FSE

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Footsteps crunched heavily into the snow. One limping step after another, the widely splayed toes keeping the traveler from sinking too deep.

It was an amira, a large species of raptor, traveling through snowy woodland hills. She was of the Sevalier breed, her thick coat of feathers making her appear rounded and fluffy fetlocks at her feet. Black feathers on her back and head speckled into white towards her chest and stomach, with a thick tail with feathers that fan out down its length. She was fully geared for riding, a saddle on her back and numerous leather straps keeping it in place with a bridle over her head.

Her rider was in a poor state. He looked no more than a bundle of fabrics upon her back, keeled over with a tight grip on the saddle’s horn. The only way one could even tell she had a ride was his generously wrapped paws hooked into her stirrups.

“Seghour…” the rider groaned.

The amira, Seghour, turned her head in acknowledgement of her name, but kept striding. No further command came, so she returned her gaze ahead.

He was dying. She knew this. She could smell the blood on him, mixed with anxiety and fear, which faded as time went on. There was little she could do except look for help. So she walked, through snowy hills, looking for signs of life.

It was a simple delivery. A crate of supplies were to be sent to the polar folk: fabrics, dried food, and spare tools. Her rider took the job, and she pulled a full sled north for the past week until they arrived. Simple, easy.

A crate from the polar folk was placed upon her sled, a return shipment that would pay well upon safe delivery. That particular shipment was being watched for its departure, however. A dense fog had come down over the woods they traveled through. Despite his best efforts, her rider had gotten turned around, and walked the two into an ambush.

There was still an arrow in Seghour’s thigh, which radiated pain with each step, but she pressed on. Her rider had taken two arrows. One in the shoulder, another in his side. It was a miracle he managed to remain saddled as she fled. Whoever attacked didn't have mounts as quick as she was—even with an arrow in her and the sled attached—so escape was trivial.

They had given chase for some time, but with her swiftness and the fog, she was able to get away. She was quick and clever, exactly why her rider had first taken to her.

She crested another hill, and stood atop, taking a moment to rest and assess her surroundings. The attackers were long gone behind her. No scent of them in the air, only the scents of her rider, the surrounding conifer trees, and a den of prey she would’ve hunted for if not for the situation.

“I-in Oskar’s steps… I find solace…” her rider said weakly, his breaths ragged. “May his guidance… lead me to my journey’s end… in peace…”

She didn't recognize any command, so she ignored him. Seghour scanned around, taking slow steps around the top of the hill. Then she spotted something. And she made her way down.

There was a building, built into a hill. It was a simple construction, rough logs making up the walls, and a roof that looked to be an extension of the hill behind it. Wooden shutters covered the windows and a rough wooden door blocked the entrance.

Seghour was clever enough to open doors, which seemed to displease people. She reached her long-fingered foreclaws down to the door handle, gripped it, and pulled. It didn't budge. She tried again and again, but the door wouldn't give, to pushes or pulls.

“S-Seghour…?” her rider said.

Seghour trilled at him, pawing at the door, her claws scraping at the metal handle.

Her rider groaned and shifted, pulling the fabric down from his head. His tall white ears sprung free, revealing the fox underneath. He looked sick, and was sweating profusely, while also shivering in the cold.

He looked, his eyes unfocused, until they locked onto something by the door.

“P-panic-time… home? An emergency shelter? Is this…” he spoke, getting a little more energetic. The scent of fear faded just a bit and he pulled on her reins. She complied easily, taking a step forward and turning so he had access to the door.

Her rider reached down, then his breath hitched and he groaned. He nearly fell, but Seghour took a step to the side, letting him lay against the cabin wall until he stabilized himself.

“Seghour, asheh…”

A command. She carefully sat, mindful of his legs as she tucked her own beneath her, in her voluminous down feathers. She made a throaty chirr as she agitated the arrow stuck in her. He reached over again and fiddled awkwardly with the handle, before it clicked and began to swing open.

“Please, please, please…” he said, as he slowly dismounted.

