FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 1: The Fish Market

The village of Skyddholm was tranquil in early hours of the morning. It was built originally upon an island that was defined by two wide estuaries which forked from one much larger river to the east, that found its home deep in the Angenskar Mountains. Skyddholm was built as a small fishing community upon Seidar Bay along the west coast of the Kingdom of Othenland. Established by two otter brothers, Olov and Lars Domarson, who had a heart for the sea. At the core of the village was a quaint town center which bore a modest monument, cut from wood, to the brothers that had founded the settlement.

At the harbor, fishermen had already begun to prepare for the long day ahead. Mostly otters, but among them were several gulls, a heron, a few dogs, elkhounds and a single shepherd, a rotund lynx, a narwhal that stood out quite easily among the crowd, a handful of seals and dolphins that were great help in herding the fish into their nets, as well as a few other mismatched folk from other localities.

Supplies were hauled onto boats, sails were checked and prepared to be unfurled, and riggings were lashed. There were a dozen or more such vessels. Schooners built to withstand the battering of waves and assault of the northern winds. The docks were large enough to support some of the smaller naval ships that the kingdom had at its disposal, but it was rare that such impressive craft took up residence in Seidar Bay. For the most part, the most exotic ships that the townsfolk got to behold were those of travelling merchants and small transport liners.

The boundary of the harbor was marked by two earthen arms that reached out towards the open sea and folded inward slightly to embrace the cool waters of the bay. Two breakwaters were added over the years, composed of basalt slabs stacked along the open corridor leaving a much more discreet passageway. At the edge of the northern construct there stood a quaint lighthouse that basked proudly in the pre-dawn light, casting off a bright glow onto the distant waves. The pitched roof, wooden shakes, and cobbled stone walls set the structure apart from the weathered rock of the breakwater.

In the town dew had formed in the blades of grass and leaves of trees, reflecting the subtle orange of the turning sky as it breathed the first breaths of daylight. The flowers in the gardens were vivid and colorful awaiting the nourishment of the Sun. The houses were all half-timbered with stucco walls crossed by large wooden beams and topped by thatched roofs. Windows were covered by modest curtains of subtle design; some were even blocked by shutters to keep out the early morning light. A cobblestone road acted as the main street, the avenue by which citizens could travel from the eastern edges of the village through the town square all the way down to the wharf. It was an unremarkable place, but there was a certain majesty in its unassuming quaintness.

In the low light of first dawn a shadowed figure was seen dragging himself out of the pine forest. The conifers loomed over him as he struggled to limp into the town. It was not long before a town watchman, Ingal Ivarnesk, noticed this dark shape and rushed forward to inspect the stranger. All at once it was clear, his uniform stained with dried blood and a broken arrow stuck in his back, a soldier of the king bearing papers. Ivarnesk pulled the young wolf's arm over his shoulder, straightened, and almost carrying the messenger assisted him into town.

The innkeeper, and older otter named Hjal Turleson, was sweeping the curb in front of the inn when the two forms emerged from a side street. In the glare of a gas streetlight he could just make out the uniform sparking him into action. Casting the broom aside the Innkeeper stepped forward to ease the Watchman's burden. Carefully, they opened the oaken maw of the inn and maneuvered the messenger inside. The dining area was a large room in the center of the building. A bar sat at the far end of the room from the entrance, several wooden chairs and tables filled the remaining space, with a large stone hearth just to one side. The wooden floor creaked under the strange clomping gait of the straining men.

The Innkeeper hurried for a glass of water as they neared the warmth of the well-stoked fire. Time diminished embers beneath the freshly flame-licked logs crackled and hissed. The wearied soldier insisted he could manage himself into the chair, but quickly found himself buckling to the floor, kneeling before the rocky fixture. Immediately, the Watchman lifted him into the chair just in time for a drink of fresh cold water. The Innkeeper pulled up another chair. Sitting down, he ushered the Watchman off to fetch the town's doctor.

As the stern Watchman rushed out of the door the rest of the world began to wake. The beautiful pigments washed the sky as the Sun called out for day to begin. The sharp crooning of a tikuri fowl reverberated across the crisp morning air, waking the town to a new midsummer day. Watchmen had already begun to put out the streetlights, curtains were being drawn, some citizens had already begun to collect tikuri eggs for the morning's meal.

In the eastern edge of the village was a house upon the bank of the northern estuary. It was a small house, with beige plaster walls, aging shutters covered with chipping aquamarine paint, topped in a cap of thatched straw and branches. There was a nice little flowerbed to the right of the oak door, and as one entered the home, the hallway took them straight to the kitchen, passing a comfortably furnished living room to the right. The kitchen was clean, the counters spotless, pans hung neatly above the oven, and a carved oak table to the right, guarding the stairs to the upper story of the house. Upstairs there were few rooms; two bedrooms, and bathroom. And in the bedroom at the far end of the hall there lay a young otter, still resting softly, sweetly curled facing the wall holding his tail.

"Tyr, it's time to wake up, sweetheart," the loving voice of his mother was just enough to stir him from his slumber. His eyes opened, a distinct golden color, they focused on her aging face. "Hun, it's time for you to get ready for work."

As her tail followed her out of the room, the young otter hopped from his bed. Tyr's slender brown form stretched, arms extended, fur bunching. Standing in front of the mirror in his white undershirt and boxers, the young otter inspected himself before picking out his work clothes.

After his bath Tyr set about straightening his fur and getting dressed. They were not wealthy, but his clothes were the best they could afford. A white linen shirt buttoned up proper, dark gray slacks with a matching vest, and a pair of worn black leather shoes. It wasn't the fanciest outfit, but he didn't need anything extravagant to work at the fish market.

Before he made his way downstairs Tyr hurried to the nightstand and grabbed a golden pocket watch. Perhaps his most prized possession. He then raced down the hall, only to hear his mother shout to slow down. As his feet found the landing half-way to the bottom the salty aroma of smoked fish and buttered toast caused Tyr's ears to perk. Stomach growling the otter pulled out the chair and took a seat, salivating at the bounty before him.

