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The Favor Of A Patron God

After Kauva undressed herself and threw her robes into the corner, she collapsed onto the plush sealskin blanket that covered the floor of the courtesan's meeting room. The lioness's chest rose and fell, cheeks burning red under her fur. "I feel guilty seeing you like this." She said to San. "I've given no libations in the cella this week."

"Much of what we do is a libation. To whom, and to what end, is the question." San said as she tied her hair up in a loose bun, taking the opportunity to sit up straight as she straddled Kauva's thighs. Her movements, as smooth and as natural as the springtime river flow, were made with practiced care, so that the moonlight pouring in from the windows would cast a dozen shadows across the just the right curves of the leopardess's nude form. A censer smoldered in the corner of the room, filling the air with the scent of juniper and myrrh.

Kauva's gaze was transfixed on San's body, one of her hands idly running through the forrest of black fur between San's legs. "How do you mean?" The lioness asked.

"The energy you have within you must go somewhere--to work, to think, to survive. This energy is given in service to something, is it not? To the city-state? To the King? To the goddess whose temple you live and work at?"

"But this?" Kauva asked, motioning to San as the leopardess lowered herself atop her companion for the night, the leopardess's hands buried in the soft sealskin beneath them.

"Sex? I would argue that sex is the most precious sacrifice of all. The energy we spend in pleasure for pleasure's sake is not work, nor survival; instead it is done in the knowledge that nothing will be gained in the expenditure of energy beyond the pleasure itself. It is pure sacrifice."

San leaned down to kiss the lioness's breast, the touch eliciting a little gasp of desire. She let her lips explore the soft and pliant flesh as her hand ran down Kauva's side, stopping once she reached the swell of her hips. Kauva put her hands on the back of San's head, pressing her muzzle gently into the hardened hill of her nipple. San moved her hand in, deftly touching the tips of her fingers across the lioness's thigh until soft yellow-white fur became wet folds of bare skin. Kauva grunted, spreading her legs, her hips edging upwards, imploring San to continue. The leopardess moved her fingers with the precision demanded by her vocation, pressing and rubbing like the tides rise and fall, while Kauva clung to her, arms squeezing them together. The moon lazily drifted across the sky as San guided her partner's motions, her fingers retreating whenever Kauva's thrusts became too urgent; she kept their cadence steady, pleasure building like tides during nightfall.

San felt Kauva's body go stiff, thighs clenching around her hand. The lioness made a sound less a moan and more a relived sigh, as though a great weight had been pulled from her shoulders. After Kauva's muscles relaxed, San pulled her hand away and leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Better?"

"Yah." Kauva said, breathless.

"I can tell you've been lonely, recently."

"I thought my increasing familiarity with your bed made that obvious."

"More than that." San said as she placed herself on Kauva's side, reaching a hand to gently stroke the lioness's stomach.

"My last student graduated early. The temple probably won't see another class of under-priests until the summer." She paused. "My bed has been cold for a while now. It's a state that I'm neither accustomed to nor appreciative of."

"It sounds like that's very difficult for you. Physical and emotional companionship is important, particularly if one is accustomed to it." San murmured empathetically, stroking her thumb across the side of Kauva's breast.

San wondered to herself just how much of her work involved sating the needs that arose when one was denied marriage. A marriage to a god, legal on paper, wasn't quite the same. Priests such as Kauva had each other, and their apprentices, but the busyness of her nights told San that a piece was often missing.

"I had eight funerals to officiate this week as well, since the high-priest is gone." Kauva continued. "It's exhausting, in multiple senses of the word. When they say that Irrchaukt grants us no reprieves, I guess that includes the priests who serve her as well." San murmured empathetically, quietly listening as she ran her fingers through the priestess's fur.

She caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye, coming from beyond the thin silk curtain that separated her meeting room from the rest of her living quarters. She recognized the green-black robes immediately: Rašur, the interim high-priest. Whatever he wanted, it would have to wait.

