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Moonlit eyes carefully observed how the ball of the man’s throat bounced up and down, scanning for the slightest hint of anguish, making sure the man would not choke with the very water that was flowing down his gullet.

Uncertainty was driving her restless; it had been like that since she had seen how Marek reacted to the curious mark spread on the right side of his neck and shoulder. Even now, her eyes momentarily darted toward the odd rash, the woven undershirt doing little to conceal the culprit of her distress.

Despite her uneasiness, Sigrid had refused to press him into speaking and chose to give the fighter time to hydrate himself, relegating herself to wait next to him, sitting on her knees. The carcass of a goat also waited nearby, ready to be skinned and sliced into strands — Sigrid did not miss the opportunity to bring one to the table the moment she spotted an unaware ungulate.

Lupine ears flicked as soon as a sigh of relief escaped from Marek, the sound reminiscent of snow softly brushing snow.

Marek was not precisely calm either, even drawing out his refreshing imbibing to think of a way to bring Sigrid up to speed about his new body ink. The mark materialized at an inconvenient moment, but he could not say its presence came out as shocking; what troubled him the most was how Sigrid would react to the news.

She had suffered a lot during his comatose lapse, and he hated to bring her distress to the surface once more.

Lastly, Marek moved his right hand and placed the recovered canteen on top of the cut bed, meeting Sigrid’s tense stare right after.

“It’s the next stage of my condition,” Marek finally said. “The blue you see is credited to magic flecks of some sort crawling underneath my cutis, replacing the pink with another hue, variable from one victim to another, in its wake.

“Naturally, my inner body isn’t absent from such coloration, and given the amount of magical fizz scattering across my body, I’m technically a torch for magical detections, like a holiday tree with diminutive candles and glitters.” He added that last bit as a way to ease any form of worry. Sigrid’s face told him he had failed.

“W-what does that mean to your health? Are you in pain? What about your eyes? Will you see blue?” Sigrid barely digested Marek’s explanation when she began to quiz him.

The series of questions urged Marek in the least, his impassiveness never faltering. “My eyesight will remain acute as ever; the change is mostly aesthetic. However, given the magical energy inside, I’m within the range of magic detectors, like a wizardry enemy, for example. Hopefully, there are no sorcerers around—” Sigrid looked hard at Marek, her face spelling a growing doubt that was about to jump at him. “—Kiya was no sorcerer, and, as far as I know, there are no monsters capable of doing such a thing in the Frostscape besides shaman orcs, which remain far in the Southeast, far away from our concerns.

“And as for my health…” Marek paused and pursed his lips before continuing. “In theory, the spot should make my abilities waver and my seizures more common; however, given how my abilities have been preserved until now, it’s unlikely I will fall bedridden anytime soon. The most concerning part about this sign is the time attached to it.”

“Time?”

“The colorful strain has been common across all the Arcane Infection’s victims. Azure, violent, lemon, reddish; an artist’s canvas isn’t enough to represent the colors of magic. Sooner or later, the mark manifests like some sort of rash, and a few days after appearing, the unfortunate person dies.”

A talon rose and pressed against one breast. “Do you mean… that your days are numbered?”

“ Kff— they have been numbered for years. The only thing different is that the number is no longer unknown.” Sigrid’s clutch squeezed the tuft of her collarbone as she waited for Marek’s undesired answer, sorrow weighing her eyelids a tad close and making her ears lean down and behind.

It was not easy for Marek either; his unexpected pause was proof enough. “ Half a month… My life expectancy has been reduced to half a month, perhaps even less.” It was not a precise science; some victims had lived for another seventeen days after the rash showed up, whereas others had not surpassed the tenday mark.

He will not unsettle Sigrid further by telling her the lowest end of such dreaded numbers.

“Marc…” Sigrid’s ears dropped to her sides, and her eyes narrowed, a hint of tears building on the edge of her lids. “I had no idea… If only I knew about that, I could have been faster…”

Marek raised his hand and then reached out for hers. “Not even you can cure illnesses, Sig, however radiant you are. That has been beyond your capabilities, yet you did a formidable job.” He cupped her avian hand. “You already saved me four times. I managed to get this far because of you… You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sigrid used her free arm to wipe the immature tears accumulated on her lids. “R-right. No more apologizing…” Marek responded with a lightsome smile. “Still… We are running out of time, and you need to recover.”

“Indeed. You have worked miracles in me, but I still need to recondition my dexterity and compensate for my new handicaps,” he unconsciously flexed his remaining fingers.

Sigrid threw a downcast look to the floor, her sadness far from gone. Marek could see through her dispirited mien and observed she was not only affected by the new turn of Marek’s condition but by something else as well.

Marek had a hunch of what transpired within Sigrid; he, too, had an urge to discuss another matter. He had delayed the confession, and, as a consequence, death had knocked at the door.

“Alright…” Sigrid murmured. “You need time to rest… We cannot speak for long. Stay here while I prepare your food. Yell if you need me.”

Her words felt forced, dejection palpable in every syllable; right before Sigrid could stand to her feet, the human firmed his hold in her hand, anchoring her to the spot.

“Wait… rff— I would like to speak about something else.”

Owlhead turned to face him. “B-but we can’t. Your belly growls. Your fingies ache.”

“Thirst was the biggest issue, and now that has been quenched. One day without food is nothing I cannot bear. Whatever pain that lingers in me pales in comparison to what Striigori did to me.”

“That cannot be. You still cough from time to time.” Sigrid cast a pained gaze on Marek. “Please… just rest, I’ll take care of—”

“I already rested for one whole day, Sig. Believe me when I tell you that I’m fine. Stay with me a little longer, then you can go cook.”

“Why? What can be more important than your health?”

“ Us… ” Sigrid froze at his declaration, ears standing still. “I want… to talk about us. I don’t want more delays. Since I brought up the blue rash, you’ve been acting as though our disclosure had never happened. Before anything else happens again, I just want to settle that matter.”

“But…” Her gaze drifted away from Marek. “I want the best for you…”

“Never doubted it; you have always been considerate with me. Sig, let’s resolve that matter. I know you desire to speak about that as much as I do.” Sigrid hesitantly resumed eye contact. “Please…”

Marek had not been off the mark — after confirming what Marek felt for her, she wanted to settle the ‘clause’ of their new relationship. They loved each other, but beyond that, what did that mean in both the short and long term?

The apparition of the blue mark had forced Sigrid to put their relationship on hold to prioritize Marek’s wellness, but if the man was willing to argue about the two of them, Sigrid might as well accept his proposal.

“Very well…” She spoke softly, eliciting an imperceptible glow out of Marek’s eyes. In short, Sigrid retook her previous seat and stared deeply at Marek, her tail lazily swaying with the rhythm of ambiguity; the intensity of her focus on him was as intense as that of a scholar for her old master.

“Very well…” Marek started in, his voice casual despite what churned within his mind. “You do love me. Not like a friend, but like a lover as well.”

A pause transpired before Sigrid could manage a nod. “Yes. And you love me too, so you have said.”

“And I meant every single word.” Sigrid’s tail wavered for an instant before regaining its speed. “What I felt for you is something I haven’t felt for any other woman, Sig. I want you to know that.”

“I had my suspicions, but… Why did you reject my courtship? You said the act flew over your head, but there is more to it than being clueless, right?”

“Certainly… There is more to it.” He shifted in his seat, and now his left elbow supported his weight. “I might have tricked myself into believing your… flirtatious display was nothing more than a leg pull. That you were too… childlike to accomplish something like that.”

The arctic wind suddenly felt denser as another suspension settled over the two. It was not a calm pause like before, not as ambivalent or sad; rather, it felt heavier, as if another feeling was expanding in the air. Worry lessened, but something hotter grew in presence.

“... Stoopidity.” The emotion was more bad-humored; that was what Sigrid’s peep had revealed. “I don’t pull legs. And I’m not childlike. Someone childish wouldn’t have survived in this place, yet I’ve been doing that since forever! ”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s that… you aren’t very familiar with human customs, and some terms escape your wits…” Marek pulled a face and rubbed his nape. “I have never considered you pulling off something that… coquettish.”

“Courtship is not exclusive of hoomans, do you know? Monsters also do that. As far as I know, every living being does that! Well, every living being except you! I’m mature enough to, well, present myself to you.” Her cheeks inflated, and eye contact was lost once again. “And when you… You…” She grasped her biceps with both hands, and her look became distant. “Dismissed me… You made me think you were avoiding me… That my monstrousness was driving you away...”

“Forgive me, Sig. It was never my intention to make you feel rejected. I’m merely… dense. ” Marek shifted again and slanted forward, looking as if trying to reach out for Sigrid. “You simply caught me by surprise. Truth be told… your ‘monstrousness’ has never been an important issue to me.”

Sigrid’s ear jerked straight, her head veering back to Marek’s. “Never been an issue?” The man offered a faint but certain nod. “Do you mean that me being a monster causes you no distress?”

“I admit it had been a bit… discordant during the first days. But now, it means nothing.”

“What about your people? The other hoomans?”

Marek arched a brow. “What are these guys relevant? They have nothing to do with us—”

“Not that!” Sigrid’s voice was almost a shriek, but Marek did not flinch at the noise. “Your people won’t accept you once you choose me as a mate!”

Mate… What an odd word. “ Kef… Perhaps.” Said the man after humming for one second. “But who gives a hoot?”

Silvery eyes flashed wide, Sigrid recoiling at Marek’s casual indifference. “‘Who gives a hoot?’ I give a hoot! ” Again, Marek showed no reaction to the chimera’s screeches. “You’ll be an outcast! If we are mates, and people see us, they find us strange. Scandalous. Wicked even! They will expel you from your village or any hooman village if they spot you befriending a creature like me! ”

A break settled right after that last bark, Marek holding a blank stare with Sigrid, whose mask looked strained with unease.

“Ah…” Marek’s mouth barely opened. “Ah ah ha… ha ha— kaff-kf ha ha ha— Kof. ” It sounded a tad raw, but it was unmistakable — Marek was chortling.

“Bless you, Sig—” Another half snort, half cough. “—Always so kind. Like a saint willing to bear the weight of my burdens. That’s why you’re so beautiful.”

“I— thanks, I suppo— Wait, no! ” Sigrid fumbled to talk back; Marek’s joyful reaction took her by surprise and triggered bewilderment within, but his compliments caused warmth to crawl to her facial disc. “Don’t change the topic. Don’t you care about what the hoomans will say?”

Marek chuckled and hacked one last time before giving a response. “Of course not. I couldn’t care less about what nosy people think about me. They are free to do as they please as long as they don’t bother me or those I care for.”

“B-but what if that isn’t enough for them? What if they try to expel you by force?”

“Not the sharpest decision. I have an ax, and my hands don’t quiver if the situation calls for it.”

“Y-you can’t do that! That’s—”

“Roode? Violent? Sure as hell it is. But threatening—” He halted for one second too long. “—my girlfriend is crossing the line. Do they disapprove of our presence and want us to go? Fine, and screw them too. They just dumped the chance to live next to the most magnificent lady on this continent. But a direct attack on me? Or worse, on you? Poking a bear’s eye with a stick would fall short compared with the beast they would awaken.”

“Marc…” Sigrid whispered, her fingers laced with each other while she held both hands in front of her chest. That had been a not-so-refined way of saying how much Marek was willing to go for her wellbeing.

Marek exhaled as he leaned back after his latest rant. “Besides, it’s not like I’m comfortable living among densely populated towns. After many years of wandering the continent, I now fancy quietness.”

“... So, you don’t care about leaving your people behind? Are you willing to move far from where your kind lives?”

“I… already did that, as you already are familiar with. I have no home waiting for me. What made me hesitate back then, to delay my reciprocation, is attributed to something else…”

Marek’s fleeting pause pushed Sigrid to ask, but the motion of the man’s right arm, waving from up his head to down his waist as if revealing something, cut her off.

“Let’s overlook the fact that I might not be the best boyfriend material for you—” Boyfriend and girlfriend. Such odd words, Sigrid mused. “—My future, as you may know, is uncertain. Within the next few days, I’ll be facing the fear of all monsters, a danger akin to a natural disaster, and… well… on top of my sickness, let’s say the odds for me to survive are—”

“Don’t say that!” Sigrid shot forward with a bark, stopping mere inches from Marek’s face. “You will make it! You still have several days left! Enough time to kill Hissing Wing and return to get your cure.”

“That is better said than done… I just got my arse kicked by an ice elemental.”

“The vixen cheated! She poisoned your mind with strange powers! And despite everything, you broke free! Just rest, and you’ll be fine.”