It wasn't long before the young man had scarfed the entire meal down and drank a couple glasses of cold milk. For a while he sat with his mother discussing current events. She worked at the Inn in the evening and late into the night, so Tyr rarely got time to visit apart from breakfast. However, this did afford him the opportunity to be regaled by the tales of the travelers who passed through and were too careless to speak so his mother couldn't hear. Time always slipped away, and it wasn't long before his watch informed him of running late.

"I am late again!" Tyr exclaimed as he jumped up. His mother sniggered at this common occurrence, and stood to kiss his cheek softly.

"Have a good day, my son. I love you," and she sent him quickly on his way.

"I love you, too," his voice trailing behind him.

Tyr turned away from the front door and rushed to the back of the house. A door led him to a set of steps, overlooking a small pond. Many of the otters lived along the banks of the two estuaries, and the houses were often built with this same unique feature. The pool filled the bottom of the small room and offered an exit to the house that led directly onto the river. It was common for otters to construct their homes in this way, and the river offered a more expedient means of transit.

Tyr removed the golden pocket watch, and placed it carefully in a waterproof treated leather case, and buried it deep in his pocket. He straightened his vest and leapt headfirst into the water. Tyr was used to the cold of the river, common as it was that he traversed it, and was aided by the thick warmth of his pelt.

The current forced him swiftly toward the sea, rushing around the subtle bends created by sandy or stony banks. Tyr had always enjoyed navigating the river, slipping carefully around rocks, and admiring some of the larger houses near the town square where the Mayor and other important public figures resided. None were notable in comparison to those described to the young otter in tales of the grand Capital of thenland, but to him these were the most impressive structures in the world. Tyr had been in the Mayor's house once, but he had not been offered much time to regard the splendor of the humble mansion. He had been brought in by a night watchman to be chastised for being caught wondering the streets in the late hours of the night as a young teen. The thought of it filled the young man with a modicum of residual shame.

Tyr shook off the feeling and prepared for the last slope of the river. Where the water pushed hard on the decline to the endless ocean, as if delighted to have reached its home. He used his powerful tail to propel him toward the southern bank, and heaved himself up the stone barrier that made up the edge of the dockyard. There Tyr stood up as tall and straight as his slender frame would allow and began to shake the wetness from his dense fur. The muscles flexed and stretched in tandem to release the water from his pelt. His clothes had all but dried from the intense convulsion. Straightening his vest once more, Tyr pulled the carefully wrapped time piece from his pocket and clipped it properly.

His day began, as it so often did, with a half-hearted reprimand from the fish monger, Ansfrid Jasterson, his boss and friend. His voice was deep and raspy, as if worn by the grating salt of the sea "What kept ya today, boyo?"

"Sorry, sir. I lost track of time again. Ma was telling me half a tale about a wanderer from Daegar. Says there's a war there. Some villages were sacked", he said.

"Don't believe everything you hear, kiddo," at this the plump lynx ruffled the young adult's hair and sent him off to start cleaning yesterday's catch.

Tyr had never minded even the less pleasant parts of the job. Sure, the stink of the fish byproducts did make it unpleasant to breath, but there was pride in this much needed task. It was a necessary service to the people of the town that he could put his name to. It was a good first step to his dream of becoming a fisherman. Though Tyr was reluctant to inform his mother of this aspiration. He'd lost his father five years back. Nearly six now. Tyr's mother had warned against even the notion of making a life on the seas. He could imagine her anger and frustration at the suggestion that he might pursue the same profession that had taken his father from them.

The young otter didn't let this possibility poison his daydreams. For hours he'd clean fish, cart in the new shipments, wrap and pack purchases, and clean the small shop with a mind full of the sea. Seeing in his mind's eye the things his father must have seen. Tyr was beloved for his pleasant demeanor, and these ideas were a key ingredient.

"Young man, may I have two of the cod, and do you have any eel?", the familiar voice belonged to his long-time neighbor, Astrid Pedersdatter. A kind septuagenarian polecat who had lost two of her four children to an illness when they were young, another in a storm at sea, and the last to a long forgotten war. For this she was rarely seen around town. Though polite, the quiet woman simply could not bear the weight of her heart-break. Her husband had passed two decades ago, only deepening the rift between her and what counted for society in this far off town.

"Absolutely!" Tyr wasted no time wrapping the fish in brown paper and organizing them in her basket. "Would you like help back to your house?"

"No, thank you. Have a nice day!", her voice was soft and sad, eyes deep and lonely. The elderly woman turned and sauntered off toward the imports stand across the way, where all manner of extravagant bobbles from all around the world could be purchased.

Tyr spend much of his day in this manner. Peacefully passing the time with the natural ebb and flow of customers, ships full of fresh cargo, and polite inquests by the more gossip-prone members of the town. But as his clock marked an hour past midday a hushed commotion broke out among the dock workers. One of them was pointing to the northwest across the vast and endless sea. A single ship could be made out. Something about it didn't seem right to the young otter, however.

He stopped gutting the fish he was preparing and squinted to get a better look. It was the sails. Some were torn, and others missing altogether. It was a curious sight to be certain. One that had the otter mesmerized. He considered thoughtfully for a while, as the workers all scurried about preparing for the oncoming vessel, before concluding what had wrought the ship into this unfit state. Tyr realized it wasn't a storm, nor a run-in with an unsuspecting waterlogged monolith reaching out from beneath the waves to run its stony fingers along the keel, that set the ship into disarray. It could only be a ship of the line that had recently been unfortunate enough to see battle, though fortunate enough to limp away.

His innocent young eyes had never had to witness the cataclysms of war. This put the fur on his neck on end. Where could this have come from? How far could the ship have made it in this condition? They were decently far from any meaningful military assets. Tyr very quickly found himself plagued by the possibility of a war in his hometown.