***

San was unsurprised when Rašur found her in the bathhouse later that night. She sat with the water up to her breasts, lathering soap into the fur on her hands. He was still wearing his full priestly robes.

San looked up at him. "Considering that you're not wearing a bathrobe, I take it the matter is urgent, yes?" Her voice echoed off the stone walls.

"Have you heard the news?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No. I've been with guests all day. They usually don't talk temple business."

"The court astrologer says there will be a transit behind the moon tonight. The king has already been sent notice, he should be arriving tonight."

San stopped what she was doing and took a breath. "When am I leaving?"

"Tonight. Word has been sent to the royal palace, I suspect the king has already left. Your timing is fortuitous, as you can start the first stage of the ritual here--although, considering how much time you spend in here, I can't say it was entirely a matter of luck."

San dipped her head underwater, surfaced, and then took her time ringing the water out of her hair. "I don't consider these baths a matter of luxury." She smirked. "A person in my position has grooming standards, you know. Speaking of--you should see me. You're not an under-priest anymore; even if your station is temporary until the high-priest returns from his pilgrimage, it's quite a lot to have on your shoulders."

Rašur's brow furrowed. "I think I'll do just fine without, thank you."

"The way your tail keeps flicking about says otherwise. And you only ever say thank you when you're stressed." San said as she idly combed her fingers through her hair.

"Why do you do that?" He said, exasperated.

"It's part of my job. If you just want to get your manhood wetted for an hour, you know where the nearest tavern is." She smiled cooly at him.

Rašur sighed and started to turn around. "Perhaps you shouldn't overestimate your gift for drawing people in. I'll send for a temple under-priest to fetch you in a few minutes."

"People can sense defensiveness, Rašur, a true high priest acts from humility." She shouted from across the bathhouse.

Rašur stopped, opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it, and then said, "I'll see you shortly, San. We'll meet outside the stables."

San waded through the steaming water to reach for a series of jars that rested by the limestone wall, below an elaborate relief of Irrchaukt, goddess of death, gazing down upon a priestess as she blesses a funeral mound.

She tipped over one of the jars into her paw, a steady stream of powdered cedar needles and juniper filling her hand. She righted the jar, returned the cap, and rubbed the mixture across her bare chest, letting it mix with the water and cover her body.

Judging by the hour, San assumed most of the temple was in the longhouse for dinner, and she had the upper bathhouse alone to herself. When she recited the incantation, her voice returned to her through dozens of echos, as if spirits were affirming her words:

_ At dusk my hands are clean,

May my god grant a new beginning with the passage of dawn,

May her shadow fall over me, as the trees shelter a traveler from rain,

May I attain what the gods have set for me as one carves words into wood,

May the omens of my dreams be favorable,

May the unbalanced and the wicked not follow me into the woods,

Not approach me or touch me as I walk to my appointed path._

She dipped her head under the water again, letting the soapy perfume wash out of her fur; she held her breath, quieting her mind as the world came to a halt under the water. The transit was as grim an omen as any, and with the news of the Irrchaukt's trek behind the moon came an unavoidable anxiety, a feeling in her chest like someone had taken hold of the air in her lungs and held it there.

When she surfaced, a young under-priestess was standing at the foot of the bath, her hands clasped together respectfully.

San exhaled. "I take it Rašur sent you?" She said.

The under-priestess nodded. San recognized her as the girl had come to visit her on more than one occasion; technically San's official patrons were limited to the upper priesthood, but it was no secret that other members of the temple frequently sought her out, often in exchange for wine, lapis beads, or simply allowing San to indulge in some of her more unorthodox desires.

"Rašur said you'd be ready?"

San nodded. The purification before the ritual was complete. She pulled herself out of the bath, her steps slow as she mentally prepared herself for the next few hours. The young girl handed her a towel, which she wrapped around her breast-length black hair, as it always took the longest to dry. She could feel the girl looking up and down her body, and San merely straightened her back, happy to provide, free of charge.