The fox grunted, and leaned heavily against the doorframe. His legs buckled and he slid to the floor, just at the threshold to the interior. Seghour chirped in distress and stood, putting her foreclaws on the fallen fox. He slowly reached up and took her claw, gripping onto it far weaker than he usually would. Then he pulled himself up with her help.

“Th-thank you. Let’s see if I’m dying or not, girl.”

He took a moment to breathe, then stumbled inside. Seghour stepped behind him, ducking her head under the doorframe, though the sled still tethered to her prevented her from moving much further within.

The interior of the cabin was a single room. A cot sat in the corner, covered in dust, with a wood stove near it, on the same wall. Against the opposite wall was storage—shelves, an empty bookcase, a wardrobe, and several metal cases. A bench sat closer to the front entrance, a small table and several stools in the middle, and against the back wall was a metal door.

Seghour’s rider stumbled toward the metal cases. He tried to kneel, but moreso fell to his knees in front of them with a pained groan. He wiped off the dust covering the top of a metal case, scanning the words. He cursed, and slowly read aloud.

“E-emergency supply. Left by the… Running Drift guild, 4/2/1024… Contents… dried food, sealed water, blanket… Oskar’s steps…” the fox paused, his ears standing straight and still. He laughed once, before the pain in his side cut him off. “Healing potion!”

Seghour squeezed herself into the room as her rider read. She squawked in pain as the arrow in her thigh bumped the door frame, but she was able to get it through with an awkward turn of her body. The sled had gotten stuck, but she could sit close enough to her rider to feel comfortable.

Her rider opened the case, and pulled out a tin container. He looked like he wanted to laugh with relief, but he knew the pain that’d bring and settled for a goofy smile across his muzzle.

“Healing potion… My goodness… Seghour, you’re amazing.”

She glanced at him and chirped in acknowledgment of her name. He was still dying, but his energy had returned to him. Seghour figured that was a good sign and waited patiently.

Her rider pushed himself close to her, until he was laying against the wall next to her. She nibbled at him, and licked his head.

“Stop that…” he said, gently pushing her head away. “I-I have to pull the arrows out, girl.”

The scent of fear wafted off him as he stared at the tin canister. He pushed the can between his thighs, squeezing them tight, before unscrewing the lid. He placed the lid aside, then very carefully pour some of the potion into the lid. A whine escaped his muzzled, from both pain and from spilling a few drops from his shaky hand. Enough made it in.

Seghour could only watch. Her rider pushed open his jacket carefully, the fabric sliding along the length of the shaft, his breathing quickening as it shifted within him. Taking the shaft in a firm grip, he took a deep a breath as he could, then counted.

“One… two… three—”

He grunted and whined, yanking the broadhead arrow out of his side. Blood poured profusely from the wound and, panting, he lifted his shirt. One handed, he couldn’t keep it from sliding down his body and obstructing the wound, and he let out a small sob as the fabric fell a third time. Her rider gave up on that and just reached for the lid full of potion.

Seghour craned her head down and nibbled at his shirt, before taking it in her teeth and pulling it up roughly. He jumped in surprise, but gave her a grateful look as he brought the potion over in a shaky hand. The amira dutifully held his shirt as he poured the thick green liquid down his side, over the open wound.

“I-it’s a cheap one, oh goodness, it’s cheap…” he groaned, clutching the lid hard.

Her rider clenched his eyes shut and shuddered as his flesh knit back together, the fur regrowing slightly. Once it was over, he reached over and vigorously scratched at the spot.

“I think I’m going to make it, girl. Fuck me, I’m going to make it.”

The relief was thick in his voice. Seghour licked his cheek. He laughed and rubbed at her muzzle, then gently pushed her away. His strength returning, he was able to get out the arrow in his shoulder in short order, pouring potion on the wound, before taking a sip of it directly from the lid. Soon after, Seghour had the arrow removed from her thigh. She did nip at him, but he was quick about it, and poured the green liquid that made her so, so itchy. Her rider held her head to keep her from nibbling at the wound as it healed.

