her wings to her sides as if to rest them, then snuck a tentative hind paw under one of them, eager to lick the discomfort out of it. Crytrauv's sudden words, however, forced her to stiffen and adopt a more rigid pose, the dragoness unwilling to let herself be ridiculed by the likes of him for walking far longer than her kind usually did in a day.

"I expected the sky to look different here in the Nightwood, with ribbons of light twirling between the stars," Crytrauv said while fumbling through his knapsack in search of his water skin. He brought it out, uncorked it, and took a single, hearty swig. "Have you seen them? The northern lights?"

"My father spoke of them, but I lacked the curiosity to fly and see them with my own eyes." Her lips twitched with the barest hint of frustration at her inability to tend to her paws in Crytrauv's presence. It had been a great while since she last covered such an irksome distance on foot. A dull heaviness settled on the lower half of all four legs, her pads slightly raw, unusually warm, and throbbing ever so slightly.

"I grew under them. Back home, we had a lake close to our village, called The Shifting Mirror. When it froze, its surface reflected the sky's light with utmost fidelity, making it seem like we stepped among the very stars." The hand holding his water skin hung to the side, his jaw gaped in fascination as he studied that monotonous expanse dotted with shining pebbles and a wan disk to light it all.

"We held festivities during the full moon, when the lights shone brightest. Our females would place--"

"I care not for what your females place on that lake," Rynthara cut off his incessant blabbering. "Your people abandoned you, so what point is there in reminiscing a past filled with pain?"

"They didn't abandon me, Rynthara." Crytrauv's tone lost its smoothness, acquiring an edge. "They...they vanished. All of them. Without any sign, any warning, any...goodbye."

He sucked in a deep breath to snuff out the first sign of emotion that he had displayed thus far, hurled the water skin back from whence it came, and leaned forward to grope and squeeze at his shins, helping the taut muscles relax. "You're right, however. The past is better left buried in my mind."

Rynthara followed Crytrauv's hint at helping her muscles relax by sprawling onto her side and stretching her legs along the ground. To help alleviate the tension trapped within them, she wiggled them a little, fanning out her toes and then folding them back together. She repeated the exercise with utmost care, keeping the motions sluggish so that Crytrauv would mistake it for restlessness.

"I am no fool, Rynthara." Crytrauv stopped his doings, staring at Rynthara instead. "I am well aware that dragons never cover even a tenth of this distance on foot, and that our agreement forces you to remain earthbound. Allow me to at least tend to your paws. Massaging them will improve the blood flow and help you feel renewed."

"Sleep shall fix it," she said, hiding her paws under a wing, away from Crytrauv's sight. "It always does."

Crytrauv drew his knees to his chest, a spark igniting in his hazel eyes. "Wouldn't you want it to be a relaxed sleep? One where you don't focus on the warm, bothersome throbbing of your pads? One from which you don't jolt to awareness due to a muscle crap?"

"Hrrrrh," she growled at the notion. "I didn't like it the first time around. What makes you think I'll find it enjoyable now?"

The lie seemed even more blatant, now that she practically had to fight the urge to give in to his request. But she couldn't, for if she did, her pads would moisten again, and her vent would follow shortly. The moment that happened, Crytrauv would take that tale back to his tribe, of how he forced liquid desire to surface on the nether lips of a dragoness by merely rubbing her paws. A disgusting notion. Revolting, really.

And yet, the reward almost outweighed the risk, especially when his petite fingers stroked, squeezed and pressed against her pads with utmost care.

"I know that you lied, but please, listen first, and then speak." He stretched both of his hands forth as if to contain her shock at being discovered. "I'm just a traveler, Rynthara. Once we part ways, as you've put it, we'll never see each other again. Might be that I die the death that both you and I expect. Or perhaps I find my tribe, which means I will never leave them again. Either way, we only have this short time together, and I solemnly swear on my honor that I will never tell anyone that I've met you."

"Mrrrrrrrrh...." Came her sizzling grumble as she pondered on his promise.

"We're not even friends," Crytrauv sought to further solidify his case. "I'll forget you, and you'll forget me. Such is the way of things. I have traveled most of the known world already, and although I have fond memories of the people I've met, I am well aware that I will never leave my tribe once I find them. So, does it matter to me that you are a young female who has never been with a male in that sense of the word? Or that you secretly crave to be stroked, caressed, and tended to by a creature who can say it, verbally, that they enjoy it just as much--if not more--than you do?"

