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A Father's Praise

Part 3

(c) 2024 Bruno Hirschkoff

*

Stillwater Cove, 1420AD

*

Bruno Hirschkoff slept late. That was unusual for the middle-aged elk; he was usually awake with the earliest glow of dawn, and beginning his day's work by the time both suns cleared the hills to the east of Stillwater Cove. The combination of the ale drunk the previous night with his sons, and the intensity of what had followed with Kristian had put him into a deep sleep. Bruno played through those events in his mind as he lay on his mattress. His heart quickened. He had not been expecting things to progress as far as they had. Being allowed, even asked, to openly inspect his son's most intimate parts up close would have seemed impossible to Bruno only days earlier. But what followed had flowed naturally, and had felt like the flood that followed the collapse of a dam.

Kristian had been so desperate for a positive touch. So eager to hear positive words, after being told perhaps many times over his young life that he had been robbed of something that most people retained by having been circumcised all those years ago. Bruno suspected that Sammael the fallow buck's comments about numbness, as simple as Kristian told him they had been, were not the only factor that caused his son to suddenly feel so inadequate in himself. Bruno made a mental note to investigate that, if it came up in conversation. When he and his twin Dieter had been younger, Bruno had made a point of being approachable on any question the adolescent fawns had, no matter how awkward or taboo it might have seemed. That openness had naturally faded as time passed, and the brothers had grown into young adults. Now, Bruno realised that perhaps he needed to reopen that doorway, at least to Kristian. And not just in matters of sex and bodies.

The elk inhaled deeply. The fine, downy fur of his muzzle still bore Kristan's scent, from where he had spilled himself across his adoptive father's face. The sight of the younger elk's exposed, shiny-taut glans pulsing and issuing forth his seed in messy sprays of slippery droplets would stick in Bruno's mind for years to come, he knew. Indeed the very anticipation of just that had caused him to ejaculate hands-free at the time; he had only just managed to yank himself out of his leggings in time, tearing a seam in the process. And the memory caused him a similar level of arousal.

After the first eruption, Kristian's second had come just as easily. Kristian had been surprisingly eager to see and compare his own against Bruno's; to talk in detail about the similarities and differences between them, and the younger elk's second climax had come with his cock pressed tightly alongside his father's within the elder elk's warm, oiled up hand. Kristian's third – and Bruno's second – had been a simpler, shared masturbation experience, with father and son laying together and observing each other's preferred techniques. Bruno knew for a fact that his scent would be in his son's fur, as well as the reverse.

In the present moment, Bruno smiled at the very recent memory. The scent, the taste, the warmth and aching stiffness of Kristian's cock in his hand, against his face. The gentle tang of sweat that rose between his thighs after his day's work, mingling with the denser musk of male ungulate. The way his hips had surreptitiously pressed forward and tilted towards his father, presenting every inch of him for inspection. For acceptance and praise. It had been the most enticing combination of vulnerability and exhibitionism.

He had been surprised to see how little skin mobility Kristian had. The younger elk was taut as a drum when he was fully erect. Bruno was both aroused by it, and felt a pang of sympathy for him; in hindsight Bruno had not realised that Kristian's propensity to rub himself raw when he was younger hadn't entirely been down to a lack of self control.

At one stage of his life, Bruno had robustly resented being circumcised, just as Kristian seemed to, lately. But with time and the affirmation of a few friends, that resentment had slowly turned into a sort of pride; a new sense of ownership over something that had been done completely outside of his control or his consent all those years before. And with time, the pride had turned into a sort of kink, for his own status. For the permanent exposure of a part of himself that nature had intended to remain hidden, protected, tender and soft—instead rendered external, dry, always on show, by a cultural practice from half a world away carried to Doregallian shores on the lips and swords of a conquering army six hundred years ago. It became a part of the elk's sexual identity, when he chose to express it.