One coal-colored brown winced. How did she— “A wyrm is not so different. They inflict terror wherever they—”

“You have the shiny ax,” Sigrid ignored Marek and went on, “and the fire-spitting metal. You have the means to defeat it. You have the willpower to bear its presence! Just like you did with me! I’ve seen you fight; I know you can win!”

“Many adventurers before me have taken as many precautions as I did and yet perished in the wild. Such hopeless journeys were not made in solitude, and despite everything, they have failed. What makes me different from those glory seekers and wannabe heroes?”

“The difference is that you are Marek Blakesley! ” Sigrid inched closer, practically crawling on four, forcing Marek to lean back narrowly. Her avian yells had also started to scratch his eardrums. “Why so glum out of the sudden? Was your plan discouraging me from being your mate? Because it stinks!”

“Not quite.”

“Then why bring up all these dispiriting things? It’s kind of sad, and I don’t like it!”

“Because I want you to realize the threat of death is real. ” He reclined against Sigrid, and she backed. “That tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or the next tenday, I might no longer be here. That future isn’t feasible wherever I go, and once I’m no longer there,” the stare could no longer be held, and Marek’s eyes fell to the floor, “you’d be alone once more, severely hurt because of the disastrous trip of a lone man.”

Blueness infected Sigrid, and her eyes and ears fell low. So it had been that — not the fear of species dimorphism or the social consequences of taking a monster as a mate.

Marek had feared that his sole legacy from the journey to the Icing Boundary would be the broken heart of one being he had come to love.

“I feared the possibility of dragging you to a future where only a dead man lies…” Marek said under his breath, oak-colored orbs fixed in the fur pattern of the blanket, as even seeing the white of Sigrid’s fur turned laborious.

His voice left him after uncovering the fear hidden within his heart, and thereby Marek remained quiet for uncomfortable eyeblinks, his hearing sense sorely focused on the soft whistles Sigrid emitted, unconsciously waiting for her view on the matter.

He did not receive the melody of her voice — rather, it was the tenderness of her touch that blessed him, a gentle pressure beneath his chin that lifted and aligned his face with Sigrid’s moonlike eyes.

“My Marc is no dead man. He stood against the dead themselves and came out victorious. You do have a future, one where victory looms.” Sigrid drew closer to Marek until her forehead touched his. “And I’ll be there to see it.”

Sigrid’s top of her head brushed Marek’s like velvet cloth in a gesture of invigoration and love, her fur a towel for Marek’s restlessness that, instants ago, had filled his head as if it were sweat.

Within heartbeats, the man’s sorrow dried out as hope manifested in the form of a smile. “Thank you, Sig.” He took Sigrid by the sides of her head, his numb fingers sinking into the grassland of her fur, and pressed his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed shut. “I really needed to hear that.”

Marek returned the gesture by stroking the sides and back of her head, running his hands up and down while using his fingers to brush Sigrid’s mane. Marek himself did not know, but such petting was compelling Sigrid to tap the rock with one of her feet.

The owl-wolfess brushed off that inner tickling by speaking up. “Well, I shall know what my mate must hear to feel happy.”

A chuckle. “Mate, eh? That term sounds quite… rustic. May I call you girlfriend instead?”

“That title is too long. Besides,” Sigrid broke the mutual nuzzle and made space for them to make eye contact, “I was already your girl- friend . That’s just too wordy and unnecessary.”

“Mate is something that a bookworm would say,” Marek tapped his chin as thoughts twirled. “Well, I’m not fond of those titles anyway. Call me unpretentious, but I address people by their names whenever I can.”

“Well, everyone can call you Mar—rek, but only I can call you mate. So I may stick to that~.” A bit of a tease slipped during that last utterance.

“Try not to overdo it,” Marek grinned back. “Or use it in the middle of confrontations. My enemies won’t deem me a threat if someone nearby calls me that way.”

“Ashamed of your mate this soon? Hm! So roode~.” Her cheeks swelled in fake indignation. “If any, your enemies would think twice once they realize you are in a mateship with the apex predator. Me calling you mate will spare you more trouble!”

“And be overshadowed by your name? Fat chance! I’m still Wargbane and Undeadbane among those who seek troubles, and they better recognize me as such and not by my domestic partnership title.”

“ Tee-wit! ” A cheerful chirp came out of her beak, followed by a radiant beam. “If you care not about what hoomans say of us, then I care not about what monsters think either. I call you by that title whenever I feel like~. ”

The sound of gentle air was drowned out by the flutter of a furry limb quickly wagging behind Sigrid; the cadence and intensity of the sway were such that the fog was dispersed into a thin fan.

The entire display of happiness brightened Marek’s bruised face with a genuine smile and elicited several chuckles out of him, joining Sigrid in a song of laughter.

Oh, how I missed this girl during my dreams.

The intensity of chuckles and peeps lessened, and Marek opted to speak. “So, girlfriend—”

“Mate~.” Sigrid singsongly corrected.

“Whenever you feel like it, indeed,” he flashed a smile. “We are a couple now.” A joyful chirrup resounded. “Chirpy, I see. What should I expect now that you’ve got me under your wing?”

“Expect. Expect~.” Sigrid swayed her head from side to side as if a juggler were making a spectacle in her head. “ Hoo! Well, we should cuddle more.”

“I have no qualms or complaints about that.”

“You also have to listen to what I say.” Marek nodded. “And what I say is for you to focus on recovering. Don’t move out of this rock for the rest of the day. And you let me cook!”

“Do you know how to cook?”

“Of course! I’ve seen you cooking several times. It’s not that hard: wood, ignite wood, rock over hot wood, and finally, meat on the rock. Easy-easy!”

“In that case, your demands are acceptable.”

“Also… also…” One nail ticked her beak as she thought about another couple of practices that should be implemented in their routine, eyes rolling everywhere. Concurrently, Marek reveled in the sight of the quirky display.

Steely orbs sparked in enlightenment. “Kisses!”

Marek’s eyebrow arched up. “Kisses?”

“Yes. Yes.” She nodded in sequence. “We are mates, so no more time for shyness. If I ask for kisses, you comply.”

A snort flew to her lupine ears. “What if I’m the one who asks for kisses? Will you comply?”

“Of course!” Sigrid crossed her arms and bobbed her head, bathing in the satisfaction of creating such a rule. “That is what a responsible mate would do.”

“Mm, in that case…” A sly air grew around him. “Do you want a kiss now?”

“ Kee! ” Sigrid’s unruffled facade broke like a mug at Marek’s question. “W-well, if that isn’t— I mean, s-sure! I’ll comply and fulfill your wishes.”

Well, well. What happened to the ‘no more time for shyness’?

“Heh. You are the cutest, Sig. Did you know that?”

“Nothing wrong with being coote. Now, was the kiss just teasing, or are you…”

“Of course, my girl. You kissed me last time, so I guess it’s my turn to offer the peck. Wouldn’t you agree?” Owlhead nodded as if it were a bouncing bunny. “Then I’ll go for it.”

Marek shuffled on his seat, adjusting himself to lean forward more comfortably, balancing his weight on his right knee. As he closed the gap, Sigrid stood quiet on her spot, the entirety of her body tensing in anticipation. Only her tail gave off movement, which was as stirred as her heart.

The man suddenly felt too close, and she could discern with heightened accuracy the array of aromas blended in his breathing. Sheer expectation compelled Sigrid to close her eyes, anxious to feel the wetness of the man’s lips, steeling herself not to wince at the first touch of the fleshy protuberances against her rigid snout.

The fighter’s bodily warmth befell her like a mountain’s shadow until his presence became unbearable. And like an owl landing on a branch, connection occurred.

It was like cotton soaked in the water of a bathhouse, molding to the curve of her beak as it transmitted its wet particles, the sides faintly pricked by the short carpet of a young beard. Unlike when the man lay unconscious, the contact was permeated with vivid warmness, and the sharp pincers capable of snapping bone and tearing muscle felt as if they were melting.

That strong was the brush of his lips. She felt nothing but the fleshy protrusion, heard nothing but her own nostrils blowing feebly and the occasional hum of her lover. And the scent — the air of his lungs gave off an aroma reminiscent of fermented berries and stale grain, nothing particularly unpleasant, and even musky to a certain degree.

Sigrid had been so lost in the swarm of sensations that she missed the exact moment the kiss broke off, her eyes remaining closed as Marek leaned backward until retaking his former position. It would be a lie to say he did not experience his own series of infatuated thoughts, the pink cheeks giving away that fact clearly, but he succeeded in staying composed enough.

“... Well?” Sigrid heard the man speak.

“...?” Her eyelids dazedly opened until her eyes were half-lidded. “Whoo?~”

“Did you like it?”

“Like whooo?~” Too lovestruck to articulate properly, her words dribbled from her beak, almost like she had drunk one glass of wine too much. Even the flapping sound of her tail was noisier than her voice.

The demeanor inevitably made Marek laugh. “I suppose you liked it. I admit it, I thought the kiss would be clunky because of your…” Marek trailed off, his line of sight shifting to below Sigrid’s eyes.

“Because of my beaky-beak?~” Sigrid cooed, not as affected as seconds ago.

“Yeah. The beak was hard, a bit cool, and my lower lip even got caught by the sharp tip.” He touched his lip with his index finger. “But despite everything, it felt like smooth beeswax savored with… meat. I see you ate in my absence.”

“Roode~. Making fun of my breath after our first mouth-to-beak peck,” Her sulk was fir-thin.

“My apologies. But now that we discussed what had been unaddressed, the smell of meat had awakened my—” Rrmble. “—hunger, yes.”

“Ooh!” At the remainder of Marek’s hunger, Sigrid composed quickly. “The gote. I need to make your food. Prepare the rock. Light the wood. Cut the flesh.”

Sigrid stood up from the ground and circled Marek to retrieve the runed sword, which until that point remained impaled into the rock. “This will help. I know how to spark the blade!”

“You learn fast, Sig,” he elicited a chirp from Sigrid. “But, ehm, don’t you need wood for that?”

“Obvious~. Didn’t I tell you that I… learned from…” Her mind lapsed into thought, a quick scan through the chamber reminding her of something missing — she brought no wood. “... you.” An awkward pause, then an irritable growl. “Curses! I need to go to Vettija once more!”

“If you wish, I can begin to cut the flesh while you—”

“No!” She barked. “I said I would cook.” She moved off to the exit, hopping over the debris of the ice pillars before twirling her head back to the chamber. “Stay here and recover. I’ll be back in a breeze.”

“As you wish. I’ll be training my fingers then. They have to learn to move with a reduced crew.” Marek retrieved a dirk from the bed before sending forth a smile to Sigrid. “See you soon, my dear.”

“‘Deer’? Oh, wait, dear. Right. Kye-hye. ” Sigrid giggled. “I thought you disliked nicknames~.” She commented with a teasing tone.

“Whenever I feel like it.” His smile grew twofold.

“Copycat,” she beamed. “Well, then, see you soon, mate of mine. ” Echoes of pats and one flap later, and Sigrid was no longer on the slab, leaving Marek alone for the first time since Kiya was defeated.

Thank you, Sig. He made the dagger swirl in his hand, drawing a thin line of haze. I really needed that. I really needed you.

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

The day went on without a challenge of its own. The breeze hummed as if waiting for the horizon to blow impetus into its spirit, and the clouds did nothing but undulate in place, moving no faster than the blazing sphere itself.

The events that Kiya had triggered, all the tragedies she had brought with her cold allure, had drifted away as just another children’s nightmare, not worth worrying about further. Even the once flashy pillar crafted by elemental hands had shrunk in size because of the radiant daylight.

For the wild Frostscape, the day might have been slow, but for Marek’s vigor, advances had kept coming quite steadily. The man had been right: Sigrid had worked miracles on him, and barring the occasional cough sneaking in his speech and the torpor of his day-long inactivity, Marek had no health issues.

The hunger had been dealt with after consuming what Sigrid had prepared. The strands of flesh had not been sliced with culinary skill, a few batches of fur evading her cuts, and some parts had been cooked unequally. Despite everything, the goatflesh that Sigrid roasted had been fit to eat.

With the stomach stuffed silent, Marek could regain the adroitness of his fingers. There had been several blunders, the dirk nearly jabbing his forehead in more than one moment, to the point that Marek had felt dejected at a certain moment. The cure for his heart soon found him, and Sigrid missed no time to cheer Marek, even giving both of his hands fond nuzzles, the warmth of her breath and the vibrations of her churrs dispelling the numbness that rooted in his joints.

The gesture did more than raise Marek’s spirits and warm up his hands, and before the daylight had undergone two-thirds of its lifetime, Marek had already retaken control of his remaining fingers.

With thirst and hunger satisfied and his fingers back in shape, Marek only needed to ‘oil’ the rest of his body junctions, something feasible by extracting the grease out of his build with hard work.

