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A Fèidh's Folly

Chapter Three

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

August, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

As Caerwyn approached the stream, its gentle babble offered a brief respite from the chaos within him. He set his leather journal and belongings on a nearby rock, hesitating as if the weight of his thoughts made every action more burdensome. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting shifting dapples across his fur.

Undressing, he waded into the refreshing water, feeling its cool embrace invigorate him. He submerged himself completely, the icy touch washing away the remnants of his shared intimate encounter with the red deer doe. As he surfaced, droplets dripping from his muzzle and whiskers, the stream's whisper seemed to echo tales of the forest and its inhabitants. Yet, he felt a disconnect – what once was a clear and melodious note, now seemed... slightly out of tune with himself and his senses. His thoughts were consumed by the enigmatic doe and their unsettling – albeit very pleasurable – connection they seemed to be forging.

Emerging from the stream, the water sluicing off his russet pelt, Caerwyn felt a deep weariness settle over him. His journey had taken unexpected turns, leading him into new and fascinating places in the forest – but the sensual pleasures of the doe and her willingness – no – her eagerness to share herself with him, whilst unexpected, provided a sensual and pleasurable addition to his wilderness wanderings.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the woodland, a shiver prickled his fur. His mind chided him for his anxiety.

You're being silly, a mere fawn. Your senses and magicks are sharp. There's nothing within leagues that could harm one of the Fèidh – especially one studying to become a Maester.

Despite his mental reassurances, the unsettling sensation persisted. “I need to seek counsel from the Elders,” he muttered, his determination thinly veiling his uneasy sensations.

*

Returning to the village, the quiet rustle of fallen leaves beneath his cloven hooves accompanied his contemplative thoughts. As he neared the village edge, he paused, shaking his head as if to clear the wandering thoughts in his mind. Nodding at the sentries, he passed through their protective magickal barrier, then he paused mid-step, his left cloven hoof slowly lowering – it was almost as if he had been sleep-walking. His thoughts swirled back into full awareness, as he looked around then shook his head slowly.

“I've been overextending myself, that's all - “ Caerwyn muttered to himself.

Little did he know, but the resolve to consult with the Elders was wiped from his mind, like a young Fèidh would clear their slates at the end of a days lessons, leaving no trace of the desire or memory to do such.

Caerwyn's gaze wandered over the familiar sights – the homes of natural materials, the soft glow of lanterns casting their comforting light, illuminating the winding cobblestone pathways throughout their village. Around him, the fellow Fèidh moved and spoke in quiet, respectful tones, some giving him a gentle nod of acknowledgement, as was befitting a young Maester. Again, his mind wandered – replaying the past encounter with the young red doe – the pleasure building and building within him, until he shuddered and forced his mind to focus, less he gather more attention than he already had – a few glancing sideways at him, their nostrils detecting his heightened aroused scent.

As he made his way to his private domicile, his thoughts once again returned to his earlier encounter. The once calming nature of these encounters began to trouble him. He knew it wasn't strictly taboo, but it wasn't exactly encouraged either. Fèidh was meant to breed true to Fèidh – it was their way, it had been their way, for millennia.

What is wrong with you? His mind turned on itself, asking a question Caerwyn could not answer. Did you hurt her? Did you force yourself upon her? No, so stop being so concerned! You and her have a beautiful, consensual relationship, whilst the Elders wouldn't understand, so long as it harms no one, wherein lies the problem?

“Where indeed...” Caerwyn muttered to himself, a slight smile creasing his lips. “What they don't know, well – they have no right to know, do they? It's not like I return from the forest, her scent all over me, I take precautions and...”

A part of him longed for the wisdom of the Elders, but he feared their reaction if they knew of his semi-taboo actions. One Elder, whom Caerwyn suspected had his own youthful indiscretions, had offered him wisdom and leniency, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit – a link back to his own youthful misdemeanours.

Inside his home, he lit a candle and sat by his desk, gazing into the flickering flame as it cast long, dancing shadows on the walls. He focused his mind on the flame, letting it draw his gaze and focus as he sought the deep, meditative state that'd help him to focus and attune himself to the natural world once more.

So he thought...

The doe... the warmth of her body, the look in her eyes as we consummated our mating – the intelligence I saw in those dark, brown orbs – how she... she...

His body tensed and his hips snapped forwards, knees colliding with the table and knocking the candle over as it sputtered and drowned in the spilled wax. None of this mattered, as his head tilted back and he uttered a low, moaning groan. His fingers wrapped around his engorged length – from which thick, powerful spurts of his ejaculate spurted. It spattered over his chest, easing back to a dribble that ran down over his fingers, leaving them slick and sticky.

He gasped, his eyes snapping open like a pair of window shutters in a summer storm. His lungs ached like he'd run the width of the forest and back again and his whole body shivered in post-orgasmic lust – his nostrils flared and he could swear, he could smell the doe's scent... until an errant cool evening breeze tore the scent apart.

With a shudder, Caerwyn looked down at himself, his inner ears flushed with a mix of shame and disgust. The once clear lines of his thoughts had become tangled, leaving him grappling with an inner conflict he could not fully understand.

