FSE

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It was a warm morning on the arctic tundra. Despite the loudsome blizzard that had battered the land the previous night, the current wind slapped the unprotected skin like a veil of silk, so distinct from the shivering waves that had flooded the woods and plains hours ago.

Likewise, the nival terrain flared as if it were a very fragment of the blazing sphere, threatening to sear whatever eyes tried to admire the beauty of nature.

Only two things came close to match the unexpected glare of the Frostscape: the crackling embers of a campfire and the nettled gaze coming from a pair of mirrorlike eyes of a certain monstress — gaze latching on the man heating a reindeer’s thigh.

That sharp stare sweltered the human more than any flame could do.

Marek just finished placing the cut meat on a flat rock, the latter suspended by chopped logs above the burning wood — given he was also cooking for Sigrid; since a lump of meat on a stick would not be enough to sate her, Marek opted to use a heated stone as a skillet.

A pair of minutes would be required before the meat began to sizzle, so Marek had no other choice but to sit cross-legged and wait, all while enduring the uncomfortable thread of silence between him and his disgruntled partner, the latter nestled at one corner of the house.

Ever since Sigrid had instructed — or, to be more accurate, demanded — Marek to prepare the breakfast, she had abstained from emitting the least of noises, relegating herself to hatefully survey the cooker while sat, wings hugging her sides and knees pressing her chest.

Will she stay like that all morning? For the first time since their dispute concluded, Marek looked at the owl-wolfess’s face. Sigri’s eye shrank into slits in response. What to say? What to say?

“So… how did you fare yesterday?” Marek asked quite awkwardly. Sigrid merely emitted a low growl and sharpened her gaze.

“I see…” Marek averted his eyes for a short time, and a hand rose to scratch his bruised cheek, whose throbbing sensation was practically gone. “Still upset?” A tame bark reached his ears. “Yeah. I guess it’s fair… But you say you want to help me, isn’t that right?” This time, he picked up a short-lived shrill. “Look, I deserve your disdain and physical abuse, perhaps even more than that, but not talking won’t facilitate your task in helping me.”

The owl girl said nothing, but discontent remained clouding her visage. She twitched one ear and then gyrated her head, steely, blue eyes now staring at another spot in that wrecked hut.

Marek could only sigh in dissatisfaction, going back to watch over the meat, which barely hissed and gave off the smell of roasted flesh. Calming down women was not his forte, or the forte of most men, for that matter.

And it seemed that monstresses were as puzzling as their human counterparts.

Uneasy about Sigrid’s silence, he supported his head with one hand and started to rhythmically tap the side of his lower face with his fingers, all while his eyes remained glued to the heating rock.

An unnerving amount of time went by, and a whisper broke the silence. “I didn’t find him.”

“E—?” The unexpected cheep startled Marek to the point that his jaw almost slipped from his hand. “W-what do you say?”

“Madak— Madakai. I failed to hunt him down.”

That accursed name made the fighter’s brows wince. With everything he had gone through, Marek almost forgot about the vampire’s existence. “Couldn’t you catch his scent?” Marek asked Sigrid, who turned her eyes back to the speaker. Marek thought she was about to scowl at him for speaking, or worse, to punish him with more silence. But against his expectations, he erred. “He has no clear scent. He is rotten… yet he has no smell of the dead, not like the ghools do.”

An uncertain grimace manifested on Marek’s face.

“I only detected burned ghools,” Sigrid continued, “and dead beasts with fang marks on their neck.”

“Burned ghouls,” Marek echoed, rummaging through his limited knowledge about undead stored in his memories. “I… I heard that the sunlight scorches the undead like acid and fire,” the she-monster at the corner blinked and inclined her head. “If that is true, which seems to be the case, then our flowery friend only moves during nighttime,” Marek hummed for one second before keeping up, “Madakai must be hiding during sun hours.”

The spotless wings on both Sigrid’s sides loosened their embrace, bad temper apparently evaporated from her strigine mask. A wood crepitated, and Marek’s attention moved to the reindeer’s meat. Marek drew a dirk and skillfully manipulated the steak with the metal, flipping it over to ensure evenness.

“He said he wanted the sword,” Sigrid commented, and dark-brown eyes adjusted on her once again. “And you are certain he knows your location because the metal tells him so. I concluded he was going to look after you before trying to attack Võshla or any other settlement.”

Her conclusions had a solid basis. Because of the scene of Sigrid’s near-death experience stinging his mind back then, Marek had opted to discourage her company from leaving his side; therefore, the possibility was not evaluated at all by Marek.

“Knowing your ailment, I realized you could not survive an encounter with the vampear, even with your fighting ability. Despite leaving a bitter taste in my beak, I couldn’t bring myself to leave you alone.” Marek’s face softened after hearing these words. “When tracking Madakai had no success, I went on your search; with a blizzard passing by, sleeping under a tree was no option. The stars moved, and I found the raptors, not taking me much to detect the smell of blended blood. The closest village was Tysai, so I went there and spotted you inside a shack.”

Sigrid briefly squeezed her knees against her front and hardened her expression. “I was— I am angry at you, at the lies, at your stoopidity, at your roodeness. Honestly, I wanted to smack you,” Marek screwed up his face and raised his hand to his nape, guilt swelling inside him. “But… When I saw you again, you were wrapped in your clothes, shivering, like a bird that had separated from its nest and mother. So defenseless. So lonely…”

Man, that surely made me look pitiful.