Sigrid had been ambivalent about leaving Marek practice with his weapons right after having finished training his fingers — another mistake like what Marek had with the dagger and the recovery undergone to date would be tossed into the chasm. Nonetheless, Sigrid realized it would not do Marek any good to stay leaning against a rock and inactive the remainder of the day, so she had agreed with one condition.

Skipping to the current evening, less than one hour before the Blazing Sphere would flee behind the frigid rampart, the air amid the slab trembled with the swings of two wooden lengths drawing arches and half-moons.

Sigrid had accepted Marek to train under the condition of not using sharp objects, a stipulation Marek accepted without arguing. He needed to retake his balance, not slice through flesh, and wood was as good an air cutter as metal was.

A faint flapping noise joined the noises of workout, announcing the arrival of the winged chimera into the slab.

“I brought more water, my deer— I mean, dear~.” Sigrid proclaimed by chirping, shaking the leathery container up above her head. “I also checked on your clothes. They are drying up smoothly~.”

Marek executed an upswing, releasing a muffled and firm grunt. “What of the rifle?”

A roll of eyes. “Your precious thing is fineee. I told you, no critter cares about it.”

Marek pivoted on his feet and executed a double slice with his two sticks, his posture low but stable, stopping with his left shoulder facing Sigrid. “Much obliged, Sig,” despite the sweat on his brow, his voice was full of vigor. “Can you put the water in the chamber? I would like to finish this round before quenching my thirst.”

Sigrid responded with a peep and went off to leave the canteen on the bed; she had not ended up passing by the fighter when the latter resumed his routine of spinning woods and nimble footsteps.

The fighter’s agile motions, more fluid than a snowcat, magnetized Sigrid’s focus, which latched onto him even while she walked toward the bed where she obliviously put the canteen, head always facing in his way.

The limbs of that skillful warrior swung as if they were polished weaponry, ligaments tensing and snapping swiftly like threads of linen attached to the best bows. Every swing beat the wind and made it whizz, failing to deliver a tune of whistles only because his tools were rudimentary ax handles instead of finely crafted steel.

Before Sigrid realized it, she found herself seated on the edge of the bed, her very attention drawn by the dance of war performed by the human fighter, elbows pressed on her legs, head resting on her palms, and tail swaying at the beat of awe. She looked like an infatuated maiden.

Seeing how Marek’s muscles, their outline visible through his thin undershirt, exploded with speed and energy took her breath away, and observing his messy bangs bounce with every lunge compelled her to run her fingers through that charcoal mane.

If his manly shape and fluidness were a feast for the eyes, then the scent of his sweat was the banquet’s fragrance to her beakholes. The chillness of the Arctic did little to contain the man’s liquid effort, and Gods— its scent was intense, the very definition of pungent maleness that awakened a set of instincts dormant throughout most of her life.

Should she tell him to bathe after finishing his routine? Surely, his sweat felt strong only because her hormones were getting the best of her, and no predator would spot him for his scent. Well, no predator except herself.

She could not wait for the next time they nestled together. The thought of drinking in the perfume of her mate as they shared body heat almost made her churr in pure excitement.

A sigh, one loaded with ease, rang out, and Sigrid was dragged out of her fantasy. Marek had seemingly finished his training, and the slab went back to play the sound of wind… or that would have been the case if it were not for a certain fluffy limb loudly swaying like a metronome.

When Marek relaxed his hardened posture and turned to his admirer, his oak-colored eyes lined up with silvery saucers. A smirk on his lips told her that the man was not oblivious to her excitement.

“Enjoying the spectacle?”

The old Sigrid would have been embarrassed by being caught gawking at the warrior. However, knowing that that man was her mate now, Sigrid realized there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Thus, she beamed in return.

“You are amazing.”

Chuckles. “You flatter me. It took several beatings to hone these maneuvers and years of waking up early to keep them in form. For once, I’m glad to inspire awe with my art rather than anger, fear, or death.”

Swiping the sweat of his forehead with his upper arm, Marek strolled toward the chamber. “Have any space for this man?”

Sigrid was quick to respond by straightening and using her hand and tail to tap the spot by her left. Marek stepped closer, and his redolence struck her nostrils, getting her impulses all worked out. Good thing her semi-stretched wings concealed the briskness that now crawled on the backside of her tuft.

Upon reaching Sigrid, Marek let himself drop on the rock with a tired grunt, leaving the two sticks to clatter by his feet. His eyelids had been closed while he adjusted himself, and when he opened them, the first thing he saw was a scaly hand holding a canteen.

“That’s what I call service,” he smirked askance, eliciting a tweet from Sigrid, and grabbed the container to hydrate himself.

“So, how is the training turning out?” Sigrid inquired once Marek took his first mouthful of water. Her voice had involuntarily let a tiny whistle slip.

Marek detached the bottle’s opening from his mouth and sighed. “Very good, actually. There have been no major complications so far.” Marek raised his free hand before his face and flexed it. “The heat of practice has reduced the dullness of my joints. I’m not at my peak, but I’m confident of standing against one or two wargs. Actually, make them three.”

“ Keehee. I told you: you just needed to rest. By tomorrow, the indomitable Marek Blakesley will be ready to kick monstrous butts.”

“Heh. You bet. Although after the last three nights, I would rather partake in no conflict until I face the lizard.”

Marek went for another gulp, and during his refreshment, he heard a feeble whistle, then another. A quick peek out of the corner of his eye revealed that the sound originated from Sigrid’s nostrils, which were hitching softly and inconsistently.

“Are you alright, Sig?” He puts the bottle on the rock. “Your beak makes noises.”

“Mm? Ohoo. No… It’s not that.” His words caught her by surprise; her mind was swirling around another thing. “It’s your smell… it sticks to my beakholes.”

“Errh, f-forgive me.” Hygiene issues hardly troubled Marek, especially with more pressing concerns, such as not getting killed. Nonetheless, hearing he stank from the mouth of a lady he loved made him feel silly. “I’ll bathe once I finish training. I was planning on doing one last session, but if the smell is that bad—.”

“Nonono, you misunderstand me,” Sigrid cut him short and shook her head quickly. “It’s not a problem. Rather, well, it’s quite pleasant.”

“Pleasant? You think so?” A speck of pink crawled to his cheeks. “It cannot be that good. I have not bathed in days, and I bet ghoulish blood taints these fabrics.”

Sigrid lowered her arms, settling them on her thighs. “No. It’s fine. Cold ones’ fluids were on your two capes and vest, and those are drying right now. Your sweat attracts no monster… besides me. ”

Marek could not prevent swallowing saliva. “Well, I don’t know what to say. I’m glad my sweat particles don’t bother you.”

Sigrid’s eyes blinked, then her beak opened to let out a caw. “What a silly answer.”

“Yes… dumb, pinehead. You’re right,” he sighed. “No woman has ever complimented me on my smell. How am I supposed to respond to such flattery?”

“Those women you’ve met have no taste, and their small noses prevent them from observing further into you. Your natural scent is quite captivating.”

Coyness forced Marek to raise one hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Oh, come on. You say that because I’m your boyfriend.”

“Mate, and wrong,” she barked. “Maleness exudes out of you. The way you swing your arms, spin on your leg, how your, err, brawn surged with potent movements, and how your skin sparks under the sunlight. How you remain mateless to this point is a mystery of nature!”

“For posterity’s sake, no woman remained by my side because I was a jerk. In your case, I thought you found me attractive because of my deeds… and perhaps out of pity— ouch. ” A wing just smacked him in the back.

“Don’t be like that!” It was out of jest! “The feats drew me to you, and your strength and will captured me like a rodent. But your appearance? Well…” She pressed her knees together and rubbed them against each other. “... you’re nothing short of an alpha human.”

“Wow,” Marek cracked a smile, the arctic air suddenly not so chill against his face. He had been sweet-talked during his mercenary life, but hearing compliments from Sigrid was something else — they came with a halo of genuineness. “I guess I’m really that handsome to you, eh?”

Sigrid let out a whistle. “The handsome-est.” She leaned her head to Marek’s shoulder and rubbed her beak along. Naturally, her nostrils did not miss the chance to take a noseful of his aroma before her head recoiled. “So… I’ve told you what I liked about you,” her head playfully gyrated ninety degrees, “so do tell me, what do you find attractive about me?”

“Me? Why could you possibly do with such knowledge?” His commentary stunk with sarcasm.

“I have ideas~. But isn’t that what mates do? Make themselves feel cute, beautiful, attractive, among other things?”

Marek scoffed with feigned annoyance. “I suppose I owe you that much. Very well…” He raised his chin and observed into the icicle-filled ceiling, words emerging and vanishing just as the sparks of the icy decoration.

“I like…” Sigrid’s eyes remained unblinking, attentive to the man’s words. “... your quirky mannerisms, always too cheery despite the circumstances.” Kee— that’ll be me~. “Your melodic voice.” Appreciated~. “Your moon-looking eyes. The velvetiness of your fur.” Now we are turning physical~. “And… well,” Marek took his chin between two fingers. “The way you kick arses comes out as sensual if you ask me, you have good moves on you.”

“Ooho, what a flatterer you are~,” a delighted hoot emerged. “You thrill me as no one else has done, but those features aren’t female-exclusive.” Marek’s attention left the ceiling and turned to Sigrid, a shadow of a frown present on his face. “Tell me what makes me physically attractive~, just like I did with you.”

“Don’t you think that’d be a bit superficial?” It was said out of teasing.

“As if that has stopped you from ogling me in the past~.” Marek’s face blanked, if not reddened a bit. “And don’t try using my aura as an excuse! It’s obvious that it has not been a problem to you since our second encounter.”

“Yeah, yeah. You got me.” He blew sharply and crossed his arms over his chest before beginning to scrutinize Sigrid’s body. “What makes you attractive, eh?”

Sigrid noticed his exploratory look and chose to separate one foot from Marek, assuring every part of her body remained within his range of vision. She also grasped the chance to show off, arching a tad back and puffing her chest up, likewise stretching one of her legs.

Wheaten eyes surveyed from the point of the canine ears to toeclaws, the man’s mien absorbed the entire time as if analyzing a complex military tactic. His professional facade did little to impede Sigrid from taking pleasure in the attention she was receiving.

“... Soft curves. Lean but with subtle muscles. Modest… chest. Eye-catching color. Tall…” he said between hums, almost as if appraising a piece of art. His were now focused on Sigrid’s lower half, so far the region of her body that had consumed most of his scrutiny.

Every attribute of hers mentioned by the man sent waves of exhilaration across the chimera’s fur, helplessly curling up the corner of her mouth.

“Your legs. I really like your legs. They are well-turned, slender, and long.” Nonexistent eyebrows shot up. “And those pads of yours… they look so cushiony—”

“ I knew it! ” Her unexpected chirp made Marek’s brows wince. “These parts always drew most of your attention. I was not wrong when I carried out my courtship!”

She kicked her legs as she peeped in satisfaction, acting as if she had just hit the kingdom’s fair. Marek, on the other hand, blinked blankly for a couple of seconds before chuckling and shrugging. “Guilty as charged.”

“Kyehee~. Funny. I know my mammaries aren’t as sizable as most human women's, and my waist is not litter-spawning wide. But I didn’t think a male would fancy something as petty as the legs.”

“Do not call legs petty. They are a quintessential aspect of femininity, Sig,” Marek’s tone went somewhat serious. “They are shapely, elegant, and pleasant to the touch. The very machinery of velocity and strength that exudes femininity with every sway and every footstep of their dainty and soft feet. It reflects vigor, beauty, and healthiness, all at once. ”

A drawn-out whistle resounded, loaded with impressiveness — it was as if Marek was defending a facet of his church. “You are really into legs, aren’t you? It goes the distance.”

Another shrug. “I can’t help it. As a warrior, you learn to read the lower body of your opponent, anticipating the slightest of movements. It goes without saying I learned one thing or two when checking out the opposite sex’s stems.” His lips pursed. “Do you find it odd?”

“Not a bit,” she shook her head. “It makes me proud to bear something you deem alluring.” Her legs drew closer to her, and Sigrid crossed one leg over the other. Marek’s pupils subtly widened without delay. “It gives me an advantage over potential competition.”

“Heh, you don’t have to worry about that. You’re not going to find competition in this barren land.”

“One cannot be so sure. There’s always a vixen lurking out there, eager to set their clutches on what I deem dear.” Sigrid did what she could not to let her mask warp into a snarl, but her inflection still soured into almost a hiss.

“I see the elemental burns fresh in your mind?” Marek commented, taking the change of topic as an opportunity to take another gulp of water. “She torments us no longer. Forget her.”