“It’s for your own good, Seghour. Don’t want you fusing your face to your leg.”

Her rider still seemed weak and out of it. His left arm, despite the shoulder being healed, moved with a stiffness, and he occasionally winced. It took an hour, but the table and stools were moved aside, so he could direct her to pull in the sled. Then she was unhitched and ungeared, the door closed and locked. It was a pretty cramped space for her, but she would manage. Seghour didn’t want to be away from her rider after what he had just gone through. He was far more energetic and that liquid closed his wounds, but she wanted to be sure he wasn’t dying.

“We’ll stay here a night, and hopefully my arm will be better in the morning. Then we’ll head back to Fire’s Rise, and hopefully make bank off that box.”

Seghour didn’t understand him, but she chirped in response regardless. People always liked when she did that. He chuckled, then after a moment’s pause, he leaned over and hugged her.

“You’re amazing. Thank you, Seghour. Thank you.”

He held her close, his arms wrapped around her tall neck as he nuzzled into her feathers. Seghour put her foreclaws around him, the blanketing him with her arm feathers.

What was a simple gesture of affection to her rider was far more to Seghour. The way he nuzzled her, rubbing his muzzle against her jawline, was a tell to her that he wanted to mate.

Seghour has had many riders before him, and even mated before, but ever since this fox had started riding her, she had grown attached. The care with which he brushed her, how he rode her, and fed her. All that combined with the nuzzles of a lover drew her to him like nothing else, so much so she began denying the affection of other males in the stables.

She readily accepted his embrace, hoping one day he would follow through. Seghour was patient if nothing else.

The rest of their day was spent in the shelter. Seghour felt a little antsy being cooped up, but she handled it with grace. Her rider had the wood stove lit, and he shared some food with her—dried fruits and meats. The cot was well enough to sleep on after a dusting, but her rider didn’t want to. When he needed to sleep, he made a small nest of blankets next to Seghour, then laid against her, bundled up under a blanket. She curled around him, resting her head against him. The two slept, sharing in each other’s warmth.

The next day greeted them with the wild howling of wind outside. Seghour’s rider cracked the door open, only to let in a gust of snow, coming in over the top of a thick layer of it that had formed against the door. He struggled for a moment to get the door closed again.

“Damn it all,” he complained, back against the door. “It’s a good thing we brought the sled in, eh, girl? Guess we’re stuck until it passes.”

They ate a light breakfast of fruits and he sat bundled against her for some time, idly stroking her back as he read one of the few books he brought with him. She chirred happily at the attention, occasionally nibbling at him and preening his fur to his gentle complaints. Simply enjoying each other's company, until her rider broke the silence.

“We've got food for another week, but I'll probably need to boil snow for our water. Maybe I should take stock of our supplies. I'd rather not crack the other emergency supply crates if I don't have to.”

He eyed the metal door at the back. “Wonder what's behind that door, too. Maybe they've got more stashed back there?”

Seghour chirped at the questioning tone.

“You're right, we should check back there.”

The white-furred fox stood, and stretched languidly. While it was cold in the cabin, he dressed light, his ample winter coat giving him more than enough protection from the chill. He still had the wood stove lit, regardless.

Seghour stood and walked with him to the metal door. A plaque was on the door, with the squiggles he so liked to stare at. He traced his fingers under each word as he read, speaking slowly.

“Artificial… warm pool? A hot spring? Use paw print rock to fuel…” He leaned back and chuckled, “The Running Drift don't mess around with amenities, eh? That sounds far better then up here. Let's go!”

Seghour's rider turned the handle and revealed a stairway heading downward, into the hill. The walls had the smoothness of earth-shaping, different colors of stone shifted to form several straight lines of color down the length. It was just big enough for Seghour to fit too, even if stairs were a struggle for her.

The hallway ended at a chamber that was just a bit larger than the cabin room upstairs. It was circular, and had a domed ceiling. The air was slightly humid, with the scent of wet stone and moss in the air. The center of the space dipped down in steps, water filling the basin which had a movement to it, like the water was flowing to and from it from a source unseen. Only a couple of benches furnished this room, sitting against the walls.