Sigrid took a pause to sigh a whistle. “Your trip is nonsensical, but it is the outlet for your declining situation, or so I understand. Ultimately, I chose to join you again.”

“So... will you accompany me to the Icing Boundary?” An owlhead nodded. “What will happen with the wyrm? Doesn’t it terrify you greatly?”

“Hissing Wing remains most of the season dwelling in its lair. I will make you company until the Icing Boundary, but I… I’m not prepared to face it; it will destroy me before I get to peep. The most important thing is preventing Madakai from snatching your sword. He couldn’t stand against the two of us with the ghools following him; now that he is alone, the vampear doesn’t stand a chance.”

That was a very logical evaluation, Marek had to admit. Although he wanted to argue about what would happen if he failed to kill the dragon, Marek assumed that Sigrid was tired of his pessimism and decided not to bring up that detail.

“Marc,” the she-chimera tenderly vocalized.

“Yes?”

“If I can show you that you thrive through the Arctic without needing that awful blade of yours… that it is no longer needed. Would you be eager to get rid of it?”

Marek pursed his lips. He despised Dalavut due to provoking the demise of his mentor — a sentiment that soared anew after the vampire’s resurrection — but given his healing magic, he wanted it fastened to his belt. He tried to get rid of it in the past, but the need to survive forced him to dig up the longsword.

But if Sigrid could give him the safety he coveted, undressing the blade from its scabbard would be unwarranted. Yes, once he felt confident in reaching the Icing Boundary and returning to Grætøh, there was no reason for the sword to keep existing.

“From the Icing Boundary to Grætøh is a long way back… would you tag along with me back?”

Sigrid flashed a fond, bird-like smile. “Gladly… as long as there are no more lies or insults like ‘featherhead.’ Also, you will listen to me from now on. In fact, I will be in charge.”

Chuckles arose from Marek’s guts. “Those are fair conditions. No hard feelings for the jerky behavior?”

“Mmm…” Sigrid cooed at the same time she quizzically cocked her head from one side to another, eyes closed. “You will not get away from my discontent that easily…” She opened one eye and peeked at Marek. “But that meat… Its scent is inviting. Perhaps if it tastes good enough, my rage could disappear… for a twinkling.”

Marek released a feeble snort. “Be my guest. The thigh should be ready; get close and take your share. I’m a cook, not a waiter.”

Sigrid jumped out of her corner and scrambled toward the campfire, her tail wagging lazily during and after finishing her short bolt, giving away her now growling happiness.

How Marek had missed that perky and jumpy side of that unique avian entity.

Using one of his daggers, Marek impaled one of the chunks, the biggest one, and flung it toward the avid owl-wolfess. Completely ignoring the heat emanating from the reindeer’s flesh, Sigrid caught the flying meal with her beak, grasping the poking bone of the meat for further support.

The cute display drew a grin on Marek’s face, who likewise inserted the food into his short weapon and began to bite and chew.

At the beginning of the breakfast, no individual uttered a word, and the only noise hovering in the chill air was the feeble chumps of Marek’s mastication and the brusque crunches of Sigrid’s razor-like peckers, occasionally producing a snapping sound caused by shattered femur.

The relaxing quietness would not last, as one dubiety arose within Sigrid. “Hey, Marc,” a shallow hum indicated that the eating human was paying attention, “You said the dragon was my worst nightmare,” Marek stopped chewing, one of his cheeks puffed a bit, “but I do not remember telling you that.”

It was unnecessary to add more words to that sentence: it was clear to Marek that the monstress wanted to know how he knew that. Marek swallowed, licked his lips, and offered an explanation: “Well… what kind of individual living in the Frostscape doesn’t fear a dragon? It was a reasonable guess, don’t you think?”

Narrowed eyes indicated to Marek that Sigrid was not satisfied with that answer. “No more lies, Marc. Just tell me.”

“Very well. Imbi told me so.”

“She did… that means she knew the goal of your journey from the beginning, right?”

“Correct.”

Sigrid’s stare shifted to the clear sky for a few twinklings and then landed back on Marek. “She told you to tell me that lie, isn’t that right?”

Marek did well in hiding his surprise at Sigrid uncovering Imbi’s ulterior motive. He felt that he was about to break a family bond. However, he examined the owl girl’s expressions in more depth — she did not give an air of suffering from betrayal. “She did. It was her idea, actually. She also gave me a series of guidelines on how to treat you.” Marek lowered his gaze to his free hand and began to count his fingers. “It shames me to confess that I failed in following every single one of her rules… if I get out alive from all this, she may put a price on my head.”

Sigrid only blinked at first, mulling over the fact that her foster mother weaved a web of deception aimed at her. As the seconds advanced, her snowy face contorted and her ears twirled to point backward. A shrill then stirred the destroyed abode. “That hag! She tricked me again.”

“I’m sor— wait, again? ” The measure to appease the potential outrage of the she-chimera died before it could touch the air.

“Yes! Again! She had tried to kid me in the past,” Sigrid puffed her cheeks and ruffled her tuft, “and had succeeded…”

“Does… does that happen often?”

“A couple of times. She has arranged ‘meetings’... of me with settlers and adventurers.”

“I see… wait. Are you telling me she led people to you! ”

“Imbi likes to… probe hoomans. To know how they react to my presence. A veteran traveler. A trader. Outsiders. She latches her wrinkled eyes on unaware hoomans, and then she leads me, based on promises of gaining a friend, somewhere to meet them.” Sigrid averted her eyes, her expression sour. “The results are rather fruitless. Only Ankarl had met her expectations.”