“Hm! That’s better said than done! The vixen attacked me! Almost killed you! How could you brush her off so easily? She tried to rub her sex on yours!”

Waters sprayed out of Marek’s mouth like needles, scattering hundreds of crystalline particles in an arc. “ Cough— how did you find that out?! Kff-koff— ”

“Yyej told me the vixen did that to males. How her nasty charms enchanted males into her nest and mated with them until the heat and life left their bodies,” she explained, caring in the least by Marek choking on his drink. “What? Did you try to hide that from me?” Her eyes narrowed.

“ Kof— of course not! It was just that… there were better ways of letting you know that I was nearly raped to death. It isn’t something a man would yell to the winds, you know?”

“What’s rape?”

“You know what? Shrug that term off.” Marek waved his hand at Sigrid, using his fist to tap his chest and relieve his choking thereafter. “Also, who is Yyej?”

“Mm? Ooh, she is a warg. She was the vixen’s slave; she, along with a troll, tried to stop me from helping you back in the gorge.” Indignation lessened as Sigrid mentioned the eccentric wargess of the past.

“A warg? Did you exchange words with a warg?” A nod. “The world has gone mad, I see. How did that happen? She attacked you first, right?”

“Yes, but not on her own volition. The vixen held the wargess down with her powers and threw her to me, hoping to chase me off. She and Boris failed in stopping me, but after the latter begged for his life, I could not get myself to kill them.”

Marek’s face softened. “Even with my life on the line, you keep your kindness,” a smile grew on his face. “That’s why I love you. If I had been in your place, I would have reduced the beast into mincemeat.”

“I let my instinct get the best of me, but I wanted to prove I could be a fitting mate for you.”

Sigrid’s shoulder warmed as a land rested on it. “You had nothing to prove, Sig. You were a girl who sought to survive in an untamed land, yet never yielded to fierceness. If any, it was I who needed to prove himself.”

“And you have passed,” Sigrid beamed. “We both did.” Sigrid edged near and pecked Marek on his nose, triggering a gentle smile from him.

“So,” Sigrid backed and straightened, “after freeing Yyej from the vixen’s authority, she returned and thanked me. It was unexpected, and I almost raked at her, but it turned out she was pretty friendly! It was as if I talked to a young version of Imbi.”

“Congratulations! Now you can brag about having more friends than me,” Marek remarked between laughs.

“That’s what you get by being roode!” She bumped his shoulder with her wings. “We had a talk right before dawn, and briefed me about several things, a few good, others kind of nasty, like the vixen’s misdoings in this very place.”

Sigrid’s head turned to the innards of the room. “This place witnessed Kiya’s wickedness, acting as a grave of dozens of unfortunate hoomans, and you almost joined their lines.

“I kept you here because you needed to recover, and I could not risk carrying you elsewhere, but now that you are fine, we can finally move!” Her head spun back to the man. “I not only checked on your clothes and the metallic thing during my absence; I’ve been preparing our former shack for our arrival, and I even found more furs in other shacks!”

“Ooh. You did not have to.” His arm slid from her shoulder to the side of her head, caressing the fur with his digits. The owl-wolfess showed herself to be receptive to his touch and leaned against his hand, cooing with closed eyes; the tail, too, swung once again.

“Yeess, I haaad toooo~,” her words were practically purrs, but she compressed quickly. “This will be our first night as mates, and I wanted to settle in a comfortable nest~.”

“Well, glad I have the most considerate girlfriend in Gebaten. I’m such a lucky guy.” His caressing picked up, adding scritches into the mix. Sigrid softened under his scratching, humming against his hand, at the verge of panting out of delight; her toeclaws drew lines on the rock beneath, and her right foot barely patted the floor with insistence.

But before Marek’s caress let her instinct take over, he stopped and retrieved his hand. Oooh, why stop?

“But before moving out, I would like to start a new routine.” He bent down and retrieved his training sticks, then he rose to his feet. “Night is almost here, and I want to use the remainder of daylight. Besides, the terrain back in Vettija is rough; where we stand right now, bar the precipice, makes a good training field.”

Sigrid observed Marek doing a few stretches before he moved out of the chamber. The first northern light loomed in the sky, and the growing torch of the Spellfire began flickering into the avian’s view. Soon, that slab would serve as an excellent scenery for watching the most beautiful spectacle of the North.

Perhaps a little more time in that place would bring them no harm, although Sigrid would prefer to do something else besides observing the man training, however eye-catching his performance was.

“—!” But suddenly, an idea sparked within. “Marc, wait!”

On four, Sigrid scrambled toward Marek, who had not even adopted his battle stance. “Mm? Is something the matter?”

The chimera halted at one yard from the man and raised to her feet. “Masinery of strength and velocity, right? That’s what you have said.”

“You mean… your legs?” He frowned in confusion. “Err, yes, something like that, but what with it? Did you misunderstand it or—”

“No, no. I don’t know what a ‘masinery’ is, but I understand. You like how they move, how they fare in physical action.”

“Well, certainly.” A wooden surface went up and scratched the top of his head. “Where are you getting at?”

“It isn’t obvious?” Marek’s tightly pressed lips told her it was not as obvious for the human. “I’ll be your opponent during your next routine.” Marek’s brows curled up high, eyes blinking in interest. “Do you like seeing legs in action?” He elicited a slow nod. “Then your training will be more enjoyable if you see me battle with you~.”

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

“By the way, I was wondering—” Marek positioned himself at one side of the platform, making space between him and Sigrid. “—How did you beat Kiya?”

“Quite hard, ” Sigrid spoke up about fifteen yards away from the fighter, she and the human standing parallel to the chamber’s entrance.

It was the final act of nightfall, and glaucousness had distended throughout the horizon, giving the illusion that the very sky was a window holding the abyssal waters, waters infested with glowing eels of several blue shades, their light growing more intense with every minute that passed.

“I bet that, but not what I meant.” His body shook the cold off by rolling his shoulder and adjusted his gloves, now with knots where his missing fingers used to be. “Kiya was an elemental of prominent hierarchy.”

“Explain it with a language I can understand, Marc.” Sigrid likewise warmed up, bending low and stretching like a wolf — chest against the floor, lower half raised by hind legs. Her wings, too, were stretching and rolling on their base.

“As I tried to explain days ago, an elemental is an entity whose essence is linked to one of Gebaten’s many elements. Fire, rock, water, ice. They come in many shapes and sizes.”

“They also come with terrible personalities,” Sigrid went back to her two feet. “At least I’m glad she was no Spirit.”

“Elementals are often meek in their demeanor, but there is always a peculiar specimen eager to wreak havoc for selfish reasons.” With his gloves already adjusted, Marek twirled his wrists, making the wooden handles whirl. “Whatever their plans may be, the strongest specimens come with an array of advantages, among them, the ability to repel mundane weapons as if their bodies were made of the hardest steel.”

“She did not look that hard when I sunk my talons on her face and belly.”

“So you did defeat her using your bare hands.”

“Bare hands, talons, paws…” She set her hands on her hips, head slanted to one side. “How else was I supposed to kill her?”

“I tried to sheath my dirk in her heart. I might as well have tried to stab this mountain,” his example might sound exaggerated, but his expression led Sigrid to believe he was serious. “The only way to inflict harm on an entity like that is by using weapons like the ones I own or an element adverse to the creature in question.”

“Well, I used none of these things. I hate to admit it, but she was strong; the vixen made me bleed a lot, but her haughtiness shattered as soon as she tasted my claws. Two— three strikes and she was done for. Maybe she was not as ‘prominent’ as you believed.”

Marek pursed his lips in thoughtfulness, considering that perhaps his supposition had been off the mark. He still had his reservations, but he opted to let the subject slip for the time being.

“Too much chat-chat. Can we start now?” Sigrid urged Marek, clearly worn out from talking about the elemental.

“Fine,” he smirked. “Just so you know: you’re fighting a form of mine that’s not at its fullest.”

“Not even getting into battle and already making excuses for your loss?” Sigrid taunted, a hint of smugness growing on her beaky face.

“I lost against one witch, whereas you defeated a warg, a troll, and the very witch who kicked my arse. My body is not fully recovered. It’s darn cold. I have to manage with two pieces of timber that are better as firewood than as training swords. I’m hole-bottom right now, and the odds aren’t in my favor.”

“And when has that stopped Marek Blakesley before?”

Marek’s face went vacant for a beat before a grin sprouted on his face. “Never.”

Right after uttering his determination, Marek adopted his battle stance, left shoulder pointing at his chimeric opponent; his left stick was held diagonally at the level of his chest, whereas the right stick was kept behind.

The handles that Sigrid brought might be unsuitable for a real battle, but at least her judge was right when fetching him one handle longer and thinner than the other — one would play the role of Dalavut while the other Iousterard. At least, balance was not something he had to be concerned about.

“That’s the hero I fell for.” Spotting the tenacity in Marek’s eyes, Sigrid squatted down, knees building energy in and ready to launch her forward like a missile. Her avian arms lay open by her sides, and her wing loomed half-stretched in a semicircle, giving an air of danger and awe akin to the horns of an outstanding ox.

Her entire body was ready to transform into a living bodkin in the blink of an eye. The distance that separated her from Marek was nothing but an illusion about to be erased by the dust of her stride.

“I’ll still refrain from using my nails, though. I wouldn’t like to add more medals to your coote face.”

“Appreciate the thoughtfulness. All right, the first to land a hit wins. You agree?” Marek declared, his gloves releasing a weak creak as his grip hardened in anticipation.

“You keep talking~.” Her voice mixed with a hiss, a tone attributed to her growing excitement.

“I take that as you agreed,” a wolfish smile was his retort. “Well, I need to get warm before I freeze, and I will keep my girlfriend—” Mate. “—waiting no more.” Defiance narrowed his eyes. “I’m all yours.”

The air exploded, tiny pellets shot out everywhere, and Sigrid’s shadow and form smeared as velocity thrust her forward.

The bowstring was released, and the quarrel split the air apart.

So fast. So graceful. So predictable.

Sigrid just spared Marek the effort of closing the gap — it was way easier for Sigrid to skip those distant fifteen yards.

Two pinions, each armed with long quills and a range greater than spears, prevented Marek from engaging in close combat, so he had bet on Sigrid taking the initiative.

One less problem to worry about; the issue now relied on dodging the living missile.

In the blink of an eye, Marek stooped low before springing to one side, the impulse taking him off the chimera’s trajectory by mere inches.

The avoidance had been no easy task, and the man struggled to regain his footing right after getting out of the way, but now he found himself in a position to execute a counterattack. His knees bent, and his body rushed for the silhouette of his girlfriend at his right, wooden swords plunging like guillotines over his target.

Thud.

The ‘edges’ of his sticks had not landed accordingly. His downward cut had been interrupted, stopped at the level of his fingers by something feathery.

It had been the wings — those angelic and snug wings. To think his favorite blanket made out for both a blunt weapon and a shield.

The ‘shield’ bashed in response and sent the man reeling backward, stable footing returning to him just in time to duck out of the way of a wing swipe. Then, another slap, brushing his hair. A third one, drawing a thin line on the undershirt’s left sleeve.

Not a minute had passed since the battle began, and Marek was already forced onto the defensive.

“If you wish, I can limit myself to using one wing~,” Sigrid teased between sweeps.

Taunting? Since when was that her thing? “Fat chance. I’m not done.” Marek barely managed to say.

Even Sigrid’s astray blows blasted him with blasts of wind — harmless on their own, but those gusts increased the odds of him slipping and falling on his back. That should not happen.

One step back every dodge. Every successful evasion, a pattern retained within his war-forged mind. The flurry was relentless but lacked acuteness. Sigrid might as well be trying to fight giant flies.

It was not long before the chance of a countermove presented itself.

“ Gee! ” A surprised squeal flew out of Sigrid’s beak as Marek’s two weapons went for her left wing, which stopped in their tracks before they had the opportunity to gain impetus.

“Good catch~. But I have more limbs!” Suddenly, a palm thrust came from her right arm, the attack not as refined as her wing sweeps but no less powerful. She had said no claws, but nothing about not using hands and arms.

Not like Marek had not anticipated the use of the benders.

He could not release the pushful wing and divert the arm aside; if Marek tried to lunge with his weapon at Sigrid, chances were that he would get to feel the impact of her other arm right before the tip of his wood poked her.

Backstep seemed to be the safest course, but Marek had other things in mind.

The wooden lengths holding the wing in place suddenly slackened, and, no longer retained with the man’s strength, the feathery limb continued its once-defined trajectory. Marek did not hop backward — he would not cede the melee range obtained during the short battle — instead, he exploited the force of Sigrid’s wing strike to move along the wing that just missed, spinning like a top with surprising control.