Vaguely Tyr recognized the hobbled steps of his patron making his way up to the young man from behind. "It will be okay, kiddo." Clearly Ansfrid had noticed the youth's agitation. The man placed a hand on his employee's shoulder. "Those ships can travel far afield. It's only a frigate. Not even a proper ship of the line," his tone was level as the two watched the approaching ship, "It could just be an emissary from Daegar on dispatch to the King. Probably got roughed up by a pursuit vessel."

"You think so?" Tyr's tone was shaky with doubt, looking up at his boss.

"Absolutely, kiddo. No need to worry 'til there's worrying that needs to be done," looking the young man in the eyes with a kind smile he continued, "how'd you like to take off early for the day? There's not much that's gonna get done with that ship taking reprieve in the bay, clogging up the whole place."

"Are you sure you won't need anything?"

"Nah. You go have fun, kiddo."

And with that the bright-eyed youth thanked his employer, removed his apron placing it on its hook, and raced off to find his friends and tell them about this mysterious frigate from across the northern sea.

It wasn't often that Tyr got to see the town at this time of day. It was normal for his days to end in the early evening, around five. However, the young otter figured the entire port would be all a fluster with the arrival of the naval valetudinarian. And when offered the gift of a half-day one need not worry as to the occasion, only to celebrate it.

He ran all the way to the northern river's edge where he prepared himself accordingly and plunged into the chilly current. In his jubilation he darted against the rush of oncoming water, dancing around boulders. Occasionally a streak of brown could be seen leaping clear of a rock its path out of excitement to reach his friends.

The press of the water surging against his snout always felt natural and pure, urging him onward against the weight of the river. It was a feeling many of his friends simply could not appreciate. The way the water seeped into the upper layers of his coat, giving it a heavy quality. Like a fish that had been gripped too tightly and slipped out of one's hands, propelling him ever faster upstream.

His first stop was to see Brokr. Brokr wasn't the most convenient or accessible of his friends to get to, but it wasn't long ago that Tyr had found himself wanting. It was a novel thing, this newfound inspiration. Or maybe it would be better termed an "infatuation". Tyr wasn't sure. But what he did know is how warm his skin got beneath his fur just thinking of his friend, and the way his heart leapt up in his chest every time Brokr was present. It was all very new to the young man, who'd never really been romantically involved with, or interested in, anyone before. Least of all his friends. He just didn't see them that way.

But now he did see one of his friends that way. Tyr found it harder and harder to control his little otter heart, and found himself finding ever more excuses to be around Brokr. To be as close to him as his slender mustelid frame would reasonably allow. Even now Tyr found himself nearly floating across the cobblestone away from the river and toward the smithy, where Brokr had been taken on as an apprentice.

Brokr was a few inches taller than Tyr. A fact that Tyr had come to adore. He imagined himself scooped up in Brokr's strong blacksmith arms. Burying his muzzle in the soft canine fur of Brokr's neck. The otter had never thought of himself with a dog before. It was a taboo to maintain permanent relations across species, but Tyr didn't mind the idea of himself and an elkhound together. Realizing he was nearly to the smithy, the lad pulled himself out of his reverie.

Tyr was once again wringing himself out. Suddenly it was important to look presentable. It was another new feeling for the lutra sapling. He'd always seen himself as only a fish monger, and someday as a fisherman. Appearances were never of paramount importance in either profession. Now, however, it was incredibly important to look some sort of way. At least when Brokr was around.

Fur dry and pocket watch in its place, Tyr peaked into the window of the smithy. Inside he could see a imposing figure with a chiseled, muscular physique standing over the monolithic steel anvil hammering molten iron. And opposite him was the less threatening form of Tyr's friend holding the metal in place firmly with iron tongs, fighting each subsequent blow of against the raw metal. The new arrival poked his umber face inside for approval.

"Come on in, young man. Here to see Brokr?" the man towered over them both like a Rumskulla oak. He was a wolverine of middle age, but no amount of years seemed to make this man seem any less ominous. Despite the horrors his great form and titanic claws might muster in the hearts and minds of such a miniscule otter as Tyr, the man always had a jovial demeanor. He was quite well known for his uproarious laughter by the people of the town.

"Yes, Mr. Stendahl. Is that alright?", Tyr managed timidly.

"Of course, young man. As long as you don't interrupt. I'd hate to have to reforge this."

Tyr took no time to get to the matter at hand. "Did you two hear about the ship? The one that's sailing into port as we speak?"

Brokr looked over his shoulder at Tyr, causing Tyr's ears to perk and whiskers to bristle. "We haven't had anyone in since this morning. What's the deal with the ship?" His baritone timbre brought warmth to the otter's chest.

"It looks to be a frigate. Nothing substantial. Possibly on mission to the King himself. But it's been badly damaged. Some of its sails were down. It wasn't making good time."

The immense wolverine interjected, "Could be. Could be from the north east, too. I hear they haven't been having a great time. Something about a few rows with a foreign aggressor. I have some family out east. The way they tell it some mysterious army appeared overnight and have been giving their soldiers a good whomping." The large man continued to fell his hammer against the red hot surface while the young apprentice struggled against the onslaught. "I doubt they'd have much interest with our little town. Story has it, this 'Tsar' is looking out east. Looking to build and army to throw at the Tarivoskites."

"Why would they want to attack the Tarivoskites?", Brokr inquired in an even tone, focusing intently on his task.

"And where did they come from?", added Tyr.

"Of that, no one is quite certain. There is a whisper. A rumor. That it could be the brother of the acting Tsar of Tarivosk here to challenge him for the throne. Take that for what it's worth," his powerful hammering halted, and he pointed at the roiling embers of the forge, "Now put that back into the furnace."

"You don't think they'll come here then?", Tyr prodded timorously.