***

Rašur caught up to her outside the stables; the moon filled the cloudless spring night, its pale light illuminating the dirt path that snaked between the temple and the stablemaster's cabin. Brambles of salmonberry bushes tugged at San's robes as she made way for him on the narrow path. She pulled her sealskin shawl tight around her shoulders--that nip in the air wouldn't be gone for another few months.

"Ah, good, you made it." His breath fogged in the night air. "I figured a woman of your stature wouldn't make it out to this part of the temple estate too often. I was worried you'd get lost."

"I've done this once before, you know." She said cooly.

"Oh, well, I'm sure that'll be helpful." He said, deflating.

"You're nervous. This is the first time you've done the ceremony and you feel as though you need to justify your position, however temporary. Truthfully, none of us will care--we have far greater concerns than the inexperience of any one person."

Rašur, his brow furrowed, opened his mouth as if to respond, but before he could they turned a corner into the barn where Auru was coaxing their caribou out of the stables. The portly lion cooed gently to his four-legged companion, stroking its muzzle as it trotted lazily out into the night.

"San!" He said, his ears perking up from underneath an unkept silvery mane, "You're a little late. One of the ceremonialists left about five minutes ago with the, ahem," he cleared his throat with a grimace, "appointed goat."

She took the reins from him and pulled herself onto the animal, lifting her dress out of the way. "Which means that we won't be late enough to be considered rude, but just late enough that they'll ready the cabin for us." She said with a wry smile.

Rašur shot her a disapproving look as Auru went back into the stables to fetch another caribou; the priest tapped his foot impatiently as the lion fed his mount a handful of dried lichen before handing him over.

"The trade caravan left me a few more cakes of tea from the north--would you like me to bring it over next time?" Auru asked San as he bade his mounts farewell with a pat on the rump.

"I'd love that." San said with a wink, gently pushing on the caribou's antlers to egg him forward. Auru clasped his hands together and bowed slightly as a mark of respect as the two left, the forrest's ragged black-green ocean of treetops swallowing the night sky as the two left the temple grounds. An even narrower dirt path funneled them between the ancient trunks of fir trees, the branches brushing against San's shoulders as they rode.

Rašur waited until they were out of earshot of Auru before he spoke.

"That man doesn't patronize you, does he?"

San shook her head. "No. He brings me some of whatever the passing trade caravans give him for use of his stables in exchange for the mountainberry jam I get from the longhouse, which apparently the caribou love."

"Oh, I believe he's unmarried, so I sort of assumed."

"He has his caribou to keep him company." San said.

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Well, that's what I meant."

"What, how?" He said, confused.

"He stands on a bale of hay, as he's rather short." San said, casually.

Rašur paused, his face flickering through a half-dozen emotions over as many seconds, most of them negative.

"Do you know why the ritual requires an ewe, Rašur?" San said.

"Wild animals are fertile and virile, attributes that the ritual passes on to its participants."

"Yet people are virile and fertile too, as anyone in my line of work would tell you."

Rašur paused. "Well, animals are particularly rich in those qualities."

San swayed her head, as if to indicate he was partway there. "There is a purity of purpose in animals that we often find lacking in ourselves. A nursing bobcat will defend her kittens to the death, even if those kittens may starve in her absence. A caribou will rut a cow in a field, for all to see, without a hint of the shame or hesitation that plagues our own couplings. That's what we see in them, a refinement of the things we desire for ourselves."

"What's your point?" Rašur said.

"Perhaps you shouldn't judge Auru so harshly."

The priest sighed and changed subjects. "You seem to be rather casual about this whole thing--the ceremony, that is." He said, elaborating.

"I've done this before, but that's not what you mean, is it? I can sense this little mote of fear in you that I don't see in myself. In that regard, I see nothing worthy of fear."