Bruno had been stroking himself idly to his memories for some minutes already. But now he tightened his grip around the densely enervated band of his scar. He pulled backward on it, pulling his skin taut, and with his other hand lubricated by his own fluids, firmly palmed his glans with well-practiced twists and tugs. Bruno had substantial mobility in his shaft skin, unlike Kristian—but in that moment he was pleasuring himself in solidarity with his adopted son, keeping his skin held back tightly and focusing on his leathery head. Within minutes the knot of pleasure in the core of his glans bled into his groin, blooming into a burning itch, a familiar tightening of the spring. Bruno rose to his knees to spill himself into his hand to prevent worsening the state of his belly fur, releasing his glans to push himself over the edge with a practiced massage of his frenulum with two fingers. His ejaculation was deliciously slow and predictable. The dull throb from deep within him sent pulses of warmth forth to jet lazily into his other palm, and the elk watched it issue forth as he had done so many thousands of times before. Then, before he could change his mind or be repulsed by the thought in the aftermath of his climax, he licked his palm clean.

*

Both Dieter and Kristian were already awake, dressed and downstairs by the time Bruno made it out of his bedroom.

Dieter looked decidedly hungover, sitting at the table with his head in his hands, while Kristian seemed, if not his usual chipper self, less brooding and withdrawn than he had been for the preceding weeks. Kristian averted his eyes in what seemed like embarrassment when his gaze locked with Bruno's. Determined to not allow awkwardness to enter their home, Bruno stepped in and embraced his sons one after the other, as if it were any other morning, knowing that Kristian would be able to smell what had just occurred upstairs clinging to his hand and groin.

“Dieter was just about to go and buy bread for our breakfast," Kristian said to Bruno, “but I think he should probably go back to bed, instead."

Bruno squeezed Dieter's shoulder, eliciting a groan from him.

“Aye, that sounds appropriate. I'll go and buy bread, shall I? Dieter, drink as much water as you can manage. Don't worry, you'll piss out your headache in no time."

“He's been trying that," Kristian grinned.

Bruno laughed softly, and he and Kristian shared a protracted glance. It spoke volumes. Acknowledgement. Acceptance.

…Arousal?

Bruno looked away first, and Kristian gave him a knowing wink. Bruno collected the soft basket he used to carry food, and stepped outside.

*

It was a peaceful morning. People on the street outside walked with less urgency than they did on a working day. There were far fewer hand-carts, runners and labourers, and the people who were out were in little hurry. Bruno's short walk to the bakery was slow, with repeated stops to speak to people he knew on the way. Bruno knew a lot of people. And at the bakery itself, he stopped and spoke with Thym the baker and his wife Auno, and their three daughters. The eldest, Tanellye, was marrying Stoyer, the son of a master mason Bruno knew well. But there was friction in the families; Thym and Auno wanted a hand-fasting in the temple of Amel, while Symas the mason was demanding a wedding at the Great Hall of Bezar. Neither family would settle for an Arahanic ceremony in the cathedral. Bruno suggested a Dreambinding at the temple of Dytaea, but that had about as much appeal to the worshippers of Amel and Bezar as the 'new' Arahanic faith, which was broadly considered to be corrupt and lazy, not to mention hypocritical in its simpering denial of the pleasures all knew that its priesthood indulged in.

So, it was almost a full hour before Bruno returned home with two cob loaves from the bakery, a bag of blackberries from a Dytaean initiate, a stick of butter and a comb of honey from the beekeeper, in a small unfired clay pot sealed with waxcloth.

Bruno shouldered open the door and stepped back inside his home brandishing his purchases, and announced; “My coinpurse is empty but my larder is full!"

Kristian, who was sitting at the table drinking a herbal tea he'd found in the market made from some exotic flower or other, burst out laughing such that tea came out of his nose and he choked. Dieter was nowhere to be seen, and Bruno assumed he had returned to his bed to sleep off his hangover.

“Well," Kris said, once he'd regained his breath, “I know your coinpurse is empty; most of it is still on the rug! And by the smell of you before, probably on your mattress also."

“As is yours, my darling son," Bruno retorted cheekily, depositing his produce basket on the table and rummaging through it.