"I wouldn't think it'd be worth it for them to cross the Angenskar mountains. Quite a treacherous endeavor, and it would play hell on their supply lines," the wolverine stretched, wrenching each of his shoulders. Clearly a practice in preparation for yet more intense labor, or possibly a respite from the work prior, "They could come by sea, but the royal navy would be on them in days. I just don't see the value gained. The Jarls out this far don't have much for their holdings. And there is no way their forces could contend with those of the King. After all, King Einar and his house have kept the Tarivoskites at bay for centuries. Despite their extensive resources."

The reassurances of the immense blacksmith were enough for the two youths. Their conversation meandered from the seriousness of total war, and became more lively and spirited. After a time Tyr spoke up, "Oh no! I've forgotten I have to go talk to Mikele and Janson, and also Hedda. Haldan, too. Are you coming to the pond later?"

Brokr replied with a smirk, "Wouldn't miss it."

With this, and his melting heart, the little fish monger raced off to find the next subject of his gossip. It wasn't typical of Tyr to gossip, but this news was far more interesting than anything that had happened in quite some time. Skyddholm had always been a lovely place, and a wonderful home, but at times the young man became restless for adventures beyond these common shores.

His next stop was with his friend Haldan. They weren't the closest among their cohorts, but Tyr made time anyway. Haldan was a terribly skinny, lanky young mink. He almost appeared malnourished, despite having one of the more desirable jobs in the town as a craftsman. Haldan had very nimble hands, and a keen mind. This made him perfect for clock-working, goldsmithing, glass working, and the multitudinous tasks required of him in the small town. Of course he was still an apprentice, but someday the town would rely very heavily on this gaunt, singular, and mildly uninteresting personage.

It was a short visit. Tyr had relayed the news, to which Haldan had many of the same questions that he and Brokr had assailed Mr. Stendahl with. Tyr was fortunate to have stopped to see Brokr first, as this had given him at least half-answers to offer his fellow mustelid. Haldan had not seemed overly impressed by the exchange, but offered friendly tidings nonetheless.

Once Tyr had unburdened himself to yet another friend he set off to find Hedda. It wasn't long after he had departed down the stone pathway that he stopped and smacked himself on the forehead. The act drew a few glances from townsfolk nearby, but Tyr didn't worry himself too much about it. Having remembered that Hedda worked as a maid for the Mayoral Estate and wouldn't be allowed the pleasure of a guest, he turned East to find Mikele and Janson. At least, there he could kill two birds with one stone.

Mikele and Jansen were a pair of roe deer. Siblings whose profession was chosen for them from birth. Their parents being farmers, it was only natural that they too would carry on the tradition. They took it in good stride. Neither being too off-put by the fact that they would work the same acreage of soil every day for the rest of their lives.

It was quite a hike through the denser parts of town and uphill much of the way. The grade was shallow, but had it been much steeper Tyr would have cast himself back into the current and slipped his way upstream to the farm. Tyr would never have been considered a lazy person, it was simply that he very much preferred swimming to walking. It would have given him just the excuse he needed to play in the wet once more.

The excursion offered him the opportunity to stop at what passed for a market in this meager hamlet and procure something sweet for his mother. Today was a day of divine providence. The baker had just happened to have made pebernodder, which was typically a treat for the winter solstice. Every so often however, the baker got in mind to make something delicate and spirited. These small brunette cookies were flavored with cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and clove. A perfect treat to pack with his mother's lunch. Tyr made sure that the baker's wife wrapped it neatly with a plaid ribbon, and zipped off to his own abode.

Quietly he unlocked the door and crept into the house. Since his mom worked nights it was normal for her to be resting at this hour. Tiptoeing he snuck down the hall and into the kitchen. She had already prepared a basket for her dinner. Nothing special. Just smoked mackerel, cheese, and some bread. This extra treat should brighten her night. He quickly scribbled a note, and left both it and the cookies on top of the basket. With that he could return to his duties as today's resident rumormonger.

The Haugrud farm was east by north of the town. There he would find the cervine siblings toiling in the open earth. Or so he always imagined. They had many chores to do around their property, but tending the crops was not the least of them. Tyr had never liked playing in the gritty, dry, chalky dirt. It just had a quality to it that he had never appreciated. So, it was hard for him to imagine choosing to tend to it every day. Give him a torrent of crisp, cool water any day. Even mud was much more tolerable in Tyr's opinion.

The walk took a while. They were a couple miles from the edge of the town. Tyr had crossed the bridge on his path up to the farm, but for a moment he did consider getting his tail wet again. Tyr supposed it saved him the inconvenience of having to dry off. There was always the pond later that evening to swim his heart out. Tyr and his friends had found a pond a few years back. It was tucked away in the northern forests and no one seemed to care much that it existed at all. This suited the youngsters well, so they had claimed it for their own. It was a regular fixture of their week to make an outing to their private swimming hole. Something that Tyr had always looked forward to.

It felt very peaceful this far from town. It occurred to the young man why people like the Haugruds found it so pleasant to work the land. It was like a sea of soil, and these were the fishermen of vegetables. It was exactly the life he sought on the sea, and they had found it only a walk away from town. And just like the sea, birds reeled above, the wind casting the grass about like verdant waves, and one could imagine the hills as the undulations of a great body of water. The idea pleased Tyr to his fuzzy core. Someday he too would be able to work his own seas.

The fence posts were quite aged, but still stood a firm guard around the farm keeping out any unwanted grazers. He could see figures dotted all around the land. Somewhere among the two parents and nine children was Janson and Mikele. Tyr headed toward the house, and the nearest of the many individuals.

It wasn't uncommon for farmers to have such large families, but for Tyr is was something of an oddity. As an only child he had always wanted a sibling or two, but he couldn't imagine being lost in the shuffle of nine children. It was difficult for anyone who had not lived it to conceive. But Janson and Mikele didn't seem to mind. In fact, the whole of their family seemed very happy with their lives together. In a way, their happiness together reminded him of how small his family had gotten since his father passed. Tyr pushed the thought immediately from his mind.