Marek’s mouth hung open, lower jaw slowly tilting to one side, all while Imbi’s words rang in his thoughts.

I was eager to see how she reacted in your presence.

It all makes sense now, Marek ruminated. I was a testee in her machinations. She played me for a fool… twice. And she is supposed to be a spokeswoman! The Gods protect us all from the politicians.

Having meditated about the spokeswoman’s many tricks, Marek got to close his mouth. “Well… we may complain about her misdoings, but thanks to her, we got to know each other formally.”

Sigrid turned to Marek. “Yeah, but… she caused us an unnecessary headache.”

“Neh. My whimpering provoked most of the drama. Better let it die and wither. No case of crying over spilled milk. If any, if she even tries to exile me or something based on not following her rules, I’ll bring up her lies. And perhaps slander her, saying she is indeed a hag.”

“Hm! That is going too far, Marc,” protested the she-monster, who refused to harm her foster mother’s name despite the latter deceiving her more than once.

Marek merely snorted. “Too far, isn’t it? Guess I’ll only limit myself to extorting her.”

Sigrid huffed through her nostrils, still not in agreement with Marek’s plan, although she did it while showing a bird-like half-simper.

Once the duo shared the needed laughs after their last day’s dispute, the meal continued with relative quietness. When their stomachs were sufficiently stocked, Marek saved the leftovers, but unfortunately for the chimera, they had to leave half deer on the snow.

With the device fastened back to a cloaked back, both left for the rustic road to the Icing Boundary, Sigrid leading the reduced party of two.

But before leaving the ruins of Tysai behind, Sigrid halted and stared at a particular mass of ice — the undying testimony of what had occurred on that pacific hamlet.

Unconsciously, Sigrid raised her claws to her upper arms, and her wings embraced her flanks as if she were looking for comfort.

“Sig?” A human voice intruded in her thoughts, and her ears perked erect, gyrating her head back to the cloaked man who went ahead. “Is something the matter?”

“N-no…” she was about to turn her head back to the monument, but stopped herself. “Let’s move… this place gives me shivers…”

Sigrid recovered her heading position and marched, eyes never again turning to see behind. Only the man stood to cast a last look at the work of the dragon’s breath before trailing behind the owl-wolfess.

————————————————————————————————————————————————

The odd duo moved as the blazing sphere repositioned on the cloudless sky.

There was about half a day of daylight left, but there were no clues of the weather worsening any time soon, easing any rush Marek could possess. The climate was not only soothed that day — even beasts seemed to take a break from harassing helpless roamers at that part of the Frostscape.

At one point, both travelers paced past a peak and, as they advanced further, discovered a tarn bearer of a tumbling waterfall surrounded by a region stripped of trees, a bed of sizable rocks marking the boundary between the crunching soil and the liquid. In that very location, Sigrid stopped, and so did Marek once he noticed his partner’s halt.

Lupine ears waved around as nostrils taciturnly snuffled. Afterward, Sigrid surveyed the sky, one wing above her head to shield her eyes against the radiance. She churred softly the whole time.

Marek stood silent, hands locked on his waist, one brow arched as he tried to decipher what Sigrid was trying to do.

“Yes… this place will do,” Sigrid murmured, more to herself than to her associate. She then rotated her head in the direction of Marek. “We stop here. We need to do something before keeping up.”

“Don’t tell me you want to preen yourself?” Marek finally said.

“I always want to preen myself. Bathing is amazing, even better than chasing critters.” Marek’s only response was a snicker. “But the reason for the break is not me.”

“And what reason would that be?”

“Do you remember how I found you on Tysai?”

“Yes, you discovered the dead raptors and deduced my location.”

“In part. I also mentioned your scent. The smell of several types of blood smears your clothes.”

“Yeah, I’m not skilled enough to slay my attackers without tainting my clothes with their fluids,” a set of arms folded in front of Marek’s chest. “Is that a problem?”

“You see, well… It smells quite disgusting. I can bear the fragrance of raptors, wolves, and wargs, but the blood of ghools is still stuck with you.”

“Well, you have to forgive me. I left my cologne back in another nation.”

“Not sure what a ‘coloan’ is… but worry not! We can fix that wicked aroma.”

Marek lifted his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. You only need to preen yourself, clothes included, and the bad smell will disappear. Easy enough, right?”

Marek’s expression went blank for a few blinks — an expression that immediately ruptured with scoffs and snorts. “Yeah, sure. I’m going to submerge in bone-dulling waters.”

For a moment, Marek expected Sigrid to burst into a chirpy laugh and then complain at failing to play him a fool, but as Marek awaited, Sigrid only blinked and cooed, and it was then that the warrior realized she was not joking.

“You jest, right?” He had to make sure. “The bloody waters would give me a stroke.”

“The waters are not bloody, no blood taints them. And you are whimpering again. Come on, Imbi has told me that the males of your kind like to bathe in waters like this.”

“Assuming that is not another invention of our favorite speaker, we are talking about deranged northerners, Sig, and they are used to taking those senseless dips.”

“And Marek Blakesley can’t get used to chilly baths because~,” Sigrid began to chime.

“Because I’m not a blockhead like most citizens that live in this wasteland.”

“You keep whimpering, Marc~. You better seize this time to bathe. The light is intense, and you, along with your clothes, will dry in no time.”

“Oh, give me a break, Sig. Is my smell really that revolting for you to pressure me into taking a dip in gelid waters?”

“The bad smell is the least. You attract predators. If I can detect you, don’t you think wargs and manticores could as well?”