“Aye, but mine recharges a good bit faster than yours, old man."

“You would be surprised," Bruno said thoughtfully, unloading his basket onto the table and reaching for a knife to cut thick slices from one of the loaves.

“Oh! You bought honey! What did we do to deserve that?" Kris said.

“Does a father need an excuse to dote upon his sons?"

Kristian stared at Bruno intently.

“Haric the apiarist was at Thym and Auno's bakery plying her wares, I couldn't resist. She had a young Dytaean initiate with her too, which is where the berries are from. Here, butter those bread slices for me, we'll add the berries and honey and cook them over the stove."

Kristian's mouth watered. It was a luxurious breakfast. It must have cost as much as their usual whole day's food. The bread was still hot in the centre from the baker's oven, and the butter melted into it as Kristian spread it.

“Amel's underskirts, this is… erotic…" Kristian said, licking his lips.

“Aye, I thought it would be. It is Ysion's Day, and the midsummer feast is only a few weeks away, so there is plenty of indulgent food around from the early summer harvest," Bruno returned. “What are you intending to do today?"

“Thought I might hang around at home and polish my knob all day," Kris said with a cheeky grin.

“Well you spent several years doing just that, so I cannot bring myself to be surprised."

“What about you?"

“I was going to hang around at home and polish my knob all day," Bruno returned, gazing intently into Kristian's eyes with a carefully neutral expression.

Kristian burst into laughter, and threw a blackberry at his father, who caught it deftly and popped it into his mouth.

“I treasure you, old man," Kris said drily.

Bruno grinned. “I know. But really – I need to wash my tunics and repair my leggings, and I think all of our mattresses could benefit from being aired out. I can smell yours from here."

Kristian's ears flicked backward and he performatively sniffed his armpits, and then lifted his tunic to sniff his groin. “Aye, point taken. I shall visit the bathhouse."

“It's not a dirty smell, Kris. Just a… very masculine scent. Mine gets the same way."

“A small house full of male Cervids was always going to stink a particular way," Kris laughed, “particularly considering the openness you always instilled in us growing up."

“And we have no need to own socks, other than for our cocks," Bruno pontificated, and then improvised: “Let it fly, let it be free; grab your knob and cum with me!"

“You should be in the theatre circuit, not the carpentry guild," Kristian said sardonically.

“Aye, there's the truth of it. A great talent, lost. Alas! But truly, Kristian—what you said about openness. That has not changed, you know? I am always here to talk about anything at all. You are my son and I love you dearly. I may not always have the answers but I always have an open ear."

Kristian did not reply, but he did briefly and tightly embrace his father.

The two of them ate bread, butter, honey and berries, and Bruno took a plate upstairs to leave beside Dieter's bunk for when he felt recovered enough to eat. Then Kristian took his leave. Between the Hirschkoff home and their neighbours, a small bathhouse integrated into the building's stone ground floor served the half-dozen families in the row house. It was a common thing to find across regions of Asantrea which had once been within the expanse of the Heladian Empire during its latter stages, either as direct possessions or vassal states. Naturally warm springwater from beneath the ground was piped to the surface and flowed constantly through the hundreds of private and semi-private bathhouses around Stillwater Cove, with the overflow directed into sewers that carried privy waste away from the town.

The bathhouse was empty when Kristian entered. It was a small space, with walls and floors made from stone to withstand the humidity and light drawn in from the outside through small windows set high in the walls. The constant trickle of water echoed from the walls, and two above-ground baths brimming with clear, slightly metallic-scented water all but filled the space. Kris divested himself of his tunic and pants, sniffed the crotch of the latter experimentally, then sat on the edge of one of the baths to swing his hooves over and into the lukewarm water.

*

Lukyan followed Sammael through the maze of narrow streets and alleys between shops and houses. Stillwater Cove was relatively quiet and unhurried as a whole, though even moreso on the official day of rest. The two men walked with languid tranquillity. Sammael paused at a street vendor's stall which was jammed into the entrance of a tiny squeezeway between two houses whose upper floors were mere inches apart. Sammael purchased sweetnut rolls for himself and Lukyan, which made their hands and faces sticky by the time they were eaten. Lukyan directed them towards a street corner water fountain which flowed with the same springwater that fed the city's bathhouses, and they washed the sugary sweetness from their fur before continuing on their way.