He found the first of this extensive lineage, "Greetings, Mrs. Haugrud! How are you today?"

She wore a light blue dress with a white apron. The kind of idyllic visage one might find in some bucolic scene put to paint and canvas. Only this was just how the people dressed here. Nothing gaudy or unnecessary. Just a simple utilitarian attire for the task at hand. "Hello, Tyr! I am doing fine, today. The weather's been quite nice lately, and the clothes don't seem to mind," She gestured to the basket of laundry with the clothespins in her hands, "How are you, today?"

"Doing well. Do you know where Janson and Mikele might be?"

"Out in the north field. Some weeds have taken a liking to our plot. So they're just taking care of them."

"You don't mind if I bother them, do you?", Tyr asked politely.

"Not at all. They should be finishing up soon anyway. They've not yet had lunch. I'm sure they're starving. Would you ask them if them if they want to come in for a bite?", suddenly a gust of wind tore a couple pieces of clothing from her basket and the two of them chased after.

After they arrested the rogue garments and brushed them off Tyr was able to answer, "Of course, Mrs. Haugrud. Thank you!"

The lively young sprite handed her the shirt he'd gathered and tore off over the knee-high saplings, being careful not to sully any of them with a misplaced footstep.

Panting and out of breath Tyr stood hunched over, hands on his knees, before his now amused friends.

"What was so important you had to race all the way over here and get yourself all in this state?" Mikele teased. She'd never been one to make a show out of her appearance, but most of his friends agreed that Mikele could easily have been the most breathtaking of all the women their age. If she tried, that is.

"I..." Tyr gasped and tried to stand up straight, "Did you....". The words were having a hard time piecing themselves together between pants. Tyr took an extra second to compose himself and dove in, "Did you hear about the ship?"

"Nothing in particular," responded Janson. The taller of the two. Though not by much. His antlers had only barely come in. So at times it was difficult to tell him from his sisters.

"It was a frigate. A warship. A ship of the line! It was badly damaged, and heading into port," Tyr gushed. He had no idea why this particular bit of news had gotten him so excited. He pondered that it could be his love of all things nautical.

This time Mikele chided in, "Is that right? Where did it come from?"

"Somewhere up north, along the coast. Mr. Stendahl thinks it may be a messenger. Some sort of envoy en route to the Capital with news of war."

Janson spoke up, "Are they coming here?"

Tyr was quick to reassure Janson, "Mr. Stendahl doesn't think so. He said he'd heard that the leader of this renegade militia has a qualm with the Tarivoskites. Or the Tsar of the Tarivoskites, anyway."

"Well, that's good. Is this what brought you here in such a hurry?", Mikele snarked.

"Yes. But also, we're going to the swimming hole tonight. Are you guys coming?"

Janson grinned impishly, "Wouldn't miss it. We don't have too much longer here."

"Oh yeah!", Tyr had just remembered, "Your mom wanted me to ask if you wanted some lunch?"

They both spoke in unison, "Tell her no." Then they looked at each other and laughed.

"Is everyone gonna be there, tonight?", Mikele inquired bending back down to root out some more of the horticultural interlopers.

"I think everyone is going to be there. Brokr will be there," Tyr tripped over his words, "oh, and Haldan seemed interested. It's hard to tell with him." The young man shrugged.

Mikele stood upright and squared her shoulders, "What's the deal with you and Broker?"

Tyr's fur stood on end, his entire demeanor shifted to the defensive. "What do you mean?", his voice squeaking like that of an adolescent.

"You've been acting weird around him for a couple months now. What's going on?". Janson kept working but was clearly invested, head cocked and ears perked.

"Nothing's going on. We're all just friends. Nothing's different," Tyr's whiskers gave him away, if the desultory attempt at deception did not.

Mikele persisted, "Come on. You expect us to buy that answer?"

Tyr knew Mikele was to clever to evade. She had already known from the outset, so Tyr relented, "Promise not to say anything! Especially to Brokr!"

"Of course we won't," Mikele answered for the both of them. Looking at her brother threateningly. To which he rebutted with an expression of incredulousness.

Janson spoke up to add anyway, "You've known us your whole life. We aren't going to betray your trust."

With a deep sigh Tyr gushed, "I am attracted to Brokr. I kinda want there to be more between us." His small ears laid down and whiskers flushed. "But you can't tell him. I don't think he sees me that way."

Mikele smiled and reached out an arm to pat him on the shoulder, "You're secret's safe with us. I was just curious. You two would be very cute together."

"Oh and please, for everything that is holy, do not tell my mother!"

Janson stood up this time to reassure his friend, "You have no reason to worry." He gave Tyr a gentle hug and lifted his chin. "Brokr would be lucky to be with you. Maybe you should tell him sometime."

Tyr's heart raced, "I definitely don't think I'm ready for that. What would I even say? And what if he decided to tell everyone? To shame me?"

"Don't think so little of Brokr. At worst he'd smirk and give you a playful shove." Mikele was right. Tyr had been too quick to judge his love interest. The panic had simply run away with him.

Tyr looked down at his watch. Two and a half hours had past since he'd left work. "I had better get going. I have to reach Hedda on her way home so I can let her know to come to the swimming hole."

"Okay, Tyr. Don't worry too much. And don't be afraid to talk to us if you need anything," Janson gave him another hug. A much bigger one this time.

"We love you, sweetheart," Mikele assured him, "I really hope it works out for you. Brokr really would be lucky to have you. Don't doubt yourself for an instant." Mikele wasn't known for her sensitivity, but she did manage to give Tyr a good hug before sending him on his way.

It took Tyr little time to return to the town. He'd been sure to inform Mrs. Haugrud of the condition of her hungerless brood, before he left. For this she was appreciative. He'd not eaten much today and she gave him a rather sizable sweet roll to take with him on his journey back. Tyr managed to devour the entire thing before he reached the edge of town.