Crytrauv paused, shrugging his shoulders as he often did, shaking his head. "No. This does not matter to me at all. Not when we only have two more days together."

Rynthara held her breath for a long, unnerving moment, focusing on that pressure within her lungs, on the growing desperation to release it and take in new air. If she released it too soon, arcane flames would accompany it, and Crytrauv would be no more. That was the only way to make sure that none of what he had gathered would find its way to the ears of anyone who could spread those tales further.

In the end, she decided to let go of her monstrous sigh. Not because she trusted him, but because she could arrange for another predator to end him, should he prove untrustworthy over the span of these two days.

"I despise my utter lack of control over those impulses. I abhor my powerlessness to stop them, loathe my fear that keeps me from satisfying these urges and gain temporary respite from them, and resent the ever-present shame at always losing this battle," Rynthara admitted, matching the arctic fox's gaze. She expected to feel rattled by him. Intimidated by the threat he posed to her pride, but instead, she found his presence comforting, especially when he was the first intelligent creature that she could finally share the truth with.

"I have never experienced true humiliation until my first heat arrived. My very body betrayed me, forcing me to seek companionship I do not want to grow heavy with eggs I don't intend to have."

She stopped there, unwilling to share more than she already had. Crytrauv's warm, sympathetic eyes coerced her to give in, to unburden herself, to try and even seek his advice on this matter. He did travel the world, yes? So he must have known ways to subdue instinct to the shallow presence she always wished it to be.

Instead, she chose pride over reason, far more eager to appear as a fighter in his eyes. "I fought against myself, Crytrauv, and there is no fiercer battle than that."

His tongue drifted along his muzzle, as if to smooth out his upcoming words. But as soon as he opened his sharp, angular jaws, he snapped them back shut, not trusting himself to speak without taking in a deep breath first.

"I find your resolve admirable and your strength of will commendable. However, my tribe had a saying, that the greatest warrior fights not against his fears, but alongside them. Eventually, you will learn to turn those fears into your strength, but for now, you need rest, Rynthara, and I can give it to you."

She cocked her head at that. "I have rested just fine long before you came into my employ."

"Not that type of rest, but respite from the fight against yourself," Crytrauv said, barely restraining his amusement. "It will help you gain a new perspective on your fears, as they will be exposed for the paltry things that they truly are."

"And what can you offer me in this regard?"

Crytrauv clasped his hands together, straightened his shoulders, and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Release from that which constrains you. If your paws grow moist, I shall simply use their slick surface to increase the depth of my massage. When your arousal inevitably surfaces, I can lick all of it, if given the permission. And if you find the courage to shift this battle in your favor, I am also willing to lick your folds until you climax, so that all of those bottled worries and frustrations come into the open, where my tongue can swipe them out of existence."

A spasm traversed her nether muscles at that proposition, rocking her from tail tip to nose tip due to the intense, fiery tingles it sparked through her frame. She could already feel her will diminishing. Lust clouded her mind, diverting her thoughts to the ache within her paw pads, and to the smoldering warmth sizzling beneath her nether lips. She wanted--no, needed-- his massage, his licks, everything he offered.

And this was why she had to turn him down, just like she had done with every previous temptation that lured her into surrendering her dignity to a force that she sought to reject with every fiber of her being.

"I will allow you to soothe my paws, as well as my body, but nothing more than that. You will keep your observations to yourself, and if you do not find my scent or my arousal appealing, then you are to step back and never bring this matter up again."

Crytrauv nodded, pushing himself up with utmost nonchalance, light as a feather, stoic as a tree, and completely at ease with the potential repercussions that might follow his inability to obey her rules.

"Lie down on your back. I'd prefer to start from the head, if that is what you wish as well."

Rynthara followed his indications, her heart fluttering in her chest, equal parts anxiety and excitement bubbling underneath the surface of her hide. Dragons seldom surrendered their belly to strangers due to the vulnerability it posed, and even the knowledge that Crytrauv had no viable way to harm her did little to abate her innate panic.

Everything changed when his hands met the sides of her snout, as small and gentle as she knew them from her previous encounter with them. Her eyes half closed instinctively, a trill of overpowering satisfaction pouring out of her as Crytrauv gently scratched the area where her jaw ended and her neck began. Try as she might to plug it into the depths of oblivion, her body refused to obey, those electrifying tingles far too enjoyable to simply smother them.

Crytrauv's claws ceased their doing, allowing Rynthara's eyes to snap open and shift over in his direction.