“Wow… let’s get this turned on, girl,” her rider said, his voice having a slight echo in the chamber.

The paw print rock didn't take long to find. It was a stalagmite, smoothed with earth-shaping and a bear’s hand print painted on the rounded top. Her rider placed his hand upon the paint and closed his eyes in focus.

An energy moved from him into the stone. Lines so thin they were hard to spot with the naked eye revealed themself with a soft glow. Her rider was no mage, but most people learned how to channel their mana, to power enchantments if nothing else. So he did.

Small stones carved into the ceiling flickered into life, emitting a soft, warm glow that brought some much needed light to the chamber. The lines of energy turned red as they flowed beneath the water, a warmth radiating from them. Seghour glanced around in confusion as a sound enchantment played, filling the run with the gentle song of birds.

“Don't like that,” her rider said, his ears flicking at the noise. He dipped a hand in the water.

Seghour's talons clicked against the stone floor as she approached behind him, looking curiously into the water. She craned her head down and took a drink. It was cold and had a mineral taste to it.

“Guess we won't be boiling snow. Hope it'll heat up quickly, I haven't had a proper bath since we left.”

Her rider sat by the pool’s edge, and she sat with him. He leaned against Seghour as they waited, with him idly brushing his hand against her chest. It took some time, but soon steam rose gently from the pool. The fox smiled as he dipped his hand in the pool.

“There we go! Let me get something real quick. Gourh.”

She chirred softly and watched as her rider disappeared up the steps. Her feathers rose in mild anxiety, but she followed the command dutifully and… waited. He came back down some moments later, with a bag and some bundles of fabric from the sled, which he left on one of the benches. His bushy tail swayed happily as he returned to her side, with a bottle and a tin mug.

She glanced his way impassively and he returned her a look of faux outrage. “What’s a little day drinking, hm? After yesterday, I think I deserve it!”

Seghour chirped at him, and he chuckled to himself. He placed the items down by the edge of the water, then disrobed. He did so shamelessly in front of Seghour, tossing his clothing over to the bench. Her rider had a fair build, strong from a life of hard work, but not overly so. Though his winter coat concealed his figure, his whole body covered in soft, white fur.

What wasn’t hidden, however, was his sheath. Between his digitigrade legs and just above his ample balls, it sat there, tantalizingly close. It was just about eye level with Seghour where she sat, a complicated medley of scents coming from it, but one scent was the promise of mating. She leaned her head toward him.

“Don’t you get any ideas, girl,” her rider said with a chuckle, patting her long muzzle.

Seghour grumbled, but gave it up. Her rider tentatively dipped a paw into the pool. Finding it agreeable, he stepped in. The fox stepped down until he was wait deep in the hot water, then sat on the step, sinking in up to his shoulders. He groaned with contentment. His fur floated in the water, a shifting corona of white that moved with the gentle current that fed the pool. He leaned back.

“Seghour, this is wonderful,” he said with a sigh, “Want to come in? Vavash?”

Come. She glanced at him, then at the steaming water. She stood and carefully stepped into the pool. The warmth was nice and soothing, and she went down to the step her rider had stopped on.

“Whoa, hey!”

She lowered herself down, waggling her body with her arms splayed, how she usually cleaned herself. Her body displaced the water and sent a wave of it flooding out of the pool and into the room. And she shook herself vigorously, puffing her feathers out.

“Asheh! Asheh!” her rider pleaded.

She paused her cleaning with a huff. Then she complied, sitting down and sending another wave of water in the chamber. Her rider had grabbed his bottle before the great wave could knock it over, saving its contents from becoming part of the bath.

“Really should’ve thought of that. Good thing it’s just the two of us.”

Seghour chirped happily. She’d like to have cleaned herself further, but she’ll just do it later. The water was soothing. Her leg had still ached from yesterday, and the warm water helped. She huffed in contentment.

Her rider took his bottle and pulled the cork out with his teeth. Then he shook out his now wet mug, and poured himself a drink.