Tyr had nothing to do but wait. Occasionally passersby would arrest his attention and chew his ear for a moment. No one in particular, just the same people he'd known all his life. A couple even inquired about the mysterious warship that had slowly begun to cause a stir among the residents. Tyr kindly offered what he did know of the endeavor and they retreated to find yet more victims to abuse with their curiosity. The gentle creature had no problem talking to strangers, not that anyone in this place could be considered a stranger, but he had always considered himself a bit shy. It had always taken a bit of extra effort to talk to people he wasn't comfortable around. Despite it being a necessary aspect of his profession.

Tyr quickly became bored waiting for time to pass. It was still half an hour until his friend would be finished. Again and again he pulled his watch from his waistcoat, opened its face, inspected the dials, and clapped it shut in disappointment. Tyr found himself wanting to contaminate the fountain with his slender figure, dancing about gaily beneath the surface of the water, taunting bystanders. But the young man resisted the urge.

Finally the time had nearly arrived. It had been an hour of entertaining acquaintances and counting seconds. His friend Hedda was a small slightly pudgy vallhund. She stood about a head shorter than Tyr, and had a much softer temperament than did Mikele. Her squishy frame sidled somewhat causing her curled tail to bob back and forth. Her fur had a typical vallhound motif, but was beautiful nonetheless. Or at least Tyr had always thought so.

Tyr wasted no time filling Hedda in on the days events. He was surprised by her interest in the naval outsider that had become a new fixture in their port. Apparently it had caused a bit of an uproar among the Mayor and his staff, before they absconded to the docks to take full appraisal of the situation. Leaving the house staff only to speculate on the importance of this new arrival to their homeland.

Their meeting had been fairly brief, for the amount of time Tyr had expended waiting for her to get done. He informed her of their plans and she had agreed to join them. He didn't want to be impolite, so he helped Hedda carry her things to her house first. She would have to change and do a couple things before she'd be able to go, but Tyr couldn't help himself for his longing to see Brokr.

Tyr didn't meet any of his friends on the hike up to the pond. Which was a little surprising, as they would all inevitably follow the same winding path into the wilderness north of town. It was a several mile excursion into the thicket. In most places it was not difficult to pass, but every so often the trees and shrubs became quite dense. The youths had always secretly hoped this would continue to deter outsiders from stumbling upon their woodland sanctuary.

As Tyr trudged onward he became entranced by his memories of Brokr. The memories of the very moment that he had found himself lusting after the handsome black-furred canine. It wasn't far from here that only a few months past the two of them had shared a moment of intense intimacy, despite Brokr being unaware of that fact.

********************

It was early spring. A weekend. The young friends had finally reached adulthood, and as always they wound up out here in the backwoods frolicking in the secluded spring. The Sun had crossed most of the sky by the time they had all grown weary of their merriment.

The troop had always swam together in the nude. After all, it was not that uncommon for people to bath and recreate in the water together without any clothing on in their culture. It was only natural to the people of the north, where other more prudish cultures might be taken aback. That was just a matter of fact to all of them.

Mikele and Haldan had expressed their need for sustenance. In fact, the two were quite adamant in their hunger. So the crew slowly started to emerge from the water, trying not to be caught by the still chilly breezes that were all that remained of the winter in Aedenfaal. They all began to gather their things, save for Brokr, who had often decided to stay behind of late. Though, none of them found this overly conspicuous.

"Would you like me to stay with you," Tyr offered Brokr.

"Oh, no thank you. You all go enjoy your meal. I'll not be far behind you," Brokr responded lightheartedly.

The group all gathered their things, dressed themselves, and gave their friend a fond farewell as he continued to swim laps.

It wasn't long down the trail that Tyr realized, in all the joking and revelry, he had misplaced his watch. After a moments thought the mustelid decided it must have slipped out of his pocket when he'd picked up his pants. He excused himself from the still playful young mammals and treaded back up to their refuge.

After a moment's inspection he had found that his watch had misbehaved exactly in the manner Tyr had suspected. He fastened the chain carefully and stashed the other end back in his vest. He prepared himself to return to the others when it dawned on him.... there was no splashing. No noise of any kind. What had happened to Brokr.

Tyr turned to face the water, approaching its edge carefully, but its surface was absolutely still. This quite unnerved the slight otter. If something had happened to Brokr, there was no chance the more petite young man stood any chance. Slowly he backed away turning slightly, but unwilling to take his eyes fully from the pond. He scrutinized the area where they had all left their belongings, but to Tyr's surprise Brokr's clothes were no longer here either. It could only mean that Brokr had left, too. He was absolutely befuddled. He would have seen Brokr if he'd been that near behind.

Then he heard it. The crackle of sticks just uphill from the eastern edge of the water. Brokr was some way off, but close enough that Tyr could follow. Cautiously he followed he comrade. The secrecy was enticing. Tyr couldn't help himself but to join Brokr on this clandestine trek.

After a short while of meandering to and fro through the pines and birches they reached a small meadow. Maybe an acre of grassland tucked away in the immenseness of the trees. Tyr saw fit to duck behind a shrub and proceed deliberately so as to maintain his secrecy. He could see Brokr approach a boulder. It was large and smooth, and another stone lay at its base. The second stone didn't match the first. It appeared to have been placed their. Possibly by Brokr himself.

Brokr hadn't bothered to dress himself, though he carried the clothing with him under his arm. He seemed very at home here. This must have been the place that the elkhound regularly came after their swim sessions. Tyr could see the appeal. It was calm, and quite, and very beautiful this time of day. The light streaming in between the trees accenting Brokr's still naked body.

Finally, after taking a few moments to straighten the area, Brokr sat his nakedness on the flat stone and lay his back against the large boulder. He was facing almost perpendicular to Tyr, so it was unlikely the novice spy would be found out. Tyr took the risk of inching as close as he could to the edge of the tree line before finding the perfect spot to sit with his back against a medium sized pine with just enough foliage between them to obscure him while offering the perfect spot to see everything that Brokr was doing.