“Does Kristian live alone? What is his situation?" Lukyan asked, suddenly realising that he'd never thought to ask.

“Oh, not at all," Sam replied. “He and his twin brother Dieter were raised by their uncle, and still live with him. They and I have a lot in common, in truth; we three, Dieter, Kristian and I, are disconnected from our past in some way, and have carved out new lives for ourselves. It's…a common enough story, I suppose, but the commonality of our cases strikes me."

“I can relate to that, more than you know," Luk said quietly. “Why were Dieter and Kristian raised by their uncle?"

“I cannot answer that, my friend. I do not believe even they know their whole story. Kristian and I first met at the Hairy Fig, actually. Well, in truth, outside of it. As youths, peeping through the windows," Sam mimed a masturbatory action.

Lukyan barked with laughter. “Aye, I know that much! You've told me that before. It still occurs; just last week Rhell was telling me she had to chase away a young donkey lad who'd taken an interest in her from precisely that, and propositioned her in the street—rather bawdily, as you might imagine Rhell's description to be."

“She really does have a particular touch with Equids, doesn't she?"

“Among others, yes. When I first met her, I was equally enamoured," Lukyan said.

“Oh really? Have you fucked her?"

“When she requests," Lukyan said silkily. “Although it's probably more accurate to suggest that Rhell fucks me."

“Well now you have my curiosity. You will need to regale me of these adventures later. But for now…turn to your right, Luk."

The two men had arrived at the coast, to a haphazard jumble of wooden and stone buildings that spilled over the revetment wall and were crowded on the constructed boardwalk between the docks and the mouth of the canal. To their right, a promenade curved northwards along the coast, lined with both row houses and free-standing cottages, all of them bleached by the salt spray and sun.

A few hundred paces along, they passed through a small public square lined with tiny shops and street vendors and with a water fountain at its centre emerging from a copper pipe embedded within the bole of a. Shortly beyond it, Sammael paused at a grey stone and half-timbered house, with latticework windows, a wide oak door, and an intricately carved insignia of an elk's head, carpenters' hammer and axe over the lintel. Beside it was carved “Hirschkoff."

Sammael knocked on the door.

Moments later, the latch lifted and the door swung silently inward, only to be replaced by an equally stout and solid figure; a middle-aged elk not far short of seven feet in height not including his enormous antlers. Bruno peered out through his silver-rimmed spectacles at the two visitors, and thoughtfully stroked his braided beard with an enormous hand. His densely furred thighs were bare, his modestly preserved only by his belted tunic, and behind him Lukyan could see his leggings – under repair, evidently – on the table. He stammered something incoherent.

“Sammael! Well met. And good day to you… you are?" Bruno rumbled, gazing at the wolf.

“Dytaea's blessings to you, Bruno – this is Lukyan, a friend of mine and Kristian's. We were hoping to see him, if he is around?" Sam replied. “Luk, this is Bruno Hirschkoff, Kristian's uncle."

“Uncle and father both, aye. Kristian has told me of you, Lukyan."

Luk's mind whirled. He felt intimidated – he had not been expecting Bruno to be so imposing, even if they had crossed paths. But then the enormous elk's muzzle split into a cheeky smile and one of his eyebrows raised.

“You are just as pretty as he said you were. Come in, come in. Kristian is bathing next door, but you are welcome to wait for him to return. Do not be a-minded of my immodesty, I am simply repairing a split seam in my leggings," the elk said, stepping back from the doorway and ushering Sammael and Lukyan inside.

The decidedly ungulate scent of the Hirschkoff house hit Lukyan like a bucket of water to the face, and he tried his hardest to prevent his nose from twitching as he followed Bruno and Sammael inside and shut the door. He supposed he should be well used to such smells, in a region like Rhocarn whose populace was overwhelmingly Cervid, Caprin and Equid.