Marek raised a finger and opened his mouth, ready to offer a rebuke, but the memory of the manticores sniffing at the air crossed his mind. If his scent had been stronger during those moments, they might have needed to repel at least four pairs of jaws with blades and talons.

One last survey from Marek was cast into the small lake, the rumble of the falling water ringing in the fighter’s eardrums. He had no choice, right? Besides, he gave his word to Sigrid that he would listen from now on.

A gloved hand reached up his face to rub it, and he snapped back at Sigrid next, his mien devoid of joy. “Fine,” he dropped his rifle close to Sigrid. “Put this in a spot that lacks moisture. I’m heading to the bloody lake.”

“Yey!” A peep announced Sigrid’s triumph over the stubborn human, wings bouncing semistretched above her head. This was her first victory over the difficult man.

Marek moved past the joyful chimera, the latter hopping from one foot to another as she took the device, rear appendage flapping with vigor.

Tail-wagger. Marek approached a boulder looming at the edge of the pond while his fingers maneuvered to undo the knot of his cloak. The monstrous garment slipped off his shoulders; longcoat, gloves, and vest followed in short, the fabrics creating a pile atop the rock.

Marek then proceeded to unbutton his undershirt, but he stopped upon feeling an imaginary sensation on his nape. He tilted his head and half turned to glance at a monstress prying at his undressing form.

As brown and bluish eyes collided, chimera and man blinked in unison.

“Eh… do you mind?”

“Not really, no,” she chirped.

“Well… I do, so... can you… turn back while I unclothe?”

“Don’t know… can I? ” Sigrid teased, quite smug. Marek’s eyes twitched in exasperation.

Giggles followed, and Sigrid had to move a wing to her beak to muffle her noises. “Imbi was right. Hoomans had an extreme necessity of wrapping their bodies in fabrics. They really do feel vulnerable without them.”

“Is not so much about standing naked, but to stand naked in the middle of the Arctic… with someone of the opposite sex closeby.”

“Oh~. Do my ears catch a troll’s rumble? Marek Blakesley is ashamed of showing skin in front of a critter.”

An irascible groan rose from the depths of Marek’s gullet. “Perhaps attracting predators is not as terrible as I initially thought.”

“Hee. You are so grumpy, Marc.” After cheeping in amusement a couple of times more, Sigrid turned around, satisfying Marek’s desire for privacy. “Well, disrobe yourself. The more you hesitate, the less time the warmth will last.”

Marek kept glancing at Sigrid’s back for five or so seconds before finally going back to stripping, but not without issuing a sigh. He knew Sigrid could half-circle her avian head, causing his distrust to kick in. However, given that his travel companion was someone whose only worry was not to get killed by the monsters that plagued the tundra, Marek saw no reason for Sigrid to spy his naked silhouette.

Continuing with the labor at hand, Marek removed his shirt first, the belt with all his weapons, boots — which also stored a blade within — pants, and, finally, underpants. Marek stood in one of the most dangerous ecosystems on Gebaten as exposed as he was on the day he was born.

He was not the most ripped man, but his frame lacked fat, and his muscles were well-defined. His complexion was toasted, leaning to muddy pink that glared with the celestial sphere’s rays. Several scars, with variable shapes and sizes, were engraved on his body.

I should only worry about keeping my neck secured, not exuding pleasant fragrances. Such stupidity.

A last glimpse above his shoulder confirmed that the she-monster was indeed respecting his intimacy. But keeping his nether parts concealed from prying eyes was the last of his problems — the immediate matter was to submerge in the frigid liquid.

As his feet stood where the chilly ground met the water, Marek contemplated his reflection on the surface of the tarn — a reflection that reminded him of his nakedness and how the arctic wind induced rapid waves of trembles all over his sunkissed skin.

“I don’t hear ripples~,” sang a voice at Marek’s back.

“Don’t dare to pressure me, woman!” I swear. This is her payback for what happened two days ago . After yelling that complaint, Marek locked on the water. Here goes nothing. Marek pinched his nostrils and, with no further hesitation, went into the water.

Upon hearing the splash, one ear twitched back, and Sigrid half spun her head to pry and make sure Marek had indeed plunged into the lake. For the next twinkling, nothing happened; Marek’s body was nowhere to be seen, and Sigrid decided to trot to the shore to make sure he did not hit his head with a rock or anything similar.

Her worries dissipated as soon as a human arose from the depths. “Fucking hell! It stings! ” The human was wailing as if his body was undergoing torture. “This bloody p-piece of gl-lacier— a-and everything that— that lives in— curse them all! Curse. Them. All! ”

Sigrid’s steely eyes latched upon the outburst, her mark showing signs of amusement. The blasphemies continued for nearly one minute, at which point the intensity of the outcries lessened as the effects of the breathtaking, icy waters kicked off.

“Cu-curse a-a-all thi-is cr-rap! Se-eolvor give-e me str-str…” Marek’s voice began to crack, arms wrapping around his upper body in a pitiful attempt to bring warmth to his shivering body. “J-just… da-da-damn this pl-ace…”

“Easy. Easy. Marc.” Marek’s head wriggled round at the source of the voice; his teeth chattered to the point that he could hear the frantic clack. “You did it. You conquered the arctic waters!”

“Sc-screw-w y-your-urself yo-you bi-bit-bch…”

“No. No~. What did I tell you about the insults~,” Sigrid’s singsong voice did everything but quell Marek’s vexation, who issued an undulant hiss. Had his entire body not been numb and rigid, he would have lowered a hand to cover his crotch since the water, crystalline and practically unperturbed, did a negligible job at concealing his manhood.