*

Caerwyn cleaned himself up, then stumbled through the rest of his evening, his thoughts in disarray. Echoes of his internal struggle reverberated through every quiet moment. Once comforting routines of his life seemed to mock him now, each familiar sight or sound a reminder of his increasing disconnect from his own values and obligations.

Yet he remained oblivious to this – in his mind – it was as it had always been, and would for centuries to come.

He immersed himself in the simple tasks of his daily life – preparing a light meal, tidying his home, and tending to his few personal items. Each task brought satisfaction in its repetition, his movements were automatic, his mind elsewhere, caught in a tumultuous whirl of growing lustful thoughts and unwanted desire for that which he knew he should not.

As he finally lay on his crude cot, the coolness of the night caressing his fur, it provided little solace. Sleep eluded him, and he found himself soon staring up at the ceiling, haunted by fragmented images of the doe and their recent encounters. Her dark eyes, the warmth of her touch, the very intoxicating scent that seemed to invade his thoughts, unbidden and persistent.

He tried to reason with himself, attempting to compartmentalise his feelings and dismiss them as mere distractions.

It's just a phase, he told himself. It's not a serious issue. I'll move past this. It's not like it will affect my duties or my path to becoming a Maester.

As the night dragged on, the weight of his earlier actions pressed heavily upon him. Guilt gnawed at him, mingling with a strange sense of anticipation he couldn't quite place. His dreams, when they finally came, were vivid and unsettling – twisted reflections of his waking fears and his carnal desires.

*

As dawn broke the following morning, the village was awake and going about its routine as it always had. Caerwyn awoke with a startled gasp, drenched in sweat and feeling both physically and emotionally drained. He shuddered, then forced himself out of bed, determined to push through the day despite the lingering effects of his troubled, restless night.

He made his way to the central gathering area, where the other Fèidh were preparing for the day's activities. The usual bustle of routines and interactions seemed somehow distant to him, like a faint echo of a world he not longer was truly a part of.

As he approached the communal area, he saw the doe – her presence immediately catching his eye. She stood at the edge of the village, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Her dark eyes seemed to pierce through the mundane reality of his surroundings, drawing his attention irresistibly.

Their eyes met, and Caerwyn felt a familiar, unsettling pull. He managed a smile, though it felt forced and hollow. The doe flicked one of her beautiful ears, her lips seeming to smile back at him, curving in a way that seemed both innocent and knowing. Her gaze lingered a moment longer before Caerwyn startled, feeling a gentle touch on his forearm.

When he looked up again, the doe had vanished – almost as if she'd never existed, to begin with...

“Maester Caerwyn?” came a quiet, feminine voice.

Caerwyn blinked and looked slightly down at the young maiden Fèidh who stood before him. He blinked, his fogged mind taking a moment longer than was comfortable, to remember her name.

“Fiachaire --” he began, then trailed off.

Fiachaire blinked, gazing up at him with a look of admiration and concern. “Maester, are you alright? You seem... distracted.”

Caerwyn shook his head to clear the lingering confusion. “Oh, yes, young Fiachaire. Just... a bit of a restless night, I suppose.”

Fiachaire's eyes softened with understanding. “I hope you find some rest soon. If there's anything you need, please, let me know. I'm here to help.”

Caerwyn gave a small, appreciative nod, though his thoughts remained preoccupied by the mysterious doe. “Thank you, Fiachaire, I will.”

Fiachaire offered him a reassuring smile before turning to continue her own tasks. Caerwyn watched her go, a lingering unease settling over him as he tried to refocus on the day's duties, yet his mind continued to wander and distract him.

*

Fiachaire and Caerwyn walked to a quieter corner of the village, where the jubilant sounds of the fellow Fèidh and the celebrations were softened by distance and buildings, to a manageable murmur. The bustling activity of the festival faded, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant flicker of lanterns.

Fiachaire's gaze remained fixed on Caerwyn, as she delicately sat on a bench, tucking the hem of her skirt against her ankles, as was customary and socially expected from a maiden. Her eyes sparkled with light and love, replaced soon with a look of hope and nervousness. She took a deep, quivering breath, gathering her courage before speaking. “Maester Caerwyn, I wanted to apologise if I seemed forward before. I did not mean to cause you discomfort.”

Caerwyn sat next to her, gently taking one of her paws in his own, covering her smaller one with his other one and holding it tenderly in an expression of friendliness and comfort. His eyes looked at her with a gentle, albeit distracted, smile. “You needn't worry, Fiachaire. It's always a pleasure to see you. How can I assist you?”

Fiachaire's inner ears flushed slightly at his response, but she pressed on, her voice steady despite the way her heart fluttered in her chest. “Actually, Maester, there is something I've wanted to discuss with you, something quite personal.”

Caerwyn, his thoughts still clouded by the doe's lingering influence, sat beside her. He took her paw gently, his own paws trembling slightly. “Fiachaire, you honour me with your words. What is it you wish to discuss?”