“Has… has Kristian been… himself? Lately? He has been a little distant and withdrawn from his friends, we were hoping perhaps to talk to him outside of our usual meeting places," Sammael said.

“I have noticed as much, also, and last evening he did eventually appraise me of the situation, after some ale-lubricated coaxing. So I am aware."

Sammael's ears flushed hotly and he averted his gaze. “Ah."

Bruno clapped him firmly on the shoulder and invited both Sammael and Lukyan to sit. “Worry not, I am not troubled. Although this was perhaps not a conversation I would have anticipated only a few months ago. All of us—Kristian, his brother Dieter and I—are…similarly equipped, a somewhat unusual thing for these parts, and it is not unexpected that someone would be as fascinated by that as Kristian says you are."

Sammael's eye fell to Bruno's groin and his ears pricked forward. Bruno noticed. That eyebrow raised again, and the elk flipped up the front of his tunic momentarily to expose his manhood with its distinctive exposed head and scar-ringed shaft. Sammael bleated in shock.

“It's not that ugly, is it?" Bruno laughed.

“No, I… was not expecting that!" Sam replied. “Show me again, I didn't see it properly."

Bruno roared with laughter. “I can see why my son gets along with you, you are similarly humoured!"

Lukyan looked as if he was about to evaporate. Bruno fixed him with a penetrating stare. Was there a backstory to Lukyan of which he was unaware?

“So… what more did Kristian say?" Sam prompted. “I don't mean to pry into a private conversation, but I am simply hoping to understand why something I said may have upset him."

“Aye, your comment about him being numb?"

“Ahh, he told you that," Sam said flatly.

“Of course. We are a very open family, particularly after a couple of ales," Bruno grinned.

Lukyan's mind wandered. The dynamics between him and his own father were exceedingly dark, and the wolf struggled to reconcile Bruno's casual openness with him being a father figure to the ribald and extroverted Kristian. The wolf was beginning to think he should not have come, as long-suppressed memories of his father, the Arahanic Bishop of Bàgh Saffir, pricked at the background of his consciousness. Bruno seemed to read this, and made a conscious effort to tone himself down for Lukyan's benefit.

“I may have suggested to Kristian that you did not mean it in a pejorative way, Sam," Bruno continued. “That perhaps the difference between you is a point of excitement or arousal for you, that he may have misconstrued? And, I highly doubt that your comment on its own was the only thing that caused him to suddenly become so distressed."

“Are you always this perceptive?" Sam said.

“Not always. But I have some experience, and the look in your eyes earlier told me more than you think it did. May I offer you some friendly advice?"

“Of course."

“Praise him."

“What?"

“I am sure you know more than I do about the particular intimate sensations and actions Kristian enjoys," Bruno lied, “but if you make any comment about his lack of a foreskin, phrase it positively, rather than something which could be interpreted as Kris having lost something you retain—besides the obvious, of course. Tell him what you like about it, not about how it is less than your own, which I assume has not been cut."

Sammael processed that slowly and nodded his antlered head. “That is… exactly how I intended my comments to come across, and how they usually do. When I said that he is numb compared to mine, I meant that I enjoy how much friction I can apply to him, I find it very arousing."

“I happen to agree. From experience, someone who has developed the view that they are lacking in that area will tend to respond very positively to knowing someone is aroused by them they way they are. 'Worship' is a strong word, but…"

“From… experience?" Lukyan hedged, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.

Bruno just smirked at the wolf, and tapped the side of his muzzle with a finger.

Lukyan swallowed heavily, a surge of arousal causing his heart to pound in his chest. Bruno's inference was that Sammael should worship Kristian's cock. The wolf's mouth watered at the thought. But not only that—the way Bruno was so open, and the way the elk stared at him, filled Lukyan's mind with overwhelmingly erotic thoughts. He felt himself harden in his clothing. He knew Bruno could see it. The elk was staring squarely at the rising peak, and Lukyan's hands trembled with an urge to present himself to the older man, to submit to his every sexual desire. To be used. The wolf whined quietly. He could feel dampness in his loincloth beneath his leggings, and clenched his muscles tightly, causing his erect member to bounce and emit a jet of slickness that oozed through both layers of fabric.