Meanwhile, the very wing that looked to knock down the warrior had veiled Sigrid’s sight — she could only sense the veering by the noise and the sudden rise of diminutive air currents.

Within instants, the man had circled Sigrid, escaping the range of her wings and arms, twirling like a tornado until he stood at the chimera’s back. One last swirl, and his stick swung right for her scapula.

However, before his weapons had the chance to draw a bow midair, an owl head gyrated in his direction, certainly impressed, going by its features, but far from giving up.

Sigrid had no blind spot — no angle could escape from her sight. An attack from her back was hardly a hindrance. Moreover, her strigine attributes had bestowed her with a suppleness that surpassed most races; one duck and a subsequent head recoil, and Marek’s sword’s only achievement was to fan Sigrid’s face.

“Almost got me~,” she chirped, her playful voice quenching whatever frustration had risen in Marek. “Check this!”

Without taking her eyes off the attacker at her back, Sigrid’s body smoothly spun like a greased ball-jointed doll, bringing about her left wing as if it were a scythe.

“Curses.” With clenching teeth, Marek hastily dropped to one knee and lowered his neck, a rush of wind slapping his face, making him realize that a direct hit would have been quite sharp. What happened to not harming my fa— “Wah!”

Her counterattack had not finished; Marek only had one blink of respite before spotting out of the corner of his eye another limb accelerating in his direction.

A kick?! Indeed, and it closed in fast. Marek had no choice but to let himself fall to the floor, nose pecking the rock.

“Since when do you throw kicks?” He wailed.

“Since I found them handy!” Her right leg halted with a stomp, her side ending exposed to Marek. At least the silver lining of his failed counter was that he got an eyeful of every curve from Sigrid’s calves and stem up to her rear.

Sightly, but there was no time to enjoy the view, not with a palm plunging toward him.

“Catch you!”

Marek was quick to roll on his back and avoid the smack, which resounded with the rock two inches away from his ear.

“Again!” Her free arm followed, but a cane deflected the attack onto the rock. “Obstinate!”

“Obstination is my shield, girl,” his teeth flashed in a sign of taunt.

“But will it protect you from this?! ” Right arm swept along once more, but Marek foresaw the attack and rolled just enough to step off the trajectory. That attack was the first of many to follow.

Arms, feet, and wings went in pursuit of the lying man, now reduced to a rolling log, one very elusive. Marek fared not without chances, and his handles would lunge at Sigrid from time to time, although only for neck below — he could say that he had divorced himself from gentlemanliness, but in truth, he was not eager to go for his girlfriend’s head.

The girlfriend in question was no different and abstained from snapping at her mate with her beak, so in some way, whatever handicaps they applied upon themselves were annulled. It’s not as if their mutual concern stopped the rock from shaking each time an attack missed its mark.

Whatever dangerous the entire practice looked like, for the couple, it was merely recreational, and more than recreational, it was some form of courtship dance, once filled with grunts, barks, and unfaltering smiles.

Crack. Alas, the first smile wavered a bit when Sigrid’s strike splintered the first of Marek’s handles.

“Oopsie~.” Sigrid jeered; the shortest stick now lay wasted under her right talon. “The upper ground is mine~.”

“Have been for a while. Never stopped me.” His smirk reappeared as fast as it had left.

“Fantastic, but victory is mine!” Her arms firmed at Marek’s sides, ensuring the man had no space to dodge what she expected to be her last attack. The sight of the nocturnal sky was blocked by the looming figure of Sigrid’s torso, eyes gleaming as if she had just captured a critter.

The view of the apex predator looking down at one might scare every beast or monster, but Marek only felt awe and — why lie to himself — arousal. Her wolfish tuft emphasized the shadow of her bosom.

“Goodbye, deer~.” The knuckle of her wing thrust down. Marek had nowhere to move out, and his only available weapon was too brittle and thin to parry the wing. However, after brandishing such impractical handles for hours, he felt lighter, almost as if he had been using training weights the whole time.

Hence, in the time it took Sigrid’s wing to reach his midsection, Marek used the sturdy avian arms as support and, with the aid of his legs, slid out of his situation like a marlin, passing beneath Sigrid’s legs. The thrill of battle burned in him, so he almost gave no mind to the delightful view of the owl-wolfess’ underside.

“— Kee! ” Parallely, a high-pitched squeal erupted from the depth of Sigrid’s throat as she felt an unexpected breeze run between her legs. A few sparks crawled up all the way to her spine in response to something brushing the furs of her inner thighs and other places.

She did not even realize her wing had hit the rock until her sparks died off. Only when she observed the absence of Marek did she notice what had transpired.

“Eely!” She snapped her head back, observing how Marek fluidly flipped backward until he stood kneeling.

“The benefits of a small boyfriend,” Marek cracked a strained smile; his maneuver had not been easy to pull off. “Now I realize why you have a hard time chasing critters. Bear hunter, squirrel shooer, isn’t it?”

A peep echoed. “Roode! I’m feared by tiny and big animals alike!”

Sigrid swept her wing anew, a dance now too familiar for Marek to struggle with. The broad wing zoomed, visible haze swirling in its wake until Marek could feel a hit of chill air on his face. That sensation gave him the signal, but not for him to flatten against the floor or roll around, but to lean backward, ducking for his upper body to avoid the wing slap, using his left arm to stop him from hitting the ground.

The attack missed, flying by without accomplishing anything but making his hair waver. The moment for counterattacking then arrived.

Old bruises burned, and bones groaned as Marek propelled himself with his arm, launching his upper body up and forward as if it were the arm of a trebuchet. The man rushed fast, not inhumanly so, but enough to cough a badly posed chimera off guard. One of her arm-shields had just driven by after missing, and the other would not twirl in time to deflect the attack.

Wide-eyed, Sigrid observed how the tip of the handle thrust in her direction, going for her almost as if she were a magnet. No matter whether she recoiled or cowered in avoidance, the length of timber drew closer, and the best defense she could offer was a sway of her arm, which she desperately took.

The tip poked her arm, but there was no difference — Marek’s swordsmanship was polished; the blade would slide smoothly along her arm and find its mark, dooming her to defeat. There was nothing in her power to prevent her fall.

Crk-crack!

Nothing except the sturdiness, or lack thereof, of an ax handle. Corroded by years of abandonment, it was a miracle the stick had not shattered after stopping the first wing swing. The slightest strain on the wrong spot and what used to be Marek’s last weapon shattered like a branch eaten by termites.

It was the turn for the brown eyes to expand like plates.

Chips ticked on the floor, right after which a pause settled between the two adversaries, stunned at the turn that the sparring session, believed over about a second ago, had undergone. The silence drew out short — the whistle of a rapid wing had broken it.

“—Wow!” Marek’s reaction saved him from having his face slapped. “Hold on! Hold on! I hit you. That must count as a win!” Another strike, another evasion.

“No way!” The monstress chimed, full of confidence. “I barely felt that! This isn’t over!” She lashed out with the wrist of her wing, forcing Marek to roll out of the way.

“That’s not how it works. A hit is a hit—” The image of Sigrid nearing interrupted him; she had used her palm this time, an attack Marek blocked with crossed arms, the impact sending him reeling two yards away. “I’m no longer armed! I’m tired! The cold is settling over! How am I supposed to fight now?”

Sigrid slowly crawled low onto four limbs, creeping like a predator about to jump over its prey; her flexible mouth commissures bent into an impish grin. “That’s the funny thing—” her tail wagged. “— you don’t! ”

She pounced, like a cat onto a mouse, too high to get around by dashing backward, too low to expect slipping below.

Marek’s last act had depleted his stamina, and now his muscles throbbed; his eyes could only observe how the white form grew in size and the light of the northern light darkened by the chimera’s shadow. There was not even a weapon he could use to greet the attacker.

It goes without saying he was done for.

Bloody fantas—

Sigrid struck like lightning, and Marek’s view transformed into a whirlpool the moment the crash occurred, his body rolling over and over through the platform. He felt as if an avalanche had knocked him over.

The pirouetting came to an end after a few eyeblinks, and so did his spinning head. Amid grunts, Marek kneaded his aching forehead before opening his eyes, ready to give Sigrid an admonishment — to reprove her dirty tricks. But the moment his eyelids quivered open, the sight of a lovely maiden seated on him invaded his view.

Her thighs lay astride his waist, and scaly hands converged on his abdomen, pressing gently. The jeer that once overtook her mask no longer existed, and instead, her eyes were puppy-like, their radiance deeper because of the auroras.

Her tail buzzed with blatant joy, and her chest heaved up and down, two consequences of their friendly sparring. Her breathing did not differ from Marek’s.

“Did I win?” No — that was what Marek wanted to say. She had cheated! She snatched his victory when everything was over! Yet, remaining under the light of her orbs, seeing the womanly silhouette highlighted by the dazzling lights, Marek had no harsh words for her — those had evaporated beneath the sheer display of beauty.

A humorless huff, and his answer was set. “I call it a tie…”

“The two fighters must either remain standing or lying for a tie to occur.” Sigrid leaned lower until Marek could feel her gentle breathing lapping against his nose. “From where I stand, only one fighter can be seen lying on the ground, and that fighter is you. ”

The old Marek would have argued further, going defensive by the fact that he only lost because of the malfunction of his weapon, and that an actual blade would have hit the mark. But after a long day of recovering and warming up, he had no energy to contend for his victory.

“Yeah… Sure. As you wish,” he let himself drop completely, arms outstretched to his sides. His response was off-putting if Sigrid’s frown was something to go by.

“That was it? Not going to argue for your win?”

“No. I’m worn out. Rather, I stay here and… enjoy the view.”

“Hm. You are no fun…” She leaned back with a huff, arms folded in front of her chest. “So, are you going to stay there observing the nocturnal lights?”

“The lights? A, yes, those. I forgot they were there,” he sent forth a coquettish grin. “I planned to behold someone else.”

It took less than one second for Sigrid to catch the message, and, without delay, the feathers of her head bristled; she tried using her right wing to hide her expression, but there was no success. “Flattery~.” She waved her wing in blushy dismissal, slightly shaking her head. “But,” she collected herself after a couple of seconds, “We need to get moving. It’s already dark.”

“The night is young, and its lifespan is long. We have plenty of time available,” he patted the rock with one of his hands. “Want to join? You must be tired after our sparring session.” She was not as tired as Marek was, and the wounds she obtained during her encounter with Madakai and Kiya were practically undone.

Nevertheless, she would not waste a get-together under the arctic sky with her mate.

Sigrid shuffled out of Marek, her drift rubbing more than one sensitive part of Marek with her silky fur; their encounter had worked out more than his muscles, and seeing the lean shape of Sigrid from the ant’s perspective had roused more than his joints.

Her movements were short-lived, and without the weight of a chimera over his hip, a sigh found its way out of Marek.

The pressure grew again, this time on his right arm as Sigrid used it as a pillow, the rest of her body nestling beside him, arm on chest, and bent knee over thighs; she shrank her body so it lined up with Marek’s.

The heat transfer was immediate, and Marek felt once more within the confines of a cozy blanket.

“... It’s a striking sight,” Marek commented after a pause.

“Always,” Sigrid agreed, line of view mirroring Marek’s. “I’ve been here all my life, but the snakey lights never stop amazing me. You know? Imbi had told me the lights are a procession of lesser Spirits, hundreds and hundreds of ethereal entities marching above the Frostscape during night times, watching over their believers.”

“Interesting. And do you believe that?”

“Hard to say. Not even Imbi is sure whether that is true or not. She believes in the Spirits, but she is unsure of everything that her people’s legends say.”

“Not surprising. With Gods using the continent as their game board, it’s difficult to believe in the old traditions.”

“Her faith is strong; she is only skeptical about some ancient values. However, there was something in her sayings that caught my interest. She had said that the procession is led by a major Spirit, a watcher among watchers who appears once every winter and only during three or so nights. The hoomans here call it the Spellfire. ”

“Spellfire…” Marek quietly echoed; somehow, the name rang familiar in his memories.

Sigrid’s hand detached from Marek’s chest and pointed to the sky. “There. Can you see it? For you, it must look like a star.”

Marek forced his sight to follow what Sigrid’s finger was pointing to, narrowing his eyes to sharpen his view but still refusing to raise his head. The eyes scrutinized the sky, thinking he was about to seek a needle in a hay, considering Sigrid’s vague description.

However, to his surprise, it took Marek no more than one minute to discern one glowing speck amid the celestial canvas, a radiant sphere practically unrecognizable from a normal star, barring the fact that it did not blink and that its color varied imperceptibly. It, too, seemed suspiciously close to the continental surface. “... That point? It looks… odd, but otherwise star-looking.”

“Yes. Not all hoomans here can’t differentiate it from a normal star, and even those that know its nature, cannot see beyond the simple impression of an odd-looking star.”