The forest was darker than obsidian, with only the faintest sliver of moonlight penetrating the treetops, and so San could only hear the air flowing through his nostrils as Rašur let out an exasperated sigh. "The goddess transiting behind the moon is as ill an omen as any, it means she may rescind her blessing upon the land, and upon the king. Such a thing is a cause for fear, don't you agree?"

San paused to collect her thoughts, the clattering of hooves on dirt broken only by the occasional howl of a wild animal. "True, such a thing would be devastating. And yet, the gods have born us into devastation. There has yet to be a generation of people that have not known war, or disease, or the common cruelty we heap upon ourselves. Such things exist because the gods have decided them necessary, just as it is necessary for a pack of wolves to kill a caribou, lest the wolves starve. If such suffering is the right order of the universe, who am I to fear but one more helping of it?"

"You would make a good priest, I think." Rašur said.

"Technically I am one."

"Oh, I forgot to ask, did you bring the--" Rašur trailed off.

San reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out a small leather pouch, briefly dangling it in front of her before stowing it away.

"I've always wondered what it's like to take that." He mused.

"You can just try it, you know. A few people in the temple keep some on hand, or you can just ask Auru to make you some, if you bring him the mushrooms."

"I've heard it can turn you mad if you're not prepared for it."

San shrugged. "There's much madness in the world, most of it stems from things far more mundane."

The gloom of the forest broke as they came into a clearing, the moon's reflection shimming on the surface of a large lake, where a cabin sat by the water's edge, candlelight flickering from inside. San recognized the king's carriage, as as well as a few more of the temple's caribou, their reins tied to a large, gnarled conifer that sat by the water. San dismounted her caribou next to its companions, roped it to the tree, and headed inside. Rašur took his time, and San caught him awkwardly fiddling with his robes out of the corner of her eye. As San unlatched the door, she took a second to look over the plump, fully grown mountain goat that was tied to the decking. It grunted as it dug its nose into the dirt, and San admired its ignorance.

The ceremonial cabin was scarcely larger than San's quarters, but it was outfitted with a careful sumptuousness befitting its station; a thick elk skin rug covered the floor, and fire blazed warmly from an immense limestone fireplace, above which someone had hung a censer filed with tree resin. The scent was musky and rich, and it filled her lungs like snowmelt flooding the rivers. In the center of the room was shallow stone basin, fitted with a drain that emptied out into the lake, and below that, a bed made made of furs and goose down, large enough for two people. The temple's ceremonialist, a lithe leopardess named Maughn, sat in the corner, reading from a prayer book. She looked up briefly to shoot San a warm smile; San presumed she was recalling her last visit to her boudoir.

Rurisuk-Irasim, king of the western territories, sat hunched by the fire, his page leaning over to whisper something in his ear. When he saw San he immediately pulled himself to his feet, his presence filling the room.

"King--" San lowered her head and put her hands together.

Instead of waiting for her to finish her greeting, he put an arm around her and pulled her into a friendly embrace. "Please, it's Ruris, at least for tonight. I hate to be on a formal basis with people I'm going to be intimate with."

The tiger was a good head taller than her, and fifteen years older at least, but he possessed a subdued warmth that tempered his stature. His sharp jaw and maze of inky-black facial stripes were framed by the sumptuous wolf-fur fringe of his coat, where a lapis lazuli necklace shimmered from underneath the shadows.

Rašur bumbled in and bowed before closing the door behind him. His hands shook as he dusted a few errant fir needles from his robes. "It's an honor to meet you sir, although I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Ditto. I have faith that the En would appoint no one but the best in his absence." He said with the kind of smile that San suspected all noblemen learn well before they're even old enough to make it to San's door.

"Thank you." Rašur said stiffly. "If that is all, we should begin. The hour is late already."