Fiachaire's gaze remained steady, though her ears twitched with nervousness. “Maester, I have cherished the idea of spending my life with you. Would you consider taking my paw in hand fasting? I know it may seem sudden, but this festival is the right time for such a request.”

Caerwyn's mind struggled to focus, the weight of her proposal crashing against the confusion stirred by his recent encounter with the doe. He searched for the right words, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Fiachaire, I am deeply touched by your proposal. This is a lot to process, especially with everything happening right now. Please, allow me a little while to meditate before I give you my answer.”

Fiachaire's ears slumped, her face a mixture of relief and disappointment. “Of course, Maester. I understand. Please, take the time you need. I simply wanted to express my feelings and ask for the chance to build a future together, should you feel the same, of course.”

With a soft, encouraging smile, she rose and lightly licked him between the eyes, before stepping back and giving a graceful curtsy before turning and walking away. The warmth of her emotions lingered in the cool evening air, mingling with the festival's joyful sounds and smells.

Caerwyn watched her retreat, his thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. The festival's celebration seemed distant now, overshadowed by the gravity of Fiachaire's proposal and the unresolved turmoil within him.

As the festival's lights flickered in the distance, Caerwyn found himself sitting alone, lost in thought. The lively sounds of the celebration seemed to fade into a distant murmur, overshadowed by the weight of Fiachaire's proposal. He stared at the flickering lanterns, the soft rustle o the leaves In the gentle evening breeze a soothing contrast to the emotional and spiritual turmoil that lay within him.

Quietly, he returned to his private quarters, where he lit a fresh candle and settled into a contemplative pose. His room was lit only by the candle, that cast long shadows across the walls. Caerwyn reached into a leather pouch and withdrew some herbs, which he sprinkled over the candle flame. As they burned, he took a deep breath, letting the herbs do their work and he began to focus on the candles flame. It cast an almost hypnotic glow, drawing his gaze as he tried to make sense of the emotions swirling within him – both physically and spiritually.

He relaxed into a meditative state, his mind no longer a part of his physical form. In this state, he allowed himself to reflect on Fiachaire's proposal, the sincerity in her eyes and the depth of her feelings. Her request had been a bold and heartfelt one, and Caerwyn knew his response could shape not only her future, but his own path. He considered the implications of accepting her offer, the societal norms of his people, and his own desires.

Yet, every time he tried to focus on the practicalities of their potential union, his thoughts were hijacked by memories of the doe. The passionate encounters, the intoxicating scent, and the inexplicable pull she had on him all seemed to cloud his judgment. He wondered if his own desires were steering him away from what Fèidh society and he himself, knew was right and true.

He let himself slip deeper into the very fabric of the world around him, his spirit free and unencumbered by his mortal self. The familiar sensation of merging with the natural world enveloped him, like slipping into a comfortable robe. Yet, tonight, there was something different. What was once a seamless transition now felt awkward and strained. The magicks he so often sought to connect with seemed distant, their usual warmth and harmony replaced by an undercurrent of resistance.

As Caerwyn reached out with his spirit, attempting to attune himself to the flowing energies of the natural world, and by extension, his own Fèidh magicks, he felt an unusual hesitance. The magicks – normally eager and responsive – now seemed to recoil slightly from his touch, as though sensing something was amiss. It was not a full-blown rejection, but more of a wary awareness, as if the very essence of the world was on edge, unsure of his presence.

He tried to deepen his focus, to re-establish the familiar bond with the Fèidh magicks that were so intrinsically tied to the light and purity of nature. Instead, he found the usual smooth flow of energy disrupted – like someone had dropped a large boulder into the stream and the magicks were the water that now found itself disrupted and turbulent. It was as if an unseen force was subtly pushing back against him, creating a barrier that he couldn't quite breach.

Despite his efforts, the sense of being observed or judged by the magicks grew stronger. He could feel its awareness, a faint but persistent recognition that something was out of balance. It was as if the very magicks he sought were sensing a disturbance, an amorphous, indistinct influence encroaching unnaturally on the natural order.

The more he tried to align himself with the Fèidh magicks, the more he became aware of this subtle dissonance. Around him, the energy seemed to flicker uncertainly, their usual emerald green clarity now marred by a barely perceptible darkening. It was not fully defined, but the unease it brought to his heart was palpable, making the meditative state he was in feel tenuous and fragile.

As Caerwyn withdrew slightly, trying to recalibrate his connection, the sense of disturbance lingered. Fèidh magicks remained cautious, their warmth and harmony not fully restored within him. The once comforting presence of the natural world now felt slightly distant and wary, reflecting the growing influence of the dark presence that had subtly entwined itself within his own essence – a blending he was oblivious towards.

He retreated from his meditative state with a sense of nervousness and unease, his spirit feeling a lingering chill that contrasted sharply with the usual serenity he found in this connection wit the Fèidh magicks. As he emerged back into his mortal consciousness, the discomfort remained, a silent reminder of the dark threads now woven into the fabric of his life.

TO BE CONTINUED...