“To life!”

He toasted the air. Seghour was about to sniff the mug, but he pulled it back and downed the whole thing in one go. His ears folded back after the first two gulps, and he shook his head after he was done.

Her rider had a few more drinks after, pacing them much slower. He’d ramble about something to her, take a few drinks, then lay back and just soak in the pool. She sat with him, enjoying the water’s warmth and his presence, chirping in response whenever he paused. He’d react happily to her noises, which encouraged her to do it more. Another cup in, his ramblings shifted to a topic that caused a stirring within him.

“You know what I was thinking, when I was curled up on your back with two arrows stuck in me as I was slowly dying?”

Seghour chirped.

“It was that I’d never get to make that move at that bear who runs the Grunter’s Hall. He’s handsome, oh he’s handsome. Probably good in bed, too. Wears that damn kilt that I just want to… want to get under, you know? Never been with a bear before, and I’d love to see one of their cocks in the flesh. I bet the pictures don’t do them justice.”

Seghour chirped, but she couldn’t help noticing something pink emerging from between his legs, just beneath the water.

“After yesterday, I’m feeling rather more appreciative of living, y’know? Never know when a moment’s going to be your end, so shoot your shot, as they say. Maybe he’ll press me into next week!” he chuckled, which trailed off into an uncertainty. “I’m not being creepy, am I, girl?”

She was feeling a bit amorous for some reason. When he gave a pause she’d normally respond to with a sound, she instead leaned her head down and gave him a nuzzle, rubbing her nose just under his jaw.

“Aww, look at you!” her rider chuckled, putting his arm around her head and holding her close, “I knew you’d support me. I just hadn’t had any action in a while—man, woman, whatever else. A hand can only take you so far!”

He paused for a long while, staring contemplatively at the ceiling, which was lightly obscured by the steam coming off the pool. Seghour’s rider kept his arm around her muzzle, not holding her in place but keeping her close. She could pull away if she wanted, but she didn’t. A gnawing desire was building in her, under her tail, even if the pink shape in the water was slowly retreating.

The fox sighed, his ears drooping back. “Maybe I’m just lonely, y’know? I love this job, I love the peace and the quiet, I love all the beautiful landscapes I get to see riding across Holgur. And, of course, I love riding on you, girl,” he scratched her muzzle, Seghour letting out a husky chirr. “But spending so long so far away from people, never staying in one place… it’s hard to make any real connections. I’m certainly not helping the ‘foxes are sluts’ stereotype with all the one-night-stands I’ve had—gods forbid we don’t put all that much emotional weight on sex, the prudes—but with this line of work…”

He pawed for his mug, which sat by the edge of the pool, and took another deep drink of it. He sighed again, a slight whine escaping his throat. Seghour pushed herself ever so closer, nuzzling under his chin. Her tail was raised enough it had escaped the water. She licked at her rider’s neck, her patience for her chosen mate starting to wane. He laughed and rubbed at her muzzle again.

“Are you lonely, too, girl? I know amira are social and I’ve kept you running around so often. I hope you’re making some good friends in the stables we do visit. Getting lots of attention from the males! Attention you want! I don’t know what amira find attractive, but I always thought you were one of the prettier ones. A real catch, I imagine.”

Seghour pressed further, licking his neck more insistently, trying to make her desire clear. Her hot, heavy breaths carried across his fur as she made small chirrs, alternating between licks and gentle nibbles. Her rider laughed jovially, before he faded into a stunned silence as she kept going. He had finally realized what she’s been trying to tell him.

“Seghour…?”

He shuddered and put his hands on her cheeks as she licked and nibbled, her nose pressing under his chin. Her rider seemed conflicted, what was socially and morally right warring with the lowered inhibition of alcohol, his pent-up desires, and his closeness for his mount he never thought was this deep. Sexual shame wasn’t a big part of fox society, at least in the society her rider was raised in. One’s body could be shared freely as one wishes, but there were still limits to what was acceptable. Couplings between a person and a beast weren’t unheard of—certainly plenty of mythological stories of them around—but it was one of the few truly shameful acts one can commit for her rider’s people, not to even mention how other, more prudish cultures would view it.

