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Pas shines high in the sky, spreading his warm love across the countryside on this fine day. One such beneficiary of this is the small village of Kur, a community of simple tribesmen and women held together by good will, tradition, and an appreciation for life's joys. One such lass mulls around in her typical daily routine: practicing the tribe's mystical traditions in the morning and evenings, and spending the rest of the day on good cheer and the duties of a medicine woman in training. The girl of 23 winters has been in the village for as long as she can remember, a ward and apprentice of the tribe's shaman. Being groomed for such an important role, she has spent much time among her people, learning about the duties of the heart as well as those of the body and mind...and occasionally practicing them for herself! While no wanton slut, she is neither a virgin. Many tribesman have propositioned her, and a few have even been lucky enough to enjoy a moment alone together. But as with the poultice she spends this afternoon preparing, she does her best to act for the good of the tribe.

The night warrants an afternoon's careful preparation, as the harvest moon is reaching fullness tonight. In her role as a milk-swollen breast, womanly rump, or smooth mound, Mas is a symbol of the impending Ripening festival. With the harvest mostly gathered by the women, it is time to feast while the food is bountiful and fresh. Thus, all those females not occupied with preparing medicines or other ritual elements are bustling to assemble a smorgasbord celebrating the variety and plenty of the season. Ripening is when women share all their bounty with the tribe; the unmarried ones are reserved for courting by unmarried (and presumably virginal) males, while the married ones share and share alike with the married men. Then, too, the festival is a chance for women to display their talents, from dances and songs of enticement to crafts like Shenjara's medicines to formally introducing babes born in the past year to the tribe.

Of course, the men do not just show up to Ripening to feast, gaze at displays of beauty and talent, and take their pick of the females--apart, perhaps, from the rakish layabout Coyote! At Ripening, the married males tell tales that ostensibly describe their own accomplishments in the past year, though it's considered tasteful and clever for those tales to indirectly praise the speaker's wife and children while subtly deprecating the speaker. The unmarried males who are courting confer with the medicine man in advance to confirm who to court. The medicine man uses his nonmagical insights (traditionally ascribed to 'visions') to gently steer the males toward compatible matches and realistic courting--trying to deter an unready male from embarrassing himself or a rivalry between males who would court the same paramour.

As such, while the courting ritual is theoretically an open competition by the unmarried males, there usually is just one male to court each female ready to wed--even if some males wait well past puberty as a result. There are occasional exceptions--a suitor declaring for a female who's not ready to marry anyone yet, just to signify his interest and willingness to wait a year; a pair of boyhood rivals who refuse to back down; or a wastrel who's courted the most attractive females for a decade after being widowed and refusing to settle for a realistic target. However, given the respect that the medicine man holds in the community and his close relationship with younglings as a teacher and mentor, he usually works things out behind the scenes to avoid public confrontations that could jeopardize the cohesion of the tribe.

The draconian medicine man Arkan is fretful on this day of celebration, with his scales creased by deeper lines than usual. He could understand Reikian courting Shenjara, given his longtime flirtation with her, and even accepts the predator's fierce determination to chase his prey in view of competition. The Rakshasa never got along with Chaunticleer, considering how opposite they are outwardly and how they both hate to admit their similarities, so it's not a shock that the older teenage bird quietly demurred from the medicine man's advance to chase a different female. However, Arkan is completely bewildered at Kinshirr's stoic commitment to being honest to his heart and making his case to the elf-girl publicly, when even the effeminate fourteen-year-old patiently acknowledges he has no chance against the fierce, proud hunter and mellifluous, charismatic singer.

Arkan's stubby tail twitches under his embroidered, ceremonial robe as he completes his preparations. In all his decades as medicine man, there have *never* been three public suitors for the same male in the same year. In a culture so based upon clear gender roles, the tribe as pre-eminent above the individual, and shame as worse than physical injury, he fears for the well-being of the two losers tonight--assuming Shenjara does choose a winner. Kinshirr's youth and resignation--and quiet reserves of strength beneath a soft facade--give Arkan some reassurance on the Genet's account, but neither Rei nor Chauntice is likely to take public humiliation gracefully, especially not from the other's success. )

Finally, though Pas seemed to be moving backward in the sky at times, the full night arrives and Mas rises--shining forth in her sapphire glory with only wisps of clouds to coyly veil her, more drawing attention to her charms than hiding them. The buffet-style feast is spread on tables along the circumference of the central village circle; the younger (not yet marriageable) girls have danced out plays from the oral tradition; the married males have told their stories with good cheer; and the time for courting is arrived.

Taking a deep breath, Arkan calls Shenjara forward first, hoping the matched pairs he has arranged for later will salvage a semblance of respectability and unity from the night. "Shenjara, there is one who would court you this Ripening. Do you declare yourself a woman in body, heart, and mind, ready to bear many children, love husband and offspring with a boundless heart, and knowing arts to Ripen the entire tribe?" He knows she has multiple suitors, of course, but the reference to "one who would court you" is traditional.