"Shhh," he silenced her with a hand over her nostrils, the tang of scented herbs tinting his pads too relaxing to let her voice her concerns. "No more speaking from either of us."

It wasn't a request, but a command, one that she agreed to with through a curt nod. After all, what harm could it be in letting this fool do his thing? They would be parted within two days, thus leaving her forever denied this experience.

Crytrauv's eyes narrowed in focus, his face looming above hers, hands enclosing her peripheral vision. His palm pads sailed up and down her cheeks, allowing his finger pads to trace the bony ridges of her eyes, applying just enough pressure to lull her eyelids into a fatiguing trance.

"It would help if you close them. Makes the experience all the more intriguing."

Again, she did his bidding, spurred forth by curiosity. Did he know just how receptive her fur was? That every strand told her directly where he went? Each hand now cupped an ear, fondling with their purple edges at first, then squeezing the soft tissue lightly while stroking the central white blotches dotting her ears. She twitched them several times in failed attempts to discourage him, his persistence both aggravating and surprising.

It was when his attention fell on her neck that Rynthara began to purr. Crytrauv made a point of dragging his thumbs down the sinuous lines weaving along the mauve, fluffy sea, adding just the slightest, most tantalizing pressure. When he reached the base of her neck, he began kneading her muscles up to her jaws, then back down, and up again. Dragons often nipped their necks in equally gentle fashion, yet they had fangs, while Crytrauv's fingers were equipped with soft pads.

Rynthara's limbs tensed up. Her paws pushed into the air, toes stretching, spine arching and stretching. Stars speckled her vision from the massage-induced stretch. In one swift, sudden motion, her whole frame relaxed more than it ever did in her life, rapid huffs of satisfaction rushing past her flared nostrils.

Crytrauv wasted no time in switching to her chest, trading the slow pace of his ministrations for terse, frenzied strokes. His snappy motions ruffled the fur of her breast, the thorough kneading causing her to roll from side to side, a constant, guttural moan rippling in her throat. Rynthara swung her head back, rubbing it along the grassy ground, a forepaw kneading at Crytrauv's hip to encourage him to keep going.

"I don't suppose other dragons have been so attentive with you."

"The few encounters I had with other dragons ended in a brawl of some kind," Rynthara murmured, opening her eyes halfway, directing her pupils over to her forepaw. "I have never allowed them to get this close to me unless they wished to test my strength."

Crytrauv's thumbs squeezed her indigo pads, sliding them in circular patterns over her toes, repeating the same motion for her bigger, meatier heel pad. Rynthara's claws emerged from their sheaths, reaching down on Crytrauv's wrist, pricking it slightly.

"I'm not surprised," he said, gently easing his index finger between her paw pads to caress the overly sensitive tissue between them. "You're not easy to approach."

"It is foolish to be otherwise," she said, slowly retracting her claws to knead at Crytrauv's hand with her toes. "Dragons can't afford to be vulnerable. Weakness leads to distraction, and a momentary slip of guard would see me chased away from my territory or worse, heavy with the eggs of a male I may not want to call my mate."

She blamed her honesty on the profoundly relaxed state in which Crytrauv eased her in. Although her wits remained sharp, Rynthara saw no harm in sharing her plight with a lesser creature, especially one that had every chance to die absent her protection.

"That is a dangerous path you have chosen," Crytrauv spoke in that hushed, calculated way of his, hands trailing up her foreleg and stopping at a shoulder, pressing hard into it to soothe the muscles there. "Desires have a will of their own. If left unchecked, they continue to pool up, until they burst at the most inopportune of times."

"Mrrrh," Rynthara rumbled, pushing Crytrauv's arms further down her belly with her forepaws. She then splayed her wings on the ground, tail curling and relaxing in anticipation of his touch over there. He had surpassed her initial expectations, and now she intended to find out if the same skill could be applied to an area better fit for his small, dexterous hands.

Crytrauv refused to follow her cue, reaching towards the frame of a wing sprawled across the dusky grass. Though slightly bigger than what his hands could encompass, the arctic fox made due nevertheless, applying a series of soft, rapid squeezes along her sensitive muscle that increased in both strength and intensity.

"Mmmmmriiiiiiiih," Rynthara mewled, her feathers ruffling as her whole wing began to twitch and quake from the slightly ticklish but incredibly fulfilling massage. Her tail whipped across her belly, tail feathers fanning out and contracting back to their original shape.