Seghour wasn’t stopped from giving her amorous affection, but her rider was stuck, ears pinned with his breath quickening. His cock was emerging from its sheath in defiance of his upbringing, pink and small—small compared to the other amira she had mated with in the past, but size didn’t matter to her. The closeness to her rider—her mate—was what she wanted. She needed the heat beneath her tail quenched, her eggs fertilized, and the satisfied cuddling that came after the act.

“S-Seghour, I’m not an amira. I-I’m not a…” her rider said breathily.

Nonsense to her, but she just chirped all the same. He seemed receptive, if not willing to her. He issued no command she would have reluctantly obeyed, nor had he tried to pushed her away. Her rider hadn’t reacted as she hoped, though, so maybe he needed more encouragement? She had seen males in the stable hump their belly feathers from time to time. She had even seen her rider rub at his own cock a couple of times, to his embarrassment. There was one time he had traveled with someone, and the two had mated by the campfire while she and the other’s amira were hitched nearby, soon after he first started riding her. Maybe that was what he needed.

She finally pulled her muzzle out of his grasp. Her rider gave her a look, a complicated mix of relief and disappointment and shame. Until her next move made him jump in surprise. Mimicking what she had seen on the road all that time ago, she dipped her muzzle beneath the water and licked at his cock. The taste was muted by the warm water surrounding it, but it was still pleasant—salty, musky, and with the distinct scent of her rider as a subtle note mixed. It twitched against her tongue, and he placed a hand upon her muzzle. She thought she was about to be pushed away, but he simply squeezed it as she continued.

“Seghour…” he huffed, “W-we can’t…”

Her thick tongue dragged against his shaft, from base to tip, until the little bulb at its base emerged from the sheath. He swore and shuddered beneath her, scratching at her, encouraging her further. He was clearly ready for her now, and her cloaca burned with a need for her mate.

Seghour chirred deeply, a rumble her rider felt against his cock as she gave one last lick. Then she gently shook his hands from her face. The uncertainty was gone from him now, his own need ignited just as she hoped, and the look he gave her was of pure disappointment that she had stopped. The amira stood and strode out from the pool, her soaked feathers dripping heavily onto the stone floor.

Then she took a mating stance. Crouched down to a sit, her foreclaws on the ground before her, and her tail raised. She looked back at her mate as he openly stared under her tail.

Her cloaca was usually hidden beneath an ample layer of white down feathers, but in her need, her slit was exposed. It was horizontal across her backside, and parted with a slight puffiness, black lips ringed around the soft pink flesh which dripped with more than just the spring water.

“Oskar’s steps, I’m far too drunk,” her rider said dreamily. He stared at her inviting cloaca, then down at the ground beneath her. “Gourh.”

She huffed heavily at the command, and would obey, but she kept her tail raised and ready for him. He was in for a world of unhappy nips if he didn’t mate her here and now. The fox rose from the pool and stepped out, water dripping from his fur, and his cock still hard. Her rider unsteadily moved over to the bench with the fabrics he’d brought, and he quickly grabbed one, then brought it behind her.

Seghour chirred with need, and waggled her tail, which bumped him lightly. He paused a moment, behind her, very neatly folding the fabric into a square as if to put off the inevitible.

“I’m really about to do this, aren’t I? Gods above…”

Seghour was getting frustrated with her mate and flagged her tail up and down, giving a less happy chirr as he delayed their first mating. He still agonized within himself, but it seemed like whatever last wall of inhibition there was had broken. He laid the fabric out behind her, and kneeled onto it.

Her rider took her, then. He pushed his cock into her and finally began to mate with her, as he promised so long ago. He had dawdled for just a moment more, muttering something about ‘foreplay’, before doing it. Her rider had an arm around her tail, the other on her hip, and he pressed in until that bulb kissed her lips.