“Is there more to see?” He tilted his head closer to Sigrid, his eyes never leaving off the Spellfire. “And what is so interesting about it?”

“It’s its radiance that I find interesting.” Sigrid wrapped her fingers around the glow on the horizon as if she tried to encircle it. “It’s brighter than the moon but less than the blazing sphere, burning like the multi-colored bows after a summer rain in the South.” Her fingers uncurled, mimicking the way the star emitted its colors.

“A rainbow? But I can’t see any of that.”

“No one can. So far, only I can see it.”

Marek moved his eyes to Sigrid. “Do you mean that?"

She nodded. “I can’t explain why, but it has always been like that, ever since I escaped from my first lair. Whatever the case, it is by far the best light of the season. I saw it with Saku in the past, with Imbi too, and now, beside you.”

Marek regarded Sigrid with curiosity, admiring the faraway air he exuded as if she were talking about a recurrent and pleasant dream. He then went to see the Spellfire — just another shiny speck in the sky for him, but a spectacle of radiant hues for Sigrid.

It was not long after he contemplated the northern lights that the name of the phenomenon flew to him: Imbi had mentioned it during their first encounter. Even more, he vaguely remembered reading about it before venturing into the North, but because the topic had not aligned with his interests, he dismissed the information.

Nonetheless, the text of these books vaguely lingered in his mind; what Sigrid called the Spellfire was, in reality, a group of Ley Lines overlapping with each other.

The Ley Lines, normally invisible to mortal eyes, conducted magic particles from every part of the globe, and when they crossed paths with another pathway, a nod emerged, and the energy turned so dense that humans could see it, even if it was a fraction of what truly was.

The Spellfire was no secret for most academic bunches, but Marek could not say the same about his lover.

Claws capable of slicing through the embodiment of elements.

Eyes that pierced through veils that conceal supernatural forces.

An aura of awe that made packs of predators whimper as pups.

The man had passed so much trying to get along with Sigrid, to understand her monstrous facet, to love the woman inside her, that Marek had never bothered to inquire further and dig up the mystery behind the major predator on the Frostscape.

What was Sigrid?

Snff-snff-snuff.

Marek’s philosophical meditation was interrupted by the sound of a beak snuffling by his neck, the air of her innards warming his skin and tickling his ear.

He turned his head and saw how Sigrid’s head had come nearer, and her eyes were closed as if entranced by something.

“Sig?” His voice startled her, eyes flicking open and head inching away.

“S-sorry, it’s just… your smell. ” There was something more than timidness in her tone.

“It’s fine,” he smiled. “It doesn’t bother me. Actually, you also smell good to me. I adore that pine perfume you expel.”

“Well, I did bathe recently,” her neck imperceptibly contracted. “So… you don’t mind if…” She left the implicit question floating between the two.

Marek narrowed closer and landed a kiss on Sigrid’s beak. “By all means, go on. ”

Steely blue eyes flicked with eagerness, the owl-wolfess missing no beat in nudging against the curve of Marek’s neck, resuming the scentful feast, ready to vacate in her mate’s shroud of virile aromas.

The she-chimera was not the only one living it up to the intimate thrill — Marek likewise delighted in the fondness that Sigrid was giving him, her breath like summer breeze as it ghosted across his skin, igniting bolts of pleasantness that dashed throughout his being.

The glee compelled Marek’s hand to press Sigrid closer to him, a sign the chimera quickly recognized as his mate being receptive to her display of intimacy. Just then, she opted to firm her cuddle over Marek, hand drawing circles on his chest, leg stretching over his waist, tail buzzing crazy like an uncontrolled flywheel.

After two or so minutes of inhaling Marek’s natural scent, her nostril strings inside her beak were already satisfied, but that had been just a part of her — the rest of her senses craved more.

An unhindered groan, one not attributed to the sudden change of temperature, slipped from Marek’s lips as the crimson muscle, warm and wet, made contact with the exposed sunkissed skin. Hotter than her breath, Sigrid’s tongue absorbed the man’s salty sweat, taking in another sensorial sample of her mate to shelve in her mind like a valuable recipe.

Having his skin licked made Marek yearn for further contact, hands becoming probing and eager to feel up the wintry coat of his lover and the muscle hiding beneath. The hand that used to rest on the chimera’s shoulder slid across until it gently pressed her waist, whereas the other hand moved until it lay on her thigh.

For every inch the tongue slid across, another sigh escaped the man, and, just then, his hands and fingers would respond accordingly to his impulses, testing the softness of her muscle by squeezing her thigh or hip. Before long, a hard sensation arose and poked Sigrid’s right leg, which caused her to shuffle her leg, only to end up eliciting a moan from her lover.

It was a mutual exhibition that threatened to transform into a wildfire of passion.

But right before any inhibitor could have been sealed for the night, right after Sigrid licked her way to the man’s cheek, she spoke. “Marc…” Her inflection made it seem as if she was air-starved. “Do you think me childish?”

“No,” meanwhile, Marek’s tone was nearly a sigh, words coming out as if they had melted. “You are a full-fledged female.”

“Do you think me naive?”

His head turned to her, lids half-closed. “Radiant, pure. Not naive.”

“Do you love me as a mate? As a girl-friend?”

“As those and more. You are my love, Sig.”

“And you are mine, Marc.” Both edged closer simultaneously, malleable lips pressing onto a rigid beak. “Then, that’s that.” Against her immediate instincts, a miscalculated graze away from getting lost in her passion, Sigrid withdrew from the man’s face and partially rose from the floor.

“The night grows cold. It’s time we depart to our nest,” her voice leaned to reason, but her fluttering eyelashes betrayed her intention. Marek could only leisurely nod while gawking from the soil, chest rising and falling, too love-struck to come up with words. “If you agree, we could finish our… embracing in Vettija.”

His heart missed a beat, and a gasp ghosted out of his lungs. It was not the most explicit language, but her aim was blatant.

The Marek of old would have blasted her with questions: Are you sure? In the middle of this frozen wasteland? Do you even know what we are going to engage in? Those and many more inquiries would have dashed out of his mouth like darts, ready to foolishly hinder his relationship with Sigrid.

But not that night — Not under the spectacle of glowing snakes and the watchful presence of the Spellfire.

Not after almost perishing under the weight of the elements, and not after having the number of his remaining days tattooed on his body.

He would not refuse her love — not when that eccentric chimera was the shiniest star of his life.

“I follow you.” The answer was clock-smooth. Sigrid responded with an intense stare, thick with determination, love, and lust.

In short, eye contact was cut off, and Sigrid stood to her feet, moving off toward the path edging the mountain, her stroll not quite subtle as her hips swayed in a pronounced way, clock-like, tail breezily mirroring the rocking of her haunches.

It was an amateurish strut, but far from ineffective — Marek fell spellbound without the slightest resistance.

Barely composed not to stagger as he straightened up, Marek did not stutter in his pulse and went in calm pursuit of his lover; his body, seemingly unperturbed like a disciplined soldier, marched instinctively, but the flame of desire burned intense red, his mind thinking of nothing except Sigrid.

It was not long before the slab that held the castle of what used to be the most iniquitous entity of the Frostscape loomed deserted.

Dalavut and Iousterard were left in the chambers, but Marek did not care — that night, his blades would be unwarranted.

His canteen, too, was omitted to take — Marek’s newfound thirst could not be quenched by its content.

No one but Sigrid could appease that need of his.

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

Not even Kiya’s enchantment had been so perficient in attracting a male.

Her silhouette, too much like one of a goddess, stood out in the arctic gloom as if it had been sculpted in white opal.

Her tail softly wagged like the hand clock of an illusionist, drawing eyes with hypnotic allure.

On her shoulderblades, wings sprouted, equalling in prominence those that the light elementals bore, gently swinging behind like a maiden’s dress.

Then, her eyes — moonfire of a phare tower that attracted adrift ships. They pointed ahead, outside Marek’s view, but they would shine out in his direction, even if by a few seconds, to check on him, either to assure he was following her or to cast a seductive sideglance.

The peaks of black stone? The abyss next to the mountain? The gorge that blocked the starred sky? Unimportant features of the environment — blocked out of his senses as if they were novice sketches hanging in an art gallery.

Only one masterpiece was worthy of his focus. Only one sculpture could ensnare his contemplation like a lightwell traps the blazing sphere’s rays.

Marek advanced, the coldness of the wintry night doing little to calm the forge of lust within him, shepherded by the alluring sway of a monstress, tempted to dash forward and take her in his embrace.

Patience, pragmatized the inner voice.

In due time, spoke the prudent warrior within.

Did he not wait for the moment she struck with her wings? Was he not eager to evade one hundred strikes for the opportunity to arise?

There was nothing at stake — he could wait without fearing failure.

“We are here.”

The feminine voice brought Marek’s awareness, so he stopped in his tracks, becoming lucid enough to observe with his peripheral vision that they now stood in Vettija. After everything he went through, the sight of the silenced hamlet caused a flicker of nostalgia to grow in him.

“Wait a breeze. I’ll make sure the nest is presentable.”

Sigrid did not do much but glance at Marek before stooping low and squeezing her way through the furred curtain of the entrance. A door curtain? Creative. Marek would have wondered how Sigrid managed to do that if his heart was not drumming in his ribcage and his lust was not on the verge of conflagration.

Seconds drew longer, and a tiny breach materialized in that battle-honed patience. His breath cadence was kept stable by a sole thread of will, and his fingers tapped his sides, looking for a courage booster in a weapon that was not only useless but also absent.

In due time.

“You can come in.” She chimed from within, the lilt of her dulcet voice thinly obfuscated by neutralness.

Like the soul of a fighter dead in battle, a sigh found its way out of Marek, who did not think twice before moving on, pulling the curtain aside with one arm and peering inside.

The room loomed partially illuminated by pillars of lights flooding in through the windows, the auroras less present here than they used to be back in the slab; there was no clue of the Spellfire, at least not one that his mundane eyes could perceive. The floor was padded with several batches of oxen fur, several of which were cut manually in an attempt to get rid of the worn ends.

If Marek had bothered to scrutinize the rest of the shelter, he would have noticed that his clothes hung in a corner and that his mocca-colored bag rested over the archaic counters; the stone table likewise had been moved out of the way into a corner. However, Marek’s focus had been drawn by something different.

The darkness inside failed to blacken Sigrid’s silhouette, so her whiteness stood out like spotless cotton in a burnt field, her eyes akin to a Seolvor’s holy metal going by the way they glowed with steel-like blueness.

Sitting on her knees like an eager pupil, invitingly flashing her eyelashes, Sigrid extended one wing toward him and, using her remiges as fingers, threw a beckoning gesture at Marek.

“We… may continue here. The sight is not as stunning, but at least—Mm!” Her words were quickly sealed in, her beak rendered silent as a pair of lips pressed against the bend of her rigid snout. Marek had not hesitated upon hearing her voice, and like the gusts from the South, the warrior darted toward the monstress and kneeled right in front of her, his hand grasping the back of her head as he sought support to hold the kiss.

Every worry Sigrid had over the ambient not being suitable enough turned haze thin as her beak melted on Marek’s mouth, churring in delight.

“Nothing out there is as stunning as you.” Marek edged away to make that declaration, only to resume vocal contact a fraction of a second later. Vocal exploration evolved more daring, human lips shifting to snog the sidelines of avian’s snout, tongue tracing the edge of the beak until they made contact with the fleshy commissures.

Sigrid noticed how the wet muscle of her partner had become more intrusive — more invasive — desperately trying to force her beak open as if it were a drowning man looking to crack the sheet on a lake.

So urgent. What could the man be looking for? Was not mouth contact enough to quench his hunger? Was there something more?

Perhaps it was time to find out.

The beak yielded to the tongue’s silent demand and gapped a bit, giving enough space for the muscle to comfortably fold over the beaky edge, which the tongue carried out before lunging deeper.

“— Kh~! ” The damp contact was nothing short of a novelty, and her own tongue underwent a massage of sorts as the man’s organ brawled with hers in what was plainly a one-sided match.

The skirmish between muscles sent thrills of animalistic lust all over her body. Her talons clutched her thighs; the knees tightened against each other. The entirety of her body vibrated with involuntary churrs and coos, and it took a lot of will on her part not to snap her beak shut as Marek’s tongue did wonders inside her beak.

To think tongue kissing was a practice among humans.

Their mouths blended into a cuddle on their own for another minute or so.

Manly groans intensified.

Avian purrs echoed unperturbed.

The wind’s sound stood impotent to drown out the crescendo of moans, seemingly immutable. Only the urgency of human lungs for air stopped Marek from keeping his lips attached to her beak, his face backing off and leaving a thin thread of saliva between the two.