"Of course." The king said. "chati," he said, turning to his page, "you can wait in the carriage." The advisor nodded curtly and left. Maughn quietly put away her book and left with the page, returning a few seconds later with the goat. San watched as Rašur's ears lowered ever so slightly.

"Same as last time?" Ruis asked to San.

She nodded, and the king unbuckled his coat, hanging it on the chair by the fire. San undid the garment clips holding her robe in place, unraveling the green wool from around her body. She reached for the pouch hidden inside one of the pockets, and carefully placed it beside the bed.

Maughn reached for the censor of incense over the fireplace and dumped the remains into a bowl of water, stirring the mixture with her finger until it turned a pale golden-green, she then tugged the ewe over to to the basin and poured the mixture over its back, rubbing it into the goat's rough white fur. She began to chant, "chaššuchati, god of woods ancient, who breathes air under the hunter's arrow, who spreads dirt upon the bones of martyrs, who perfumes himself with fog and covers himself with moss..." She continued, reciting the thirty names of the god who would oversee the killing that was to follow.

Rašur stood stiffly beside the fireplace, holding a book in his hands. His eyes were fixed on San's naked body, his eyes straining to drink in her form through the dim light from the fireplace. The king cast aside the rest of his clothes and laid down on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked up at her confidently, but San detected a hint of bashfulness in the corners of his lips. There was an oil painting of the king and his wife hanging in the city longhouse, and San felt a brief surge of blood travel between her legs at the thought of cuckqueaning a woman of her stature, even if the circumstances were an exception to the rules.

San laid down on top of him, straddling his legs as she reached down to cup his manhood in her hands. He grew under her touch, his breath becoming ragged as she rubbed the pad of her thumb across the spot where his foreskin connected to the underside of his penis. His girth matched the rest of his stature, and while she gently fondled him, she took his spare hand in hers and guided it between her legs, an opportunity to ready herself as well as keep him occupied. He took the hint, slowly pressing his thumb into her clitoris until she was wet enough for him to dip his fingers in, which didn't take long.

Maughn unsheathed a knife from inside her robe, causing Ruris to look up.

"Focus on me." San instructed, gently putting her hand on his cheek to guide his gaze back towards her. She scooted forward, pressing her vulva into Ruris's erection. He groaned softly, pushing his hips upwards in response.

San heard the sound of hooves scraping on stone, a muffled squeal of protest, then a knife cutting into flesh. She kept her gaze focused on her partner as blood pulsed into the basin in wet spurts. The clattering of hooves became softer, and then fell silent entirely.

"You ready?" She asked, talking over the sound of Maughn's knife cutting carefully through the dense fur.

"As much as I can be." Ruris said. The wet, prickly sound of skin peeling away from flesh made San's teeth itch. Rašur cleared his throat, opened his book to a page marked by a thin strip of silk, and began to pray:

_ Irrchaukt, whose gaze is perdition,

who marks the final days of kings and hares,

whose anger is devastation and whose love is silence..._

Maughn finished skinning the ewe. She walked up behind San and draped the bloody pelt over her back, the sticky interior flesh of the legs hanging over her shoulders, the top of its head resting on hers, the snout hanging down to obscure the top of her field of view. Ruris had his eyes shut, his attention focused resolutely on maintaining his erection, which he managed to do despite the circumstances, and despite the smell of blood that permeated the room, overpowering the incense. San felt it soak into her fur, a single droplet falling over her eye.

_ ...The caribou cannot fathom the wolf who hunts it,

and we can only curse the darkness, for lack of a light to understand your will.

It is our lot to act under the curses of divinity, to walk under the burdens

of falsehoods, lies, and cruelties that the gods have imbued us with.

Now you turn your neck at us, our king, and walk behind the great eye the moon,

yet we do not see our negligence, we have not forsaken your rites.

If our land and king is unworthy of your blessing, then now shall he demonstrate his worthiness.