She was soft on the inside, wet beyond the warm spring waters, and despite the difference in size, she was so, so tight. Her warm walls clenched on him, inviting him further, as deep as he can get himself. Her rider muttered and swore, then took her proper. His hips pushed in and out, and her lips clinged to his shaft with each motion out. Her muscles rippled along his length, and she pushed back against him with need.

Seghour huffed and trilled happily. He was not nearly as big as her previous mates, but that didn’t matter. He still felt amazing, the unique shape of his cock rubbing her in just the right spots, and that bulb at the base, the way it spread her with each thrust in. Her instincts made her squeeze and try to milk him, an impatience to have him fertilize her, yet he held on.

Her rider was groaning behind her. He didn’t expect her to be this soft, this tight or warm. Her backside was never on his mind outside of general amira care and it felt much more amazing than he ever would’ve thought. And the outright eagerness Seghour was displaying made things even better. She was nearly pressing him to the ground with her hips and tail, but he took her at his own pace.

He babbled something else, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was just enjoying him, her head pressed down against her neck, eyes closed, foreclaws gripping onto the stone ground. All of her focus on her dear mate within her. And that knot was growing with each thrust, in time with the building pressure she was feeling within her loins.

Her rider’s hips slapped heavily against hers, wet fur meeting wet feathers. His pace turned from a fast, steady thrust to slow, and more forceful as his groans turned to grunts. The bulb, his knot, was nearly at its thickest, and without much thought, he forced it in her.

She jumped and chirped, feeling it press its way into her, spread her cloaca lips wide for just a moment, before it pushed in fully locked into her. Seghour met her orgasm in the same moment her mate did. Her legs shuddered and she let out a low, throaty grumble. Her rider felt it in her cloaca, the unsteady clenching around his cock, which now tugged with need at the root of his knot.

The fox was clutched tight to her tail, holding back for as long as he could as her insides worked him hard. He could only last for so long, and with a loud, unashamed groaned, he let go. His cock throbbed hard within her and his seed spurt heavily in thick ropes. He panted and grunted, his hips bucking on instinct with each throb.

Seghour didn’t know how long she spent in that bliss, her orgasm rolling through her body unlike anything she had ever felt before. But the stars left her vision at some point, leaving her a heavy, tired, panting mess. She could still feel him inside her, that knot stuck firm just past her lips. The flood of fox seed within her waned to a gentle, occasional spurt that would last the next half hour or so. She could feel her rider’s chest heaving against her tail, as he hugged it close.

She looked back to him, seeing him looking down at where their bodies met. He seemed to want to babble his meaningless noises, with how his jaw opened and shut, but his words never came.

They stayed locked for that half hour. Seghour wanted to snuggle, but he couldn’t seem to remove himself from her. Her rider had to give a panicked asheh command when she tried to stand, which she complied with.

When his knot came free, he dried himself off with one of the fabrics, and did his best to rub her down with another. Then he lead her upstairs, where they laid together by the fire to fully dry as the blizzard howled outside. He didn’t speak much after, which was unlike him, but he still showed the same affection for her he always had. Seghour sat proud and glowing.

The blizzard was clear by the next day, and with heat of the wood stove kept burning through the night, they were dry and ready for the journey back to Fire’s Rise. They had a quick breakfast, then the fox got dressed and geared Seghour up, moving the sled in position to come out of the shelter easily.

Before he opened the door for them to depart, he had paused, and rubbed at her neck.

“Thank you, for last night. Still got a lot to unpack about what happened down in the spring, but uh… for saving my tail and all, bringing me here. And being my one constant companion these past two years.”

She chirped at her mate’s words. He laughed.

“Don’t really know why I’m feeling all sentimental right now. Just wanted to let you know that before we headed out, is all. Even if you don’t understand a single thing I’m saying!”

Her mate cupped her chin and gently guided her head down to where he could reach it. Then he kissed her on the nose. Seghour returned a lick across his.

The fox opened the door. Then he had to spend an hour cursing as he shoveled the entrance clear of snow for Seghour and the sled. And she and her mate left, headed back south towards Fire’s Rise.