In any case, Sigrid did not seem interested in what lay between his thighs. “Now,” she continued speaking, not caring much about the fighter’s misery, “we just need to take care of your clothes.” She scurried toward the pile of clothes, but it happened that her hastiness triggered Marek’s ‘screwup’ alarm.

“St-top rright there-re! What— what do you-ou th-ink yourr abo-t to-to do?”

“Hm?” Sigrid hooted, a mound of clothes lifted by her arms. “Throwing your clothes at the lake, of course. How else do you expect to get rid of the awful scent?”

“B-but do not t-throw—,” a squelch noised, and the water stirred, “—all o-of them-m…”

Sigrid brushed her claws in satisfaction. “Aaand they are wet. Would you like for me to enter and help you clean—”

“ No! You ir-irration-nal peeper!” Marek bellowed and threw his arms above his head. “You just flung m-my entire-re set. I needed-d to-t keep dry-y, at t-e very least, my underpa-pants and shirt!”

“But how else would you do to get rid of—”

“They weren’t that filthy!” Through sheer anger, Marek briefly broke out of his shivering state. “What-t I’m su-supposed to do while-le they dry-y out!”

“W-well…” Sigrid suddenly lost her confident aura, dimly aware that she might have fumbled in that one action. “Just… erh… stay in the lake... and er... wait until they are no longer wet. Yes… yes! Problem solved.”

With a quivering jaw and contorted upper lip, Marek shot daggers at the monstress on land. “Sig…”

“Mm?”

“You-u just killed m-me… You fu-fu-fucking kil-led me.”

Silvery, blue eyes blinked a couple of times before the owl-wolfess shouted a high-pitched yelp. “Heeh! You sure whimper a lot, Marc.”

There was no comeback — Marek was too cold, naked, and world-weary to utter a sharp response.

————————————————————————————————————————————————

Following Sigrid’s mischief, Marek wasted no time and moved off to wash his wearings. The man soaked, scrubbed, and wrung the textiles, sending them off with Sigrid as soon as he finished, the eager she-monster hanging them on branches exposed to the beams of warmth.

With the task of washing already complete, Marek only had to wait for the moisture to vanish from his silk and leathers — all while sunken in liquid frost and butt-naked.

Marek prepared himself to stand against the absolute zero of the void, but the merciful be the Gods, who had smiled upon him that day: Sigrid’s forecast turned out to be accurate, and the sun blazed with comfortable radiance, aiding Marek in his fight against his shivers. He was far from adapting to the piercing sensation of the waters, but he at least was confident in bearing more than three hours immersed.

The minutes ticked by, and another problem clocked in — the very glitter that fought his shudders threatened now to overheat his unprotected skin. Marek had to swim underneath the shadow of a boulder to prevent potential sunburns. That the ex-mercenary had to venture into the most glaciated place on the planet and how he had to be wary of a prospective sunstroke was an irony not absent in his head.

With the temperature issue pushed into the background, only one concern lingered: preventing curious, avian eyes from glancing at his nudity. It is not like Marek felt awkward about his state of undress — those were the insecure sentiments that invaded the youths — instead, he was more concerned about his ‘human manliness’ igniting Sigrid’s ingenious interest.

Incidentally, he was not in the mood to talk about dimorphic traits — that was Imbi’s responsibility.

Nevertheless, Marek had to convince Sigrid not to join him in the lake; it was no easy task given the monstress’ fondness to swim, but after some protests, the she-chimera reluctantly conceded and let the man have time for lone modesty.

In the meantime, Sigrid scooted around in an attempt to appease her boredom, occasionally finding a critter to chase. But tediousness eventually had won over Sigrid, and she returned to Marek, chirping and complaining like a child proscribed from using his father’s tools.

The naked human, whose nerves were throbbing because of the monstress’ unsteadiness, let Sigrid use the waterfall to shower herself. The chimera received the allowance with excitement, scuttling toward the falling waters.

Unbeknownst to Marek, he just added another detrimental task to his waiting. He was wrong to consider stomaching the cold and sheltering against scorching light demanding labors — taking his eyes off the showering silhouette of the bipedal owl turned out even more daunting.

Sigrid had the preternatural talent to transform into a magnet for his eyes the moment she was soaked. Similar to what happened two days ago, her wet fur flattened against her curvy body, revealing the beautiful female beneath the strigine and lupine beast.

The streaming waters were no longer present to obfuscate Sigrid’s lower body, and her entire form glistened because of the lucent water and sparkling light. A couple of her nipples popped out of her snow-white coat, and the outline of her muscle sprang from several parts of her body — biceps, shoulders, back, thighs, calves, and, why not, buttocks — all these features allured Marek for him to give them the deserved focus.

The monster took the breath of the man, and the Gods, most of them merciful, sent their lightrays from above to distract Marek’s orbs from glancing at what rested on Sigrid’s groins. Marek would have loudly gasped if a glimpse of her sex was caught by his eyes.

Brainless Blakesley, thriving in this godforsaken place, filled with freaks whose only desire is sucking your blood, and your immediate concern is checking out tits and arses… and of a nonhuman no less!

It was not until Marek noticed the long-neglected swelling of his manhood that he comprehended he needed to cease his shameless ogling at once or risk losing any dignity left in him.

Nevertheless, his body had an agenda of its own, and no matter how many times he averted his gaze, his eyes adjusted back at the singing and self-rubbing lady as a sunflower bud tracked the blazing sphere.