His strength, his virility, unmatched, is like the ewe he now ruts:

immediate, unrelenting, uncompromising..._

San moved forward, angling her hips until she felt the tip of his penis right where she expected it to be--she pushed herself back, and he entered her. She wasted no time, and leaned down to put her hands by his shoulders, lifting herself up until she felt just the tip of his erection resting inside her, and then she lowered herself down. She settled into a rhythm, fast enough to get her point across, but slow enough to make sure she was pleasuring just the right spots. She reached down to untie the small pouch, and touched her finger to the fine powder inside. She pushed the finger into the underside of her tongue, where the taste was bitter and intense, but it quickly faded. Rašur, his voice noticeably slower, continued:

_ ...Let him prove his worthiness, clear us of confusion, so you may remit our punishment,

and absolve us of our guilt, so your heart my be unbothered._

After a few thrusts, Ruris took hold of her hips and started to rut for himself, his movements urgent and forceful, his hands squeezing her sides possessively. She moaned each time he pressed himself into the hilt, the noises more for him than anything else, she knew he liked the sounds: every time she got a bit louder, he got a bit faster. The edges of her vision started to blur, and she looked up to see that Maughn had driven the knife into the now skinless sow's skull, and she sat on her knees, watching the pair intently. The two briefly made eye contact, and Maughn smiled, her hand reaching down under the folds of her fur coat to pleasure herself.

The fur pelt on her back started to move.

It squirmed, and crawled up her body. The room spun, pulling her gaze upwards to the vaulted ceiling as failed tried to right her mind's eye. She felt a goat's fur on her back, coarse and stinking of musk. When she looked down, the king was gone; the weight on her back forced her down onto her elbows. The goat on top of her snorted into her ear, mud-stained muzzle rubbing at her neck as it rutted. It's short, sturdy legs and hard hooves flailed angrily in the air, and she spread her knees, lowering her back until its rear hooves clattered on the floor, giving it leverage as it thrusted, the end jabbing painfully far past the point of any human organ. It finished with an ear-splitting squeal, and San felt as though her heart was going to launch itself into her throat.

The goat disappeared into fog, as did the room, and Rašur's voice, and Maughn, who was unashamedly masturbating.

The earth she felt on her knees and elbows was wet and soft, but as cold as snowfall. Mist was thick in the air, covering all but the trees nearest to her, yet she didn't feel the moisture clinging to her lungs, nor saw her breath fogging in front of her. She tried to ground her mind in reality, but the image of the cabin and Ruis eluded her, like trying to cup water in her hands. Something pulled her to her feet, not a hand, but a force like wind, it was everywhere, and nowhere. It ran across her bare chest, like snowmelt pouring through the crevices of tree roots, cold and pure. It spoke in a language she did not know but understood, its words freezing her in place, the way a hare stands stock-still once it sights a bobcat. She did not know how, but she knew the force holding her was a woman, the formless veins of water caressing her, their touch spreading like frostbite. Her words were content, her voice was one of approval. The voice asked her if she wanted a reward for her piety, and San spoke in the affirmative. She spread San's legs and forced herself inside, the sensation at first unspeakably pleasurable, her touch grinding into every part of her, until the pleasure twisted into intolerable agony. She tried to scream but her lungs could not move, the air around her was stone, solid and unbreathable. The force collected in a single razor-sharp point at her neck, plunged into her skin, into the vein, until she could feel the heat of her own blood soaking her chest, her stomach, her legs. San's orgasm struck her like a bolt of lightning, burning and lethal, splitting her as it would a sapling. The pleasure overwhelmed her, until her vision went dark, and all became like the fog.

Ruris reached a hand up to grope at San's breast, pressing his thumb and index finger between her nipple; the sharp point of pain pulled her back, her vision returning in an instant.

Her heart beat wildly from the rush of her orgasm. The king roared and thrust his hips forward until he had buried himself inside her, his head rolling backwards and chest heaving as he came. She looked down to see the root of his penis flexing as he emptied himself inside her. She stared at their coupling until the blurriness bled away from the edges of her vision, the luridness of the sight grounding her firmly in the mortal domain.