As soon as contact was interrupted, a tremorous hoot found its way out of Sigrid. “Ready… to go further?” Marek managed to breathe, slow pants leaving a hazy impression in front of his face. “I might not stop once we move forward.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she spurred. “I want this. Let’s unbridle our mateship.”

Marek edged closer and delivered a peck over Sigrid’s beak. “As you desire.”

The man made distance between himself and Sigrid and began taking off his gloves; then, he grasped the hem of his undershirt, and the shadow of his navel and scars became present. Sheer desire made Sigrid’s eyes shoot wide and her tail buzz loudly. This was no fantasy of hers — her man was disrobing! Her man was undergoing preparation to consummate their love.

They were going to mate!

Mating instinct kicked in, and like a metronome, Sigrid shuffled in her seat, shifting stance and turning around to make sure she was more accessible for her mate.

Lovemaking was no arcane science, and Imbi had never told her about it; her genes contained the wisdom to carry out such an act, just as it happened with the sense of surviving and killing instinct.

Meanwhile, Marek had already discarded his undershirt and boots, the chillness sparing no break to harass his exposed skin, causing his nipples to stand stiff. It was bearable — the heat of his letch kept him warm, at least for the time being; he only needed to move fast.

In short, only his pants and underwear separated him from nakedness, but before he had the chance to pull those down his legs and cast them into a corner, an eye-catching sight hooked his very focus.

Oak-colored irises dilated twofold at the sight of a Sigrid’s angle never witnessed before.

“S-sig—” Before his eyes lay not a seated lady but a woman on all fours, presenting her rear to him, tail idlingly swaying straight. Her eyes pointed not to the shack’s walls but to his dumbfounded face — her head was turned a half circle.

Needless to say, the chimera’s pose struck arousal in Marek. The fur on her crotch somehow felt too thin, and something pinkish was beginning to emerge to the surface.

His trousers abruptly felt a size too small.

“This is… the stance for mating, I presume. You know… convenient to access my… sex. ” She wiggled her butt in an equally shy and flirty manner. “Hoomans do it like that too… right?”

Yes, technically.

It was a position fancied by many races, one stance Marek was not foreign to. It was no surprise that Sigrid chose this pose for the love act — it was the default for the majority of monstrous races and made sense from a biological standpoint.

His throat bobbed with a resounding gulp. Seolvor’s merciful halberd. “It’s c-certainly a viable choice—” his swelling dick was proof of that. “—but if it is not a bother, I would like a more intimate approach.”

Sigrid’s ears merely wagged. “How so?”

“Lie on your back,” his vocalization was a balanced mix of demand and plea. “I want us to be face to— chest to chest.”

Sigrid regarded her mate, having second thoughts on the matter. They were about to engage in sex. Was that not ‘intimate’ enough? Nonetheless, Sigrid rationalized that humans would prefer seeing the face of their lover in a way ordinary to their kind, so she obeyed, making distance before flipping onto her back.

Marek sighed in relief as the view disappeared and the tent on his crotch eased up. However, the break was short-lived as the sight of Sigrid lying on her back stirred up his body once more.

Right leg stretched long, and another bent upward by the knee, its calf and foot deliberately concealing her intimacy.

Like the snow covering the pines after the first summer rays shone, her pristine fur had yielded against her arousal, and the nipples — all eight of them — bloomed to the surface.

‘Angelic’ fell short of describing the view Marek had before his eyes.

“Is this fine?”

“...”

“Marc?”

“... You are the most beautiful thing, Sig.”

“Flatterer~. But words won’t suffice.” The left leg rose with wilful dalliance, grazing Marek’s thigh along the way until it landed dangerously close to his crotch. “Now, I don’t like to press you on, but I believe there is still something on the way.”

The paw then began to nudge him, indirectly pressing his length within the confines of his trousers, sending forth a wave of arousal with each pat.

Patience, Blakesley. He clenched his teeth, trying to call forth self-control.

He succeeded, and a hand went to grasp the suspended foot, digits sinking into the soft paw pads while a thump kneaded the upper side. “Spare me some pacing. It’s cold.”

“Your beautiful blanket is here for you. Make haste~.” Impatience dripped from Sigrid’s voice, so Marek proceeded to undo his belt, dexterous fingers undoing the buckle. The loose pants felt too heavy, and Marek immediately realized Iousterard was hanging on the belt.

He must have missed the moment the ax returned, obviously.

Bad timing, weapon — your services aren’t welcome now.

Metal clunked with stone as Marek tossed the ax, teasing out an amused giggle from Sigrid. As soon as his hands were free, Marek adopted a fetal sitting position and gripped the hem of his pants. And like a snake shedding its skin, the pants and the undergarments were discarded, and his legs were set free of wool.

There he was again, the fighter bared before the Arctic landscape. Two times had Sigrid seen him lay bare; two times had the man been nakedly vulnerable to the everpresent winter.

But this time — this third time — it was different, not only because he willingly chose to be naked for her but also because his build gave off pure arousal.

The scent of his sweat paled before the intensity of his musk — it was the rust of ore, leather greased with exotic oils, and pine bark after a sunny day, all at once. The scent he exuded was bordering on dizzying levels, but the feature that was driving her senses crazy lay between his thighs.

Unlike when the man rested unconscious, his manhood was swelled, rigid, and pulsing as if it were a slumbering animal. What had done nothing but spark her curiosity in its ‘reduced form’ now was turning her mind into hoarfrost.

A low growl rose like the steam from the depths of a boiling cauldron.

Pupils spread and swallowed the white of her eyes, leaving a pulsing plate of blueish silver.

A snake of briskness slithered from the top of her head to the end of her tail, ears likewise standing full mast.

The sensory influx had been too much, and a bit of Howling Talon had taken over Sigrid for an instant.

Rrrrrip-skrreet.

‘A bit’ had been an understatement.

“Mind the claws,” Sigrid heard the man speak, but missed the idiotic grin on his face; her ears did not even twitch. She might have failed to perceive the sound, but Marek did not — the furs at her side had been torn apart, and the rock beneath screeched as her talons ran along the surface. “I cannot afford more wounds.”

“... I’ll try not to use them.” That was hardly an assurance — she did not even bat him an eye!

Marek huffed jokingly, no choice but to settle for her half-baked commitment. Regardless, it was not like she would tear him apart.

“Will you… put it inside me now?”

“In due time. A warm-up is prudent so you can get ready.”

Her sight finally broke from Marek’s manliness and shifted to see his face. “‘Warm-up’? ‘Get ready’? When will I be ready?”

Rather than straight-up responding, Marek leaned forward slowly, closing the distance Sigrid had created. Her acute senses read through his intent, and she drew her stretched leg to her until it mirrored the right one.

Chills bolted across her body as Marek placed his hand over her right ankle, fingers coiling around where the foot and the leg meet. The hand then skimmed up her leg, brushing her fur, feeling the details of the muscles beneath, until it rested on top of her knee.

A second hand then allied with the other, settling over the other knee. “You will know when you’re ready,” he articulated, tone leaning to a whisper, thick with huskiness. Sigrid had not finished digesting his words when the hands on her knees began exerting pressure to the sides, forcing her thighs open, cleaving a v valley whereby Marek could access her white-clogged passage.

Sigrid opposed no resistance despite possessing about sixfold the strength Marek had — there had been no reason for her to.

Marek edged further, passing by her thigh, lowering himself until his hand pressed onto the ox furs. Human hands padded by her sides, crawling like the legs of a hunting wolf, and she hooted as the heat of his breath lapped between the valley of her breasts.

In short, the half-lidded eyes of silvermist color glowed against a dark forest of oak, an encounter that ended abruptly as soon as lips latched onto the beak.

Anew, tongues joined in a dance, and both lovers orchestrated another harmony of groans and avian and canine noises.

Marek pressed onto Sigrid, and the latter aided her mate by gently pressing her wing onto his back. While Sigrid kept her talons grasping the ground so they would not slice the fighter’s flesh, Marek used his hands to explore the chimera’s body. One arm slid across her midsection, fondling the flat of her abdomen and the many teats, and another caressed the length of one thigh, moving from knee backside to the curve of her buttcheek.

For the time being, Marek’s dick reposed above Sigrid’s mound, in expectation of action, attentive to the emergence of hot libido from the female’s core.

It would not have to wait long.

Marek diverted his kisses, moving off the beak to the meaty corner, then further down, evolving bolder with every inch of fur it conquered.

Her cheek.

Her tufty neck.

The indentation of her collarbone.

The hollow of her shoulder.

Every strike of his lips elicited a chirp with variable cadence and intensity, but all livid with pleasure. Against a hidden fear of his, the thickness of Sigrid’s fur provided little protection against his pecks.

Lips then went down and traced the outline of her perky breast, sucking her furred skin, only to set them free with a phlop sound, muffled and wet with his saliva.

Mouth took West and now smooched its way to Sigrid’s underarm, which spread open out of impulse. Marek took his mate’s eagerness to experiment with another maneuver: nibbling.

“ Ccaaww!~. ” That caw was by far the least apex-predatory Sigrid had issued. Her body sprang upward, leaving a noticeable gap under her back; the oxen sheets resounded as they were shredded by nails, the noise passing unnoticed by everybody.

That inoffensive bite had been the catalyst of the series of heat surges that would traverse Sigrid’s entire being. They all shared the same destiny — her flower, which had just given off a spasmodic throb.

Another two pulses would manifest before Marek decided to leave the crook of her armpit, retaking the route previously planned. He first blew a huff on the foot of her bosom, a suctorial smooch followed, connecting halfway through the curve; finally, his head hovered above the pink nub, deep breathing warming the peak, scrutinizing it through the slits of his eyelids.

The tip heaved up and down, a fraction of an inch away from poking him like a needle; it had never hardened by the frigid contact of the arctic wind but now was pen-hard because of his many kisses and touches. Marek studied the pap, analyzing the pacing of its motions and memorizing every detail present on the areola.

He was like a panther, lying in wait for the right moment to pounce at his prey, licking his lips in suspense.

The breast fell, and his narrowed eyes half expanded in a flash. The panther leaped onto his prey.

The remaining cray vessels shook with the boom of a screech, louder than that of a hawk, booming with unmitigated beastliness, briefly interrupting Marek as pain needled into his eardrums.

Sigrid could never have imagined her mammaries were that sensitive. Why was an organ crafted by nature to nurse younglings so receptive to strokes? Such was the absurdism.

Wings began to sweep and legs to kick, but Marek refused to set her teat free. He could not stop now — Sigrid had to get accustomed to the sensation; pleasure must keep surging lest his progression would cool down. Henceforth, he stood firm, shrugging off the chimera’s sporadic jerks, ignoring that her talons, already medium-depth into the rock, could dash onto his back at any time.

Easy, girl, his right hand conveyed with a caress on her thigh.

Don’t resist. Let it settle in, his other hand transmitted with a belly rub.

It took almost a minute, but Sigrid got the message, toning down her wails and shrieks and keeping her body relatively steady. Her nostril flared rapidly, and quivers were ever-present, but she was no longer on the verge of thrashing about.

Good girl, his suckling passed on. The reward for calming down: a circular stroke across her areola.

“ Hooorrr~. M-a-a-a-r-r~.” She tried calling him by his name, moaning his name. The knuckles of her wings pressed on the man’s head, pushing him further into her fleshy oval, filling the man’s mouth with her swell.

Having his mouth full did not hinder Marek in delivering bliss, the man moaning as his mouth worked around the teat, suckling, nibbling, and even daintily chewing.

The sensation of the nipple being squeezed between his tongue and palate felt ecstatic, but his hands sought further satisfaction. Marek’s left hand passed from rubbing the chimera’s belly to pinch and probe the many ‘secondary’ teats, now lust-swollen just as the main pair.

Another rush of hotness traveled down to her labia.

Sparks of hot lust pulsed and converged in her sex.

Tongue flicked under her nipple. Hot water spilled out of her lower body.

Why was her body so receptive?

Why was such a harmless touch capable of rendering her helpless?

Wolf’s gnasher could only dream of peeling fur off. The strike of a sledgehammer could only hope to leave a minute-long throb before the sensation dissipated. Yet, being fondled somehow was turning her into an uncontrolled mess.

The mouth loosened its grip over the mound, and the right breast was left in a sloppy state. Sigrid managed to catch her breath, but her break lasted as long as a snowflake on the surface of a bare palm did — the mouth merely switched to the other breast.

“Meeeuuuh~.” She let out a drawn-out whine, her toes curling and cutting the fur further.

How long?

How long would Marek’s focus on her mammaries last?