What if the world is wrong with you, Blakesley? Did that old, childish enthusiasm for monsters intertwine with your lustful cravings? Didn’t Aurelio blast you enough to forget about that ridiculous admiration of yours?

Sigrid looked like she was dallying on her cleaning task, with no hint of ending shortly, for Marek’s mixed discomfort and growing libido. Oh, give me a break! Why does she keep doing that? She seems clean enough!

“Hey, Sig,” Marek called, his voice impassive, masking seamlessly his inner tumult.

An avian head spun, “Mm? Do you need something?”

“Could you go check my clothes now? The temperature has been decreasing, and my body is turning crisp and wrinkled like a raisin.”

“O-Oh! Indeed, give me a breeze while I shake off the water.” Oh, thank Seolvor.

Sigrid withdrew from the bottom of the waterfall and crouched to four limbs, immediately shuffling her body and wiping the moisture out of her slim figure. Once free from the heavy layer of dampness, Sigrid’s coat puffed, and most of her womanlike features once more hid away from prying gazes.

Marek had to sink the lower half of his head so his sigh of relief could only be perceived as bubbles. What a pathetic man you are, Blakesley.

Not a minute passed, and Sigrid approached the rock against which Marek leaned. “Your clothes are almost free of water, but both pants feel a bit damp,” Sigrid cried from where the garments hung.

“Darn it… It has been over one hour. I can scarcely feel my lower half.”

“Just a little more, Marc. You can’t risk catching another sickness,” a groan resounded across the tarn. “Let’s just… sit and sing as the time passes.”

“Curses…” Marek settled one elbow to the side, beginning to stress out.

A ripple joined the environmental chant as Sigrid sat and immersed her legs seven feet from where Marek rested. In short, silky white legs began fluidly swinging in the water, rising and sinking whilst she whistled a tune according to the movement of her limbs.

The legs’ dangle was gentle, causing the least of sounds, and her head tilted from one side to another, her ears bobbing as they followed the piping beat, which was now riding the ripples of the pond. The grumpy man had to acknowledge the singing was relaxing, and even his stiffy posture slacked.

The man shut his eyelids and exhaled, trying to brush off the sense of gelidity along his undesired carnal drive, which was already draining away. Just another couple of minutes like this… I can deal with it.

Eyelids lifted open, and Marek peeked at the singing owl-wolfess, the shine of her eyes hiding behind her pristine membranes adorned with frizzy eyelashes. Her visage was like a carpet of marble; despite her dehumanized features, the movement of her cottony ears and the jingle of her crooked, smooth beak could express more emotions than any other human he once knew.

She looked so tender, so carefree, so innocent. But more than anything, she was gorgeous, not only in the sense of an exotic tiger but also in the maidenly sense. How could he even consider willingly leaving her side? Truth be told, Marek felt safer and warmer naked at her side than armed to the teeth while alone.

A subtle smile blossomed on his face, all his being completely absorbed by the she-chimera.

A droplet landed on his cheek, and his eyes were drawn downward to the moving legs of the monstress. The long and milky lower limbs were slender and marked by muscle lines, evident thanks to the dripping liquid — and how could they not? These trotters could impel the owl-wolfess several feet into the air.

Her calves were marginally shorter than humans’, relatively speaking; Marek guessed to give space to her stretched heels. Sigrid did not walk on her soles; she ‘tiptoed,’ her entire weight supported by her tootsies. And addressing her toes, they had the characteristic pads of the canids, and on Sigrid, they always looked immaculate — not a particle of dirt spotted her feet.

A leg rose from the surface and remained lifted above the surface for a couple of seconds, and her toes, all of them equipped with satin claws, almost ivory-looking, that protruded from their ends, wiggled aloft. They were alluring and cushiony, and Marek wondered how pleasant to the touch they felt—

This again?! For Seolvor’s sake, Blakesley, these are hardly human-looking!

It seemed that not even the extreme temperatures of the most gelid territory on the continent were enough to cool down the heat spreading across Marek’s cheeks — and other lower regions, for that matter.

It turned out that Marek had a slight inclination towards women’s benders. When he was young — and, according to him, brainless — he always fancied the barelegged, exotic dancers. The ladylike chimera might not be a dancer, but she struck the human as exotic and had grams for days.

Some habits were harder to get rid of than bad grass.

Marek barely noticed that the birdlike melody faltered, too busy pondering over his lewd thoughts and how improper they were. He shifted his gaze to the head of his associate. A wave of mortification struck him when he noticed blue orbs were directly observing him, an avian head cocked to the side in curiosity.

Crap! She saw me ogling her! Flustered, Marek broke eye contact as fast as possible and quickly tried to retake his usually indifferent air. Needless to say, he failed woefully, his awkward face and visible gulp being evidence enough.

“You know, I did notice you stare a lot.”

“Y-you think-k so?” Marek stammered, and in this instance, he could not blame the cold for causing that.

“Yes. You did it right now, also while I bathed, and two days ago.” Marek’s face twisted as he suppressed a squeak from escaping his mouth. Did she notice back then? “Now, now. I know I’m a novelty for hoomans, but you have been seeing me for several days now… so why the eyeing? Why? Why?” Sigrid looked at the sky and scratched her neck, all while trying to uncover that not-so-secretive enigma.

Marek could not tell if she actually grasped the meaning behind his stare and was teasing him or if she genuinely did not understand the reason for the continuous gaze.