As her senses returned, San allowed herself the small pleasure of reaching behind herself to cup his scrotum, the flesh scrunched tight to his groin, and felt it flex under his climax. She thought, with a small smile, what his wife was thinking right now. After a few seconds his muscles relaxed, and he let out an exhausted breath, his hands falling away from her hips, her skin throbbing slightly from the intensity of his grip. She pulled herself up, letting his semi-soft penis fall out of her before she cupped a hand between her legs to catch the semen that dripped down from her labia in his wake. Maughn, her breath heavier than normal, peeled the goat skin off San's back and folded it up. Rašur was standing stiffly by the fireplace, his prayer book positioned between his legs.

San let herself fall backwards, and Maughn scrambled to catch her and prop her against a wooden beam that reached to the ceiling.

"San," Rašur said cautiously, "the omens of your visions. Were they positive?"

San opened her mouth, her lungs tanking in great gulps of air and refusing to relent so she could vocalize herself. Her head still buzzed angrily, and it took a full minute before she regained the powers of speech. "Yes. They were positive."

The tension left the room, and a sigh of relief was passed among the other participants of the ritual. Maughn and Rašur began to pack up, while San waited for the room to stop spinning every time she moved her head.

***

By the time San could see the stables in the distance, it was well past her regular dinner time. The caribou under her sauntered forward lazily, but she was in no mood to speed him up. Rašur had said little on the ride back, his gaze mostly focused on the dirt road, and occasionally when San looked over at him, he just shot her an awkward smile.

"You didn't grow up in the temples, did you?" She said, breaking the silence.

His head jolted up. "Wha--oh. No, I didn't. I was going to be in the royal court until my brother died when I was seventeen. I decided I didn't want to spend the rest of my life hunched over trade ledgers and attending dinner parties, so I joined the temple. By that time I had already learned to read and write, thanks to my court education, so I wasn't too far behind. Why?"

"The priests of Irasum took me in as an orphan. None of the bathhouses there are gendered, as is fitting for their priesthood. You come of age in an environment like that, you become accustomed to seeing physical intimacy. Although, from what I've heard, the gendered bathhouses don't make that much of a difference once under-priests reach a certain age." She said with a smirk.

"Oh, yes I've--I never had that experience, no." He said, his gaze was transfixed upwards towards the night sky.

When they arrived at the stables, Auru was gone, and a small scrap of parchment paper was nailed to the door:

rknq

San squinted at the paper for a few moments before she realized he had meant to spell 'arknaq'--"I'm sleeping." As part of their regular barters, San had let Auru have one of her language books in exchange for some seal teeth. He had made fair progress in learning to read and write, although he apparently still struggled with vowel diacritics.

San dismounted the caribou and led it into the stables, while Rašur half dismounted and half fell off his caribou, forcing him to awkwardly straighten his robes once he returned to his feet. The animal snorted, as if to mock him.

"You going to take care of that later, I presume?" She said, motioning at him as he pulled his coat back under his robes, a noticeable bulge showing under the linens as he did.

"Well, yes, although I think it hardly takes someone like you to figure that out." He said.

After he locked the stable door he turned around to see San a few inches from his face. "I think some company might help you unwind, in my professional opinion." She said, her face neutral save for a very slight smile.

"Well, after what happened earlier, it's...kind of hard to say no to that, I'll say."

"Is that a yes?" She asked.

He sighed. "Alright, it's a yes. How about after dinner?"

San walked to one of the empty stables. "I'm more of a sex before dinner kind of girl. Come on, there's plenty of room here." She pulled off her shawl, and started to unwrap her robes once again.

"You can't be serious." He said, a little nervous chuckle trailing his question.