But Brokr wasn't doing anything. He was just sitting there with his eyes closed breathing quietly against the minor monolith. Perhaps this whole trip had been a huge waste of time for Tyr. Maybe he just enjoyed a moment of meditation in this verdant utopia.

Then suddenly his eyes opened and he began to look around. For a moment Tyr found his heart in his throat, certain he'd be found out. But Brokr had not noticed his friend. It must not have been anything the otter had done. Much to Tyr's relief. Then relaxing himself he began to do something. The canine began to rub his sheath. And after a moment Tyr realized what exactly he was doing. Tyr himself had done it a million times. His long time friend was masturbating. Right in front of Tyr.

He was ashamed. He had not meant to betray his friend in this fashion. To take audience of such a personal act. But he couldn't look away. He didn't understand why. Never before had he fantasized about watching anyone masturbate, but he would be lying to say he didn't want to witness it now. Tyr had seen Brokr naked so many times, but now he found himself realizing how attractive he found this man he'd known his entire life.

It peaked out slowly. It was bright red. Tyr had never seen another penis before, especially not that of another species. It was enthralling to watch. He was mesmerized by this pointed crimson erection reaching up toward the sky. The last bit of it appeared and Tyr was amazed. It was a bulb of some sort. Though an adult now, Tyr figured out just how naive he still was. He didn't know what to make of this protuberance. Was it his testicles? Tyr decide they weren't after getting a glimpse of his mates furry undercarriage, and seeing them still between his legs.

The otter had been the only one of his friends who'd had what was known as a "Sapian phallus" or Sapian penis". Apparently a common occurrence among all species, which scholars had always found fascinating and suspicious. Strange that the one thing that all species had in common was a penis. Though, not everyone had them. Dogs, cats, bats, otters, pigeons, dolphins, lizards, anyone could bear this symbol of erotic unity. Unlike most types of phallus, the sapian phallus did not have a sheath. It always dangled freely, but could shrink or grow according to the owners arousal. It did have a sort of sheath that was almost universally referred to as a "foreskin". In some cultures, however, it was common practice to cut the foreskin off in a process known as a "circumcision". This was not a practice in the north, so the otter had maintained his pseudo-sheath.

Tyr found himself lusting after that large scarlet appendage, and found his pants become full with all of that lust. The warmth in his cheeks flooded into his chest, then again into his loins. Brokr stroked himself so slowly and intently, as if to seduce his lustra companion and draw him from hiding. Tyr didn't even realize he was already unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down to his knees, underwear and all. His own testicles fell onto the cold earth before recoiling up into him until they warmed up again.

Brokr had to be at least seven or eight inches in length. Tyr wanted desperately to find out, though a bit dismayed that he, personally, only had six and perhaps one half to offer. Despite this concern he stroked while his friend stroked. He listened for his friends breath as he did so. He imagined what something like that would taste like. Imagined it filling his muzzle, and then taking it out to carefully lick every inch of it. All the way down to the knot. Seeing if he could fit all of it in his mouth and down his tightening throat.

Tyr's heart was racing with passion. He watched his friend, inspecting exactly how he held that handsome cock in his hand. Tyr had always wrapped his entire hand, including his thumb, around his cock to stroke it. But Brokr left his thumb upright. Tyr was fascinated. From here he could make out the slightest drop of precum drooling down the surface of Brokr's thirsty dick. He imagined himself licking it up and savoring whatever Brokr's pure essence tasted like. He found himself becoming more and more carnal in his desires.

Tyr started to imagine something he'd never even considered before. He imagined taking the pointed rouge spear and sliding its tip into his anus. It looked designed specifically to penetrate him. Stretching himself with that beautiful instrument of pleasure. Envisioning even that bulbous knot stretching him all the way and filling him so full of itself.

He was taken aback by this new line of thoughts. Tyr had never even conceived of someone inserting anything into their rectum before, and now it was his deepest, most intense desire. The shock of the realization slowed him down significantly. He took a moment to recover, keeping his penis erect while he readjusted.

Accidentally Tyr brushed a branch of a nearby bush with his foot and fear filled his entire being. Brokr was clearly nearing another level of pleasure when this sudden commotion drew his full attention. He jerked his head back and forth apprehensively, and then panned carefully over the entire field. Tyr held his breath and didn't move a single muscle. A part of the young otter wished his friend would see him. Wished his friend would come over and ram that gigantic crimson rod down his throat, and then proceed to do the same to his ass. Not stopping until they had both finished many times over. But Brokr could find nothing, so he returned to his recreation.

It took a moment for Tyr to relax, but he was also intoxicated by the adrenaline. As well as the thought that his friend would come over and ravage his slender body. He pondered what it would feel like to have something like that inside of him. Tyr took a mental note to practice. He wanted to know what kind of wholesale bliss he could coax out of himself with his fingers, or maybe some object with the right shape. His fingers had found his hole and begun rubbing it while he stroked his uncut phallus. His foreskin rubbing him just right as he watched this man satisfy himself.

Tyr mused about whatever might occupy Brokr's mind that could aid him in this sensual act. Maybe about Tyr himself. Maybe thinking of himself pushing into Tyr, and feeling Tyr tighten against his manhood. And Tyr wanted to feel that manhood. He wanted to know a man inside him, and feel a man being a man with him. He wanted someone to be firm and hard and aggressive with him, but also gentle and loving and kind. It was an awaking for the young adult. He was suddenly more profoundly in need of intimacy than he had ever been in his life. And again he imagined revealing himself so that he could be taken by this familiar man. Someone he knew would care for all of his needs. Someone who could satisfy all of his desires on this otter with absolute obedience.

Tyr wanted to let out a moan. A wellspring of pleasure built up inside of him, the likes of which he had never known before. Tyr had no idea he could feel like this. It was electric. It was pins and needles. It was explosions. It was swimming through a crashing torrent that ripped away every part of him and left only pure unadulterated sexual desire.