Shit. Is she really aware of what I did? No way Sigrid is that clueless. How could she react? Will she hate me? Abandon me? Will she tell Imbi about my behavior? If she does, sure as death I’ll be banned from setting foot in any civilized village across the Frostscape for a life!

“Could it be…” Marek’s irises shook inside his orbs, uncertain how Sigrid would react to his sin, “that my aura is the reason you keep staring at me?”

Human eyes widened in disbelief; she really failed to get the meaning behind his immodest survey. Or did she?

“I-I… that is— er, well… I don’t…” Still choked by bafflement and shame, Marek could only spit nonsense. How do I start explaining what I did? There’s no way I’ll tell her I was staring at her feminine attributes. But I really don’t want to give birth to another lie.

“Marc? Are you alright?” But would it be a lie? Perhaps she actually did enchant me. It had happened before, so why not? No, bullshit! Think, Marek, Think! Previous instances only left me baffled, not horny! How probable is it that her presence suddenly made my dick go stiff? Wait, crap! She said something, and my ears listened to nothing! I have to say something at once.

“Er, em, well… perhaps it’s that. It’s a p-possibility.” An ambiguous, half-response? Yes, that should work for now. Not a blatant lie nor a proven fact.

“Ooh… so it was that,” she hooted, and Marek’s entire being relaxed. Notwithstanding, Marek could not ignore that Sigrid’s tone carried a hint of discomfort. Was it irritation? Disgust? Disappointment? Marek just dodged a bolt, and thus, he would not linger on how he did it. “S-sorry, it was not my intention.”

“It isn’t your fault, if any, I’m the weak-willed.”

Sigrid only issued a hoot, and her eyes focused on the water. Regardless of whether she believed Marek, she abstained from pushing the matter.

Marek stroked one side of his face, one last gesture to dismiss the leftovers of the latter situation. However, as soon as his hand uncovered his eye, he noticed that Sigrid’s view retrogressed at him, or more specifically, at his front. Marek knotted his eyebrows together, confused at first, but then the remainder of his nudity flashed into his mind, and one hand moved down to cover his loins.

“Em— T-those scars… were they caused by that war you mentioned?” Sigrid inquired, her demeanor quite sheepish. Eh? Right. Of course. She is just interested in your old wounds, you sick. In the end, you are a foreigner, and your complexion is already odd enough.

“Yeah, em, most of them weren’t caused by the war,” Marek looked behind his shoulder at where his belt loomed, a sheathed Dalavut fastened to it. “At that point, I counted on… dishonest help,” he turned back to the chimera. “These old ‘medals’ were caused in my childhood,” he said while pointing with his index finger at the scars on his chest.

Sigrid continued her scan for a couple more seconds, avian eyes drifting from the human’s front to his back. There, from the neck down to his lumbar region, a series of snaking patterns caught her attention. “Those are not blade injuries.”

“No, they aren’t. This weapon was more elastic and noisy.” Sigrid considered stretching her arm to reach the wound; given her superhuman self-healing ability, she could not brag about old battle marks. A sigh broke her musing, and Marek continued speaking. “Mom and Dad weren’t exactly exemplary parents. As another family with limited coins, both of them picked a sickening hate toward the royalty, a hate that surpassed their love for their son.”

“Royalty…”

“Yes, that kind of government where some guy passes his power to their spoiled son or daughter. Anyway… they left home to cause a racket, often leaving me alone for someone else to abuse me. Other kids. Drunkards. Badly paid guards. Thieves.”

“T-that sounds terrible…” Sigrid’s ears leaned low.

“Yeah, it was crappy… imagine my joy when their misdeeds finally cost them their lives. The soldier during that one night must have been vexed by problematic poor people, and so my parents took the head of a spear directly to their guts. Then, the seven-year-old Marek ?aska was free from the selfishness of his begetters.”

“?aska?” Sigrid asked him, head twisted into an ell.

“That used to be my surname. I abandoned it and took that groovy-sounding one you are so familiar with.”

“So once your parents died, you changed your family name to Blakesley?”

“Oh, no, another seven or so years would take place before I get to tear that awful name from my being. I was happy they died… that would mean more food to me! But unfortunately, someone had other plans,” Marek lungfully inhaled through his nose and then expelled the sucked air. “that someone was Uncle Kazi,” there was some acid poured on these words.

“Uncle… that is… a parent’s brother, right?”

“My mother’s brother, yes. Kazimierz Staszak was way more fervent than my parents, and, for my misfortune, way more violent and cunning. He noticed my aptitude for battle and used me to gain some coins. If I won his bets, I had the opportunity to eat, wear clothes, and sleep in a moderately comfortable bed. If I lost… he got to test the quality of his boots, kitchenware, and…” his hand reached his back and fondled the long scar, “barbed whip.”

“Oh… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t ask you about that nasty—” Sigrid started to apologize, believing it was hard for Marek to recall his past. And to a certain level, that was true; it was certainly unpleasant.

However, a rose hand forced the monstress to halt her apologies. “No. You asked and I answered. It’s the least I can do after my series of faults.” Sigrid went blank for a second before nodding. “Well… let me skip all the ugly details and mention the relevant parts. I was too good for battle, a consequence of years fending off the buggers I mentioned earlier. I stacked Kazimierz’s pockets with gold, the bastard even winning influence over others. The turning point began when anti-royalty sentiment spread across the population, and Kazimierz, along with other deluded, malevolent bastards, financed armed groups to boycott the King’s control over the land. They wanted to split the King’s domain and take their share, so they called themselves Separatists. As for me, I was a lethal tool in their hands, and I was a mere boy! You can guess the deplorable state of their forces in the first years after their origin.”