"Far stranger things have happened in here, trust me." She folded up her robes and let her body do the rest of the work. He put his trembling hands on her stomach, feeling plush, warm fur of her winter coat. "Can I?" He said.

She nodded as she unbuttoned his jacket and let it fall into the straw beneath them. His hands started to explore her body, his motions first slow and apprehensive, but after he let his fingers graze over her breasts, he quickly lost whatever shame he felt, his fingers happily traversing her curves, feeling down to the wet expanse of hair between her legs.

He removed his hands just long enough to let San undress him, then he took hold of her rump and pulled the two of them together, her hands gently wrapping around his straining erection. Their noses touched, and San smiled as she expertly moved her fingers across his manhood, his grip on her rear tightening as she touched the most sensitive spots.

"How do you want me?" She asked.

"I--uh--on your back?" He said.

She took his hands in hers and slowly sat down the straw floor, guiding him down with her. She laid back on her folded-up clothes and opened her legs, her hands reaching down to spread her labia, inviting him.

Rašur's breath was heavy as he crawled forward on top of her. "Is there anything I should do for you--"

"I'm on temple time, Rašur. Take care of your needs."

He fell silent as he lined himself up, slowly pressing himself into her, while San put her hands on the small of his back to egg him forward. He cursed under his breath as he bottomed out, his eyes hazy and his jaw agape. She spread her legs to give him room.

"Feel better already, big guy?" She whispered.

"Yah, I, uh, don't think I'll last very long."

"Don't worry." She whispered.

His thrusts were slow and measured, each time pulling out only halfway before he pushed in again, and each time he thrust forward he would grind his pubic bone into her, as though he ached for one final inch of her that he could feel. After Ruis's roughness, she was happy to have him, even if he was a bit boring by her standards. Still, there was something about his gentleness that that amused her, and each time he pulled himself out, she let her fingers run down the underside of his penis and caress his scrotum, already soaked with her fluids. She looked up to see the caribou in the stable next to her, the massive animal watching idly. The second time today she had an audience, San mused to herself.

After only a few minutes, Rašur's thrusts sped up, and San knew he was close. His breaths became sharp and short, his hands gripping at the pile of robes by San's head.

"San, I..." He said between gasps of air.

"Go on. You don't have to pull out if you don't want to." She murmured as she played with his long dark hair, running her fingers between the strands.

His tail lashed atop him as he came, his muzzle buried between her breasts. She could tell from his long, reverent breaths that he was taking in her scent, savoring it, as he emptied himself. He didn't move for nearly a minute, well after his orgasm had subsided, at which point he leaned forward and pulled her into an embrace. She returned the gesture, her fingers tracing the curves of his spine.

"I was right, wasn't I?" She said.

"Yah." He whispered into her ear.

San let him come down from his orgasm, the two locked in a wordless embrace until he finally pulled away. He got up onto his knees and froze for a second, his gaze suggesting that he was watching his own product drip from her onto the ground. He stood up, and offered a hand to pull San to her feet. She let him pull her up and watched him fumble with his clothes in the darkness before she reached for his jacket and draped it around his shoulders. His smile flickered in the lamplight as she patted his chest.

San's winter coat was so thick it didn't even occur to her to put her clothes back on until Rašur was standing at the entrance to the stables, looking at her expectantly.

"Go on, get to the longhouse while the elk is still warm." She leaned against one of the stables, the caribou turning around to sniff at her hair. "Auru and I were going to chat for a bit." She lied.

"If you insist." He said with a polite bow. "I'll probably drop by tomorrow to see if you're free?" He said.

"I'll be waiting."

Truthfully, she never liked to spent time with clients after they got what they wanted out of it. It was something someone had told her once--make sure they don't mistake you for a wife. The caribou peeked its head out of the stable door and nuzzled her cheek, presumably in the hopes that she had some of Auru's lichen, or perhaps salmonberries. She wrapped her arm around it's head and idly stroked its ears, and in response it slowly lowered its head onto her shoulder.