Sammael and Bruno were chatting amicably until that moment. Now there was a protracted silence. Lukyan felt a knot of shame in his guts, and covered himself with his hands.

“Luk, are you alright?" Sam said, reaching to squeeze the wolf's hand. Then, to Bruno: “Must be the scent in here, it is…"

“A house full of male elk, yes. I can see that Lukyan is struggling a little. Do not feel bad if you need to leave, I understand. Kristian is in the communal bathhouse between this house and the next, which you can access from the street."

“Well I'm thoroughly enjoying the scent in here," Sam said.

“Evidently."

At that moment, Kristian returned from the bathhouse, nude but for a fresh linen loincloth tied around his hips and tucked upward beneath its own string at the front to form a pouch. His fur was damp, since their bathhouse lacked a drying room, and he paused in the doorway in surprise at seeing the wolf and fallow buck in his house.

“Ahh, here he is," Bruno said. “Sammael and Lukyan only just arrived, Kris, they were searching for you."

Kristian deposited his wet and evidently freshly washed tunic and pants over the drying string hung across one corner of the common room, and Sammael rose. He slid past Bruno, pressing a small folded piece of paper into the elk's palm, before greeting Kristian with a kiss to his cheek. Sammael's arm snaked around his hips, and the fallow unashamedly pressed into his friend in a warm embrace, his other hand laid flat on Kristian's lower abdomen.

“I have missed you," he said quietly.

Bruno chuckled from behind them, and returned to sewing up the torn seam in his leggings. It was a laborious task for a carpenter, whose horn-tipped fingers were thick, callused and ungainly. Lukyan saw this, and moved towards Bruno.

“Sir, would you allow me? I am good with needle and thread," the wolf lilted, his voice quavering.

Bruno gazed at the slender, obviously troubled wolf, and decided it would be good if he had something to occupy his mind. The elk handed over his leggings and the needle and thread, and Lukyan gave a thin smile.

“Kris would usually be the one to repair clothes around here; he's a rigger down at the docks and does a lot of repair work to sails and such. Good with your fingers, aren't you son?"

“If only you knew how good, old man," Kris retorted sassily from where he sat, legs akimbo, opposite his father across their table. Sammael made a quiet noise of affirmation.

Bruno bit back an equally ribald response, and instead rose to his hooves to offer his seat to Lukyan. “Well, you came to see my son, not me, so I shall take my leave to allow you boys to discuss what you need to discuss. I shall be next door bathing."

Sammael maintained his silence only until Bruno was outside the door, and then exhaled in a snort of laughter.

“Oh come on Sam, you can't tell me you're surprised by his behaviour," Kris chuckled. “You've met him on plenty of occasions. He actually behaves very politely around you, you know."

Lukyan's ears flicked upward then back, and he sewed carefully. “I apologise for my behaviour," the wolf said. “My relationship with my father was… nothing like yours. I suppose it is nice to see, but I cannot help but be beneath the shadow of my own memories. They… rise to the surface in shameful ways."

Kristian stood and moved behind Lukyan. He placed his hands on the wolf's skinny shoulders. Lukyan tensed.

“I don't know much of your history, Lukyan, but I apologise if we have made you uncomfortable."

Luk slowly relaxed with a sigh, and tilted his head back to rest it on Kristian's chest. “Not at all, my friend—it is I who is in your home, you should not be expected to stand on ceremony for one such as I."

Kris allowed his hands to slide around Lukyan's chest, and hugged him. The wolf nuzzled into Kristian's dense, damp neck ruff, then resumed his sewing.

“Kris…" Sam began.

Kristian and Lukyan both looked to the fallow. He squirmed.

“I… your father and I spoke briefly, while you were in the bathhouse. About… things that have happened lately, and comments that I have made that caused hurt they were not meant to."