Sigrid shook her head. “Knowing you, you must have been the best fighter ever, even as a youngling.”

Marek chuckled. “Perhaps I was, yes, but I preferred to think the team I was unwillingly working with was rather pathetic. Time would prove me wrong.

“Going back to the Separatists, one day, they gave me the deplorable task of initiating a quarrel with soldiers so they could steal some assets. They succeeded. I, however, failed to escape,” Sigrid audibly gasped; she was listening with attention, so engrossed with the story, ears erected high, and body tightened. “Oh, yes, they were going to execute me. Buy my hemp collar and hang me up where everyone could see my handsome face.”

“Oh no!”

“But!” Marek countered Sigrid’s worried yell by raising his palms, a rather dramatic way to build tension. “He appeared: Aurelio Capello. A grumpy old man versed in the use of magical arts.”

“A witch…” Sigrid whispered. “Did you see a witch?”

“See. Smell. Feel. Hear. Men, my ears still ache because of his yells. He was the one who bailed me out of prison… two prisons, in fact. This time, I would be free from these Separatists’ clutches. From Uncle Kazi’s unfair punishments. I’ve not heard about that scumbag ever since then.”

“So it was over? Did the war end?”

“The war hadn’t even started, I’m afraid.”

“Hm! More misery to come,” she puffed her mane.

“If it makes you feel better, what followed Aurelio’s rescue pertained to the best days of my life. I joined this guild called Il Compasso. We did what we did to spread our influence, aiding nations at the same time we hustled stones to another, cutting throats and beheading heads—”

“Hey! Hey! All that sounds awful!” A shrill escaped Sigrid’s beak. “You fled a violent life to get into another violent life… and you were happy with it?!”

“It may sound illogical, but yes! I was being paid this time, got a cozy bed, delicious food, a lot of wo— err, maids, wood to keep me warm, and no one but the enemy smacked me… well, except Aurelio.”

“And he beat you too?!”

“He disciplined me. It’s… different. Trust me. He had all the reasons to beat the crap out of me. I was unbearable back then.”

“‘Back then’?” Sigrid lifted a nonexistent eyebrow.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Marek cracked a smile, and his eyes went astray for one twinkling.

A pause went by, and Sigrid began to talk. “So… what happened later?”

“Well… I have no time to tell you about all my adventures, so I’ll bolt directly to the war’s beginning. Remember the Separatists,” Sigrid nodded. “Well, they underwent a substantial evolution, and their influence boomed to the point that the entire kingdom erupted in chaos. They came to be called the New Republic, a newborn nation that threatened to swallow what remained of the old kingdom.

“Il Compasso were mercenaries working for the King, and although we were triumphant at first, the bigots outdid us in time.” Marek suddenly stopped talking for a short moment, remembering that it was the declining start of his previous life. “We began losing battles, and the situation slipped out of the King’s hands. The kingdom was not going to survive.”

Marek’s gaze went beyond Sigrid, unfocused; the eagerness he had to tell his tale vanished in the blink of an eye. “But before the circumstances were completely lost, one part of the kingdom, separated years ago from the rest of the nation, announced its independence and joined another growing potency. That one nation, Gervapolis, was the true leader of Il Compasso.

“That was supposed to be the end of our operations in that doomed kingdom whose name isn’t worth mentioning. Il Compasso had no reason to keep fighting for the King.”

“So you and Aurelio left that place, right? And then you got terribly sick.”

Marek licked his lips, and his throat went dry. “No… it did not end like that.” Marek mouthed for a couple of seconds, words dying as soon as they spawned in his mind. He wanted to end this conversation right now, knowing that the next page narrated something that he had no desire to recall.

As he breathed, a faint fog formed in front of him, and the winds reminded him of his soaked and naked state. “Uff… It’s turning cold, eh? C-could you go bring my wearings, please? I think I aged two decades by standing in this pond.”

“Hoo? Right! They must be dry by now. Em, give me a breeze,” Sigrid took her legs out of the water and hurried to check on Marek’s clothes.

I guess I’m not ready to tell that part of the story.

After fetching Marek his garments, Sigrid turned around and gave Marek the time to dress up. He used the manticore hide to dry off his soaked body; given the nature of the cloak, which was almost moistureproof, Marek did not have to worry about letting that one dry again.

Oh, state of dress, how much I missed you.

With a belt around his waist, boots sheltering his feet, and rifle hanging at his back, Marek was once again prepared to face any danger, but mostly, ready to depart from that tarn — a tarn witness to several innocuous and off-putting events. Events that Marek hoped not to forget.

“Marc,” Sigrid called, and Marek twirled in her direction.

“Don’t know how that story of war and violence ended for you. I knew from your tone that the ending must have been painful,” Marek stared to the side, not having the energy to tackle that subject for the rest of the day. “But I’ll make sure the end of this journey brings you happiness.” Marek went back to observe Sigrid. “You suffered a lot, and you deserve some rest for all that killing and pain.”

“Thank you, Sig,” Marek said, cheekbones raised into a genuine smile. “Your generosity glows with more radiance than the northern lights.”

Sigrid gifted the fighter with a cheerful peep, her eyes closed, and a beakish beam printed on her mask. “Flattery~.” A well-deserved one. You are truly too good for this place, Sig.

With no more delay, they continued their travel, leaving the lake behind, the rumble of its waterfall fading until it was no longer heard.