Emboldened by his success, Crytrauv snaked down her shoulder, giving her stomach a good ruffle, followed by long, sweeping strokes across her belly. Rynthara's head thumped back on the ground, eyes glued to the starry sky. Her lips and eyelids twitched every time he closed in on her slit, haunches shuddering in veiled eagerness for him to touch that most sensitive area of hers. She would never admit it to him, of course, but a growing part of her grew terribly curious with the idea of experiencing a pleasure that she had forever rejected so far.

But without her to explicitly state it, Crytrauv never dared stray too close to that area, keeping her in a perpetually heightened state. Her senses flared at every teasing stroke, only for the luster to wane as soon as he distanced himself from her femininity.

To make matters worse, his hand slithered past her belly and over her flank, a claw pricking one of her ribs.

"Erk!" Rynthara started, swiping the ground beneath him with her tail. Crytrauv twisted in the air to land onto his hands, gracefully forcing himself up with a push of his legs.

"Right," he said between ragged huffs of exertion. "Never near your flanks."

The dragoness snorted, shoving a hind paw into his arms, assuming her previous position on her back, with her wings fluttering at her sides. Crytrauv licked his muzzle to wet his nose, watching Rynthara with the corner of an eye while busying himself with her hind paw.

"They are as sensitive as I remember," he said, carefully studying the rising and falling of her purr, the twitches of her lips, the tremors of her tail and nether lips. "Makes me disheartened, to see a dragoness so eager for another's touch, yet so prickly at the same time."

As if to punish her, his fingers left her pads, moving down the white fur encompassing her pads to massage the inferior muscles of her leg. Rynthara took a deep, shuddering breath, her maw half gaping to allow the more melodious and private vocalizations out. It was her first sign of vulnerability, the flowing warbles and excited trill goading Crytrauv on through means unknown to him. Only a dragon had intimate awareness of the inherent meaning of her song, but Crytrauv's touch, sliding ever downward, proved her wrong.

Fortifying tingles dispersed through her muscles, liquid motes of rousing lust that opened her mind and senses to the possibility of what might be. The closer he treaded, the harder she quavered, her stiff frame begging her to wriggle around and shatter the rigidity entrapping her limbs.

"Aaauuuurhhhh," Rynthara's salacious growl sailed through the night. She turned left and right, squirming on the ground as if maddened by heat, wondering--perhaps even hoping--that Crytrauv would find the courage to do something about it.

He didn't. No matter how irritatingly warm she grew between the haunches, or how itchy the tingles ascending through her nether muscles and surfacing upon her lips became, he continued to evade her sex. The same planned, rhythmical kneading engulfed her other haunch, awakening her muscles from their slumbering rigidity, leaving them fresh and renewed. Then, he moved to her paw, intent on putting those delectable feelings to a caress she grew to despise due to its teasing nature.

"No. That is enough," she said, her eyes half shuttered and bleary from equal parts relaxation and desire. She pushed a befuddled Crytrauv back with a wing, then rolled onto her side, so that she could protect her moistening vent from both his sight and touch.

"Thank you for delighting me with the tender strokes of your hands. I...mrr...enjoyed it far more than I anticipated." She tried her best to keep her voice stern and even, but it still rippled with emotions previously unknown to her, shaken by a purr she could no longer contain.

Crytrauv laughed uneasily, scratching at the back of his neck, constantly eyeing her fleeing hind paws that sought refuge under a wing. "The pleasure is mine, although I only wish I tended to your other hind paw. You would have relished the comfort that follows a great deal."

He knelt in front of her hindquarters, stretching his hands in supplication. "Please, allow me this joy. It is very demeaning for my kind not to finish what they started."

Rynthara hesitated for a moment. Her left hind paw curled upon her right one, her toes restless for his touch robbed too soon from them. And yet, she couldn't, for her vent sweltered with the liquid passion that surfaced from the depths of her being, tainting her, degrading her.

Robbing her of this rare and most exquisite of pleasures.

"I understand," Crytrauv said, rescinding his offer, hiding his dejection beneath a warm, understanding smile. "There will be other, better opportunities."

Rather than prolong her agony, Rynthara chose to change the topic altogether by lifting an inviting wing for Crytrauv, pointing her muzzle to her side.

"You don't have to sleep in the cold tonight. All I ask for in return is a tale of your choice."

"Well..." he paused, shuffling his hands anxiously. "I have one that fits the occasion. It's the tale of a bard who has enchanted a dragoness with the aid of his lute and the cleverness of his hands."

***The End of chapter 2***

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