One of Kristian's ears swivelled forward, and he raised one eyebrow in exactly the way his father did. “Oh? My father and I… we uh… spoke about that, too, last evening. He has given me a new perspective on it, and allowed me to think of it differently."

Sammael looked visibly relieved. “That is… that is a good thing, I hope."

“Oh aye, that it is," Kris smirked.

“Good enough that you may wish to join us at the Fig tonight?" Sam hedged. “Properly, this time, now that you know the intent of my comments about your…"

Kristian's eyes narrowed.

Lukyan reached up to cup Kristian's cheek. “Worry not, Kristian—he is the same way with mine, perhaps even moreso. He's obsessed with it."

Kris blinked. “You have had yours cut, too?"

“I thought you knew that!"

“Perhaps someone mentioned it," Kris said, shooting a look at Sammael, “but I had forgotten. You and I have never been together, not directly anyway."

“Not completely unclothed, anyway," Lukyan reminded him. “We have definitely humped and ground together several times in groups in Dytaea's Harem, but always within some kind of clothing. Like you, I enjoy the friction."

Kris breathed in deeply. “Alright, I am convinced," he said. “I will be there tonight."

*

Lukyan, Sammael and Kristian remained together for the remainder of the day, and after leaving the Hirschkoff home, Lukyan seemed to be less troubled. Sammael invited his friends to visit the Dytaean temple, which was a little less than an hour's walk from the northern fringe of Stillwater Cove. The three arrived in time for the midday meal, and Sammael ensured they were all fed. Kristian had brought a flute, and after the meal entertained the children of the sylvan temple with lively jigs and reels he knew while they danced and cavorted around him. Sammael helped to gather and bind the new thatching for the granary while he was there, to save him needing to do so the following day. Lukyan, with his decidedly Arahanic appearance and garb, entered into a philosophical discussion with a Dytaean priestess.

The temple made all three men feel welcome, but it was home to only one of them. Towards the end of the afternoon, Lukyan and Kristian sat on a sunlit hummock just north of the temple complex, looking over its thatched roofs and the circle of standing stones that measured astronomical time.

“It's peaceful enough," Kristian commented to Lukyan. “But I'm surprised by how agrarian it is."

“Well, the Dytaeans do live entirely out of the forest. That they have some crops growing at all is unusual, I'm told. Further north, out in the Aethyrfiodh, the true sylvans live in near total isolation in their temples, according to the priestess, to commune with the Bringer of Dreams."

“I've heard the orgies are wild," Kristian grinned.

“As have I," Lukyan admitted.

“But there is something appealing about the grime and debauchery of a really good city, is there not?"

“Aye, I can't deny that. Stillwater Cove hits a nice balance, I think. Not all cities are as accepting, nor as easy to live in as yours," Lukyan said. “I am grateful that I no longer live in Fràwic, or in Ealgith's Landing where I was born."

“Sam told me you were born in a convent."

“Well… close enough to Ealgith's Landing. My father was… is… the Bishop of Bàgh Saffir."

Kristian fixed the wolf with a long, heavy stare. Much of Lukyan's demeanour suddenly seemed to fall into place. And indeed, the way the wolf had reacted to Bruno.

“And your mother?" Kris asked gently.

“A young novice at the abbey. She was cloistered as soon as it became known she was pregnant—and to whom—and to my knowledge she has not left the convent since. I was raised in a small monastery some miles inland, over which my father maintained total control. You must promise me you will keep what I have told you a secret, Kristian. I should not even have told you."

“You have my word," Kristian said without hesitation. Then; “with all respect, Luk, the Arahanites are bastards. Hypocrisy, violence, slavery, blackmail, rape… yet they preach harmony, chastity, peace, love, acceptance and succour to the poor?"

“I am very well aware of the stark divide between the scripture and the practices of the organised religion, Kris," Lukyan said, a very faintly strained edge to his voice. “I used to dream of rescuing my mother from her cloister, of whisking her away to a better life away from my father's goons, who both raised me and kept her silent. I tried, once."