She did not dislike his groping; it was just that a part of her remained unattended, relegated to a lonely corner while it was burning in fever and drooling in hunger. Her slit yearned for more; it desired to be touched, and every throb it elicited was a call for succor.

Should she use her claws and appease the feeling? Bad idea — Marek pressed onto her, so going by her spasms, if her hand squeezed its way between the two, blood could be shed.

No, she would not use her hand. This was the mate’s duty — Marek’s duty. She was ready; she had to. The warm-up must be concluded!

“Maaahh~.” She let a whiny coo out, but Marek did not seem to pick it up. “Maarrc… pl-pl-plea… I need— Roo! ” The muscle flicked anew under her bud. “ M— MARC! ”

The outcry brought him to his senses, so he released the mound from his mouth with a sticky noise and sprang his upper body up.

He breathed as if he had been drowning for several minutes, quickly using his tongue to clean off the drool hanging from his lips.

“F-forgive me… I did not hear you.” As if that had not been explicit enough. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no no… It’s down there… It burns. ” Marek was too luststroke to think straight, his mind operating in slow intervals, so it took him several breaths to get her words across.

“So… ready?”

“Yees~,” a half-hoot escaped along with that affirmation. “R-ready-ready…”

As if somehow stewed, Marek backed away until the owl-wolfess’ lower body appeared in his view. The glistening spot caught his eye like an elven jewel would; the tuft of her crotch had turned into a monsoon-battered grassland.

Moreover, her slit had turned more evident than ever, standing swollen above the moist pristine fur, tingling with need. The pussy, surprisingly human despite the species of its bearer, might as well be a furnace by the way it emitted warmth.

Although not to the same degree, Marek was also not acquitted of leaking issues, leaving a stain made with his early syrop where his length used to rest, right above and in the middle of the chimera’s bottommost pair of teats.

Perhaps he should have contained a bit, he mused.

“Pleaseee~,” the hoot drew Marek’s gaze back to her. “I need you. Make me your female. Join me. Mate me~. ”

Soberness struck Marek by the echo of her lovely call for consummation, inviting him with her shaken voice and quivering eyelashes. His eyes glinted with amorousness, and his heart went aflutter once more.

“Then, I comply. My Sigrid.”

Marek drifted his arms and placed them by Sigrid’s side, then shuffled low and backward until his swelling shaft aligned with her slick passage, the hot air of her desire suffusing around his cockhead. Given his height, his eyes were glued on the tuft on Sigrid’s neck.

“This may hurt,” he added.

“I’ll bear it. Just join me~.” She trivially shrugged off his warning. In the end, what was an erect dick compared to the claws of a vampire?

The time for hesitations was long gone, and Marek began to edge nearer, straight for Sigrid’s cunt.

His tip kissed her folds, the drastic change of temperature extracting a hiss out of Marek and a growl from Sigrid. His length kept going, hardly pausing, inch by inch disappearing in the depths of Sigrid’s womanhood, immersing into what could be described as a tight mold of molten rock.

Sigrid had not jested back then — she was extremely hot, both externally and internally, literally and metaphorically.

In seconds, Marek’s dick had almost disappeared from view, swallowed by the crease of furred white and pulsing pink.

Sigrid’s seal of purity had been breached without so much as an opposition, merely slowing down Marek’s length. Its rupture drew a half-yelp, half-snarl from the chimera, but beyond that, Sigrid stood firm, libido never faltering.

Following the penetration, the breaths of both synched in hitched gasps and whistles, the lovers taking a fleeting rest before moving on to the climax of their performance.

Then, Marek’s hips rocked downward, lifting his hips right after. The motion repeated, sliding down and up.

Thrust and lift, back and forth, over and over again.

Each thrust of his hip was trailed by an avian caw or a lupine whine.

Every drive of his manhood spread jolts of ecstasy across Sigrid’s frame.

Her body curved up, pelvis tilting up to meet his cadence accordingly, tensing and slackening with every rock of Marek’s hips. Her perky breasts jiggled as if they were in the middle of an earthdin, and her tail sporadically swished like a whip against Marek’s thighs.

The pacing unfolded wilder, more passionate with every second that passed. Sooner than later, instead of gently pushing forward, Marek bucked his hips as if his dick was a battering ram, anxious to incursing deeper, impatient for conquest.

At one point, Marek recoiled a bit too much, tricking Sigrid into believing he was about to pull out and leave a void inside her. By instinct, she reacted fast, crossing her legs right above the man, locking him into her at the same time she guided him in his raids.

It turned out to be a handy maneuver.

The man growled like a manticore’s wolfhead. The honed warrior hardly gave away his pain in combat, but this night, he could not care less about suppressing his grunts.

Meanwhile, Sigrid showcased her own tune of visceral letch. Too lost in her own bliss, Sigrid was unaware of her yelps and how much she sounded like a wargess in heat. But what could have been a label of shame for her, for Marek was fuel to his oven of passion, energizing him as if he were a coal-powered machine.

“Maa— Maa—” Sigrid managed a broken moan. “Smthin— I f-felt somthing~.”

Her words were far from coherent, but Marek got the gist of it. “Ahha~. Me-e too, S-sig.”

“It’s— Kyah~, like av-ava-lange…” Marek merely groaned in response, hands tightly grasping the sheet under his palms. “It’s— It’s— apprching ha-haaard— Hooorrh~. ”

Marek would say nothing more. What his girlfriend was about to experience must be discovered by herself. Not like Marek could utter more words — he, too, edged climax.

“It’s— Kaw~! ” Whatever remained of her indistinct words mutated into animalistic sounds as an intense surge began arising from Sigrid’s core.

“Ghh… F-fuck…” It was a preventive utterance, thick with heavy pants. “Sig… I— I— Fuck! ” And with the second swearing, the torrent of release manifested and struck him like lightning.

Like a geyser, Marek’s cock erupted directly at his lover’s innards, and streams of hot seed pulsed directly into Sigrid’s womb.

Marek growled like a bear as he emptied himself in his lover, shooting rope after rope of liquid fire, traveling by her passage until it swamped into the deepest pocket of her femininity.

“—! M— Maaarh! ” The virile fluid triggered the uppermost upsurge in the owl-wolfess, hurling her into her first orgasm ever.

It hit her with the force of a rockslide, shaking her like a pine needle in the middle of a blizzard.

Her back bent like a drawn bow, breasts jolting wildly. Her wings shot outspread as if she thought of flying. All her body writhed in unrestrained delight, and the rock under her palm cracked as her talons sought support to bear the boatload of sensations.

The course of the very wind warped as a bestial shriek rose from the bottom of her lungs, the sound generated causing more than one herd of goats to perk their heads up. Marek’s eardrums even seared at the loud display, eagle-like screech attacking them like spears.

Always the resilient adventurer, he brushed off the pain, yowling only because of how his seed was drained out of him. Sigrid’s orgasm had tightened her passage until it reached clenched-fist levels of tautness. Whatever remained in his balls was squeezed out by the contractions of Sigrid’s inner walls, her body assuring no droplet of his man juice went to waste.

With the closing event now achieved, both lovers had their wildfire of carnality subsided, dying down into embers, then tiny sparks.

Fatigue settled between the two, breathlessness developed in their lungs, and beastly outcries scaled down to feeble whistles and drained pants. The two quieted down as leaves of autumn after a gale.

Marek’s arms quivered, scantily managing to keep his weight from falling over Sigrid, and his head hung low, dripping with droplets of sweat that muffed against Sigrid’s midsection.

He angled his face forward, only by a dash, and saw what had become of the lady he had just deflowered. Beyond the heaving hill of mane, Sigrid’s beak stood mouthing for air, whistles flaring out of her beakholes with her eyes squeezed shut.

He had no energy left. Although it was kept sheathed inside the owl-wolfess’ passage, his shaft was no longer swollen and craved action no more.

Carnality had been appeased. The fire of libido had extinguished and would not spark anew until further notice.

Yet, another spark flickered alive, undying before the cold of the Frostscape. His heart was the culprit — it still throbbed with loveliness. That was Sigrid’s deed: she accomplished something that no woman had done.

And in the dark of twilight, Marek’s mouth broke into a wholehearted smile.

He pulled himself forward and landed a kiss on the tip of her crooked beak. “I love you, Sigrid.”

“Rrrooorrr~.” She churred, still suffering from postcoital lethargy. “Looov~ toooh~.”

Her response extracted chuckles from the man. Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged out the foreplay.

Freeze grew more annoying, and with the effects of his lust no longer active, Marek was forced to look for an additional piece of protection. The oxen furs below and around Sigrid lay in tatters, so he decided to bring his cloak of monster hide.

He heaved himself to his feet and walked toward his garment, going and coming back without more difficulties beyond an occasional trip caused by a concealed rock or ruck of fur. His experience had made him resilient against the aftereffects of lovemaking, something that cannot be said about Sigrid, who had been rendered lightheaded.

A shame that his eardrums had been vulnerable and still rang because of his beloved’s sexual outburst.

Marek finally walked next to Sigrid and knelt. “Are you fine?” His hand reached out for her cheek and stroked it.

Eyelids quivered open into slits, exposing a hazy glimmer. “I— I’m fiiine~.” She drew out that last word. “It’s just… it was so tu-turbulent… My head whirls… Stars float-t around.”

Oh crap — I fucked her silly. “I beg for forgiveness—”

“Nooo~. It was fantaaastic~. ” Steely eyes drifted toward Marek. “If any, it shall be meee the one apologizing… I might have… lost control of myself.”

“Guess you did. But I tell you what? You did an outstanding job by not sinking your claws on me.”

“Is… that supposed to be a worthy feat?”

“Believe me, not everyone gets hold of oneself while fu— lovemaking.”

“You included?” She half-jested, mouth corners arched up.

He awkwardly smiled back. “Yes, I guess I should have gone easy on you—”

“You should have warned me you were that hungry… I produce no milk, you know?”

“I-it wasn’t out of hunger… and I wasn’t expecting milk in return.” Although I must admit — that would have been ambrosial. “It’s a common form of warmup, that’s all. Sorry if you disliked—”

“I disliked nothing of what you did,” she interrupted, this time with a more energetic voice. “You are as good at tending to a mate’s needs as lethal you are in battle. You are truly an alpha, Marc~.”

She pressed herself on his palm and cooed in a lovely manner, likewise doing as Marek and stretching her arm to stroke his cheek.

“I’m sleepy,” Sigrid crooned, and her wing waved by her side. “Let’s nestle together.”

Her cheek turned cooler as Marek retracted his hand from her cheek; he grasped the scaly hand touching his face and moved it to his mouth, kissing it. “I comply, my girl.”

In a heartbeat, Marek joined his beloved on the floor, head resting right above the wing’s radius and body facing Sigrid. Once he adjusted himself, he extended the cloak over his exposed form, after which Sigrid rolled so her face lined up with his, her wing spreading above him like a blanket.

“Will you sleep naked?”

“Our… fluids are fresh, and we can’t afford to do more laundry. The cloak will be enough to cover the exposed bits. I couldn’t be more shielded buried under your fluffy form.”

She giggled softly. “Gebaten’s coziest blanket, right? But dipping in water shall be done eventually since we… you know… our odour… ”

“Tomorrow’s concern, like many others. Tonight, we dip into dreams. Together. ”

Her strigine mask gave off a radiant beam, eyelids heavy with both loveliness and tiredness. She inched against Marek and landed a peck on his lips. “Good night, my love.”

“Sleep tight, my love.”

It took nothing for Sigrid to fall asleep, the tiredness of one night’s worth of stress catching up and dragging her to the dreamscape like hands of cotton.

Marek remained awake for a longer time, playing the recent events in his head, tasting their past essence like a spiced fruitcake.

His awakening. Their confession. Their consummation.

It had been so fast, as fast as his heart was drumming. To love someone with such intensity only a tenday after meeting each other was only heard of in tales of fantasy.

He had fantasized about beheading dragons but never bothered to picture himself rescuing the maiden in distress.

Not until now.

Drowsiness eventually befell Marek, his lids feeling heavier every minute it transpired. He pressed gently against Sigrid, close enough to feel her warm breathing licking his face.

He had asked himself what Sigrid was.

A spawn of a kind long lost. An invention of magic. A God’s lost child.

It did not matter.

The subject was unwarranted and irrelevant.

What was important was that she was everything to him, the last bright star in what would have been a frivolous life, and he would do everything humanly possible to save her from harm — she and the world she deemed dear.

He never wished to be someone’s hero, but from now on, he would be her hero. Her friend. Her love.

Finally, fatigue won the struggle, and Marek’s leftover of wakefulness gave in, finally blacking out into a dreamless sleep.

None of the lovers’ slumber was interrupted. They found pleasantness in each other’s embrace, their short time for respite under the Spellfire being a dream in itself.