From here he watched Brokr start panting. The large dog's tongue lolled out of his toothy maw. Another thought materialized in the sprawled masturbating young otter. He imagined his legs lifted into the air by this striking masculine idol and that long flopping tongue licking his hole. His fingers simulated the action by rubbing his sphincter more fervently. Tyr felt himself pucker and loosen with the waves of intensity ebbing and flowing inside him.

He looked over again at his handsome companion at the sound of a significant moan. Almost a moan. More of a grunt really. Followed by a series of more distinctive moans. Brokr's pace quickened. His breath, the panting along with it. Tyr followed him stroke for stroke. Their breaths became as one. Tyr had known no such connection to any other soul. He was enraptured in their unanimous ecstasy.

Tyr wanted so much for this great dog to be bent over his slender supine form, thrusting himself all the way into that tight untrained posterior, nibbling at his long musteline neck. Brokr throbbed as Tyr watched, and he could almost feel that throbbing deep inside his abdomen. Every undulation coursing through his body while he rubbed himself in time with the passionate movements of his unknowing lover.

The two close friends sighed, and respired, and caressed, and felt, and writhed in concert. Tyr's eyes were locked on the strapping, handsome, strong canine man who he had so quickly developed a deep and longing desire to have. He could sense the crescendo building in both of them. He could feel it in his testes. The liquid crept quickly up his rigid vertical shaft. All at once Brokr let out something just shy of a howl as his ejaculate sprayed forth in a glorious ribbon of life-giving ivory euphoria. In that same moment Tyr found himself covered in the most extensive load he'd ever produced.

It was in this moment that Tyr hadn't considered how he was going to clean up this mess. He hadn't really considered anything up to this point. Anything except this undying need to have his friend in the most carnal, primal, and bestial way. But now that it was all over the passion had subsided, and he was left feeling sad and empty. For now it was not the sexual touch he longed for, but the sensual one. Tyr wanted to run hand through Brokr's fur, and have his cheek stroked by those large blacksmith's hands. For looks of passion and love to be exchanged, sharing eternal glances into the window's of each other's souls.

Brokr had already stood up and begun dressing himself. His hurry left Tyr feeling objectified, despite the fact that Brokr was not fleeing him, for he had no idea the otter was even present. His considerable vermillion staff already retreating into its sheath. Tyr sat perfectly still, terrified that any movement at this late juncture would spook his newfound lover. He could smell from the secluded location the faint but seductive aroma of Brokr's seed in the open soil. The scent brought yet more feelings of arousal to his now endless reservoir of sexual energy.

Dressed once more, the brawny elkhound took one more glance around and set forth on his trek back to town. Tyr listened closely once Brokr had disappeared into the trees. Waiting as the rustle of branches and the soft patter of footsteps disappeared along with him. At last Tyr was able to stand up, brushing the dust and plant matter from his rump and tail before pulling up and refastening his pants.

In the time that had passed since they'd finished their exploration of their nethers Tyr had time to figure out how he would clean himself. He'd decided that on his way back he'd just take a quick dip in the pond. It seemed the easiest solution. But for now he had other intentions. Tyr clambered across the field to the spot where Broker had been seated. His gait awkward from the straining of his masturbation and the discomfort of his prior position. He could still smell in the soil where his friend had discharged his manhood. He kneeled slightly and inhaled the air a bit. Despite producing the same secretion many times himself, this particular aroma was distinct from his own.

For a moment the otter closed his eyes and tried to imagine the flavor of it cascading down his throat. Or imagining the pressure of it filling his belly. This had returned him to the height of arousal that he'd only moments ago dispelled.

Unable to help himself, Tyr began to unbutton once more. This time dropping his pants entirely. Discarding his shoes. Removing his shirt. Imagining himself as Brokr in the place where he'd made love to himself, Tyr's penis became absurdly rigid once more. He could hardly remember a time when he'd been so throbbing with desire. And so Tyr placed himself in the exact spot where his beloved had just pleased himself and began to do the same.

Tyr was able to finish himself with enough time to make it back before dark. Walking quietly and alone all the way to the village gave him an eternity to consider what he'd just done, how he felt, debate whether it was right or wrong, and just wonder how he was possibly going to remain nothing more than friends with this now realized affection hanging over them. For now, the young man would seek out the comfort of his bed, imagine those big arms wrapped tightly around him, and fall into the peace and security of his dreams.

********************

During his return to the location where all of these feelings began, Tyr had a seemingly interminable amount of time to walk through every tiny detail of that breathtaking day. No one had caught up with him on his expedition, nor had he caught up with anyone else. Which only gave him more time to think. He realized they were all going to be naked again, and again he would be forced to do everything in his power not to become absolutely and fully erect when Brokr's nakedness was flaunted in front of him.

They'd been back to the pool many times since that day, and every time when the light cut through the forest and accented every detail of Brokr's visage, Tyr found himself overcome with lust. He found himself playfully touching his friend on the torso or the shoulder. Nowhere that would seem overtly sexual, but clearly it was enough for Mikele to notice how he'd longed for the man. Something he would have to take account of in the future.

Tyr knew it was going to be another difficult night, but he readied himself. Taking deep breaths to tamp down the sadness that had been growing inside him. He'd never realized how painful love could become when it went unrequited. Truthfully, the young man had never considered the possibility or concept of love before. His eyes had always been on the sea, and that was the place where he'd always felt he'd find love. The love of the waves. The love of the brine. The love of the gentle breeze ruffling his thick pelt. The love of the wash against his face as he played beneath surf. The love of dancing in the great ocean currents. This was the only love he'd ever known before. A love that could never fail him. A love that had always been returned.

The youthful little otter found the weight of real life pressing down on him for the first time. A great admonition from life itself. And so, he was finally becoming an adult. A thing from which his mother had always sheltered him. Ever since his father died. And he realized it was the first time since his father had passed that he had been forced to face that same feeling of lost or inaccessible love. And the burdens of adulthood were only beginning.