“What happened?"

“I still bear the scars. Then it occurred to me that the better life I could offer her was probably even more dangerous than the one she was in. I had been raised to be a… a plaything for the most perverted of my father's adherents. Silent, subservient. I knew no other way to be, yet I was punished relentlessly for any expression of sexuality that was not at another's demand. Then after I absconded, I was taken in by street whores in Fràwic, and became one myself. I was barely surviving. And a bishop is nigh untouchable. He is protected by so many layers of intrigue that he can get away with most anything, with impunity. To get away from his reach, my mother would have to relocate far, far away – and the safest place for her would be in another convent."

The gravity and magnitude of Lukyan's words was not lost on Kristian. The elk sat in silence for a moment, gazing at the pretty wolf, and then simply shuffled closer and slid his arms around Lukyan's slender waist, carefully resting his head on the wolf's shoulder. Lukyan tensed momentarily. His vulnerability in that moment stood in stark opposition to the way Kristian generally perceived him.

“The bishop of Dwr Llonydd up at Sparrowforge is no ally of Bàgh Saffir, I've heard," Kristian murmured. “Perhaps Sparrowforge Abbey would be an option?"

“I have no contacts there," Lukyan said, and then fixed Kristian with a stare. “How in Arahan's name would you know that?"

“I and my father have contacts there. I used to assist him when he was called upon to help repair one thing or another at Sparrowforge, or to oversee teaching the monks their own carpentry skills. The Stillwater Cove medicars are specialised monks who rotate out of Sparrowforge – in the old days they'd have been Ysionic monks, now they're Arahanites. At least one of the medicars is on good terms with Breckner Finch, the astronomer who lives right here in the Dytaean temple. Have you ever discussed any of this with Sammael?"

Lukyan stared long and hard at the elk, and Kris met his gaze with honesty and compassion.

“I can't make any promises, of course, but let us quietly begin to ask around, yes?"

Lukyan felt as if he had badly underestimated Kristian—had seen him as a similarly hedonistic creature to Sammael, while here he was exhibiting an impeccable grasp of the competing spiritual forces of the region, and its worldly geopolitics, tempered and balanced by a level of empathy that somehow left Lukyan feeling wholly inadequate. Yet at the same time, Lukyan's deeply embedded trauma pushed forth an intrusive demand that he allow Kristian to use him as a sexual toy. To appease him and justify his friendship with pleasure. With an effort, Lukyan suppressed the urge to express his gratitude with his hands, and his mouth, right there and then.

“Why? You barely know me," Lukyan said, ears pinned back.

“Then let us change that, too," Kris said with a smile.

“I… I think I should like that, Kristian. A lot," Lukyan murmured.

For the briefest moment, their muzzles brushed alongside one another, when Kristian leaned in close to leave a soft kiss on the wolf's cheek, and a gentle squeeze to his hand. Lukyan's heart almost leapt out of his chest. The elk was captivating. Intelligent and wise well beyond his youth, with compassion and tenderness beneath his ribald exterior. Lukyan had only experienced that once before—and that had been Rhell, who had 'adopted' him and still paid his retainer at the Hairy Fig.

Some minutes later, Sammael emerged from the inside of the granary, covered from head to hoof in dust and streaked with sweat.

“Hie! You two layabouts! Get off the barrow, would you? It's disrespectful!"

“Barrow? What barrow?" Kristian said.

Lukyan looked around, and blinked several times. Then he rose to his feet as if he'd been bitten.

“Kristian? We have been sitting upon a burial mound. Come, Sammael is right, we should not disturb the dead."

“Well I certainly am glad I didn't piss on it," the elk grumbled, as the pair of them descended to come face to face with Sammael.

“Oh ugh, Sam, you smell like Bezar's hoof-pick."

The fallow grinned. “Aye, hard work will do that! See? I'm more than just a pretty face and a wild fuck, Kristian. Now, shall we head back towards the Fig? I need to bathe yet again, and there are no better bathhouses than the Fig."

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