Shenjara is, personally, quite fond of mother Mas. Her kind, gentle light reflects wonderfully off her hair, and she finds the never-ending battle of Mas to overcome her tormenter, Dar, to be quite compelling. Despite Dar's repeated attempts to subdue her, Mas always fights back to grant her children a light amidst the great darkness when Pas must take his rest. While Mas usually is quite gentle and modest, she celebrates one last hurrah with the world before each Turning. Mas paints herself in Dar's blood each year, and with her celebration she brings the crops to life so that her children may celebrate with her before Dar's blood drips down upon the leaves and the land.

It is not only in respect and appreciation for Mas and Pas that the people of Kur celebrate the Ripening. Song, dance, food, drink, tale, and love are the currency of the Ripening, because they are that which Mas loves most. The revelry calms Mas' enraged spirit, turning her fury before it becomes bloodlust.

Shenjara's favorite parts of the Ripening, as medicine woman, are the tales of lovers, the sharing of new children with the tribe, and finally the courting. While she isn't too concerned about her own courting, she deeply enjoys the display of the very same love she feels for the whole tribe.

Medicine women have almost always married in the past, but it's quite normal for it to take a long time for one to accept a proposition. As such, they are often the targets of the propositions of the more meek young men seeking the love of a woman but not yet ready for the full responsibility of adulthood. More rarely, young men have even propositioned married medicine women at the Ripening in hopes of basking in their experience and wisdom.

In this spirit, it is a tradition for medicine women, in training or otherwise, to always be asked to stand for the courting ritual, even if she usually turns down her suitor(s). Many men don't proposition a medicine woman because they may only propose to one woman at each Ripening. Failing to woo her means they must wait a whole extra year to come of age and become men. However, because of this, a successful proposal is seen as a mark of honor-and thus, status-within the tribe.

Shenjara, of course, has been a favored interest of young Reikian and Chaunticleer for some time because of this. The two boys are young, but ambitious, and they are eager rivals in many arenas including love. She has always found Reikian to be rather charming, even if occasionally brash. She's spent less time talking directly with Chaunticleer, but he also tends to try to sing his way to her heart, rather than Reikian's more frequent flirtations. Kinshirr is a boy she's always had a soft, if not sexual, spot for. She always found him earnest and kind, and she tried to act in something of an older-sister role for him, despite being not much more physically mature than he.

Shenjara, out of the three, hopes most to see Kinshirr eventually courted to a good woman of the tribe. But while she might not be surprised at the other two proposing to her, she doesn't expect him to! She turns her head when Arkan calls, lowering her head in respect and deference to her senior in all ways. She smiles and stands, stepping forward with practiced grace. "I do declare that I, Shenjara of Kur, am a woman in body, heart, and mind. I am ready to bear many children, love husband and offspring with a boundless heart, and that I know arts to Ripen the entire tribe," she recites, her tone pregnant with the suggestion that she is already married in spirit to the tribe as a whole. She then waits in serene silence for any who might rise to the opportunity.

Arkan hears Shenjara out, then nods gravely. "May the Rakshasa who spoke to me of courting step forward to present his suit," he announces in a booming voice that belies the draconian's age and carries beyond the village perimeter, let alone the village circle. Curiously, the only unmarried Rakshasa of courting age is not actually visible at the moment. While Arkan's visage appears calm, there's a subtle tension in his neck that suggests he fears this ill-starred ceremony may already be going wrong.

A pause of a few minutes ensues, with the ritual silence of the tribespeople starting to give way to a low susurrus of speculation and the jarring, iconic laughter of Coyote. That atmosphere greets Reikian as he pads in on all fours with a rope harness rigged around his shoulders, pulling a travois heaped with a black bear's cleaned skin, skull, and much of its meat. Apart from the harness, the Rakshasa wears a hunter's simple outfit-a loincloth with belt and pouches and a sheathed skinning knife. He probably was also wearing a spear-quiver on his back, but the quiver and his spears are lashed to the sled now.

The Rakshasa strains as he drags the heavy load-an impressive feat in itself, considering that he must have brought it for miles and is still growing into his adult strength. His teeth, claws, and torso are stained with blood-most of it apparently the bear's, though he limps from more than fatigue and bears several scratches and bruises. With characteristic poise, he stretches unhurried, savoring his status as the center of attention as the crowd quietens again. Then, the powerful young male turns to Shenjara with the flattering, single-minded focus of a predator and smiles redly.

"Shenjara, I bring you meat and skin and trophies-gifts from a hunter to a medicine woman that require no explanation. With me as your husband, you will always have a belly full of food and kittens, warm clothes and bedding and wall-hangings, and artwork to display my accomplishments with pride. When medicine calls for parts from the most dangerous or exotic animals, or quests to appease the evil spirits, you will not have to look beyond home to find a trusted warrior. I will keep you safe from our enemies, centered in our sacred traditions, and honored among the tribe and all the peoples of the world.

"I will raise our children with as much joy as I father them, conduct myself with honor and courage, and serve as an exemplar to our family and our tribe. Bed me tonight, marry me tomorrow, and we will live all our times in passion, love, and wonder."

Shenjara's heart quickens a bit-just a bit-when Arkan announces the first proposition. She blushes slightly at what she suspects is a reference to her flirtiest of compatriots. She's not terribly surprised by the announcement, after all, but it is not something so mundane as to not elicit a reaction, either! The girl looks around after a few moments of silence, breaking the serenity of her stance to seek curiously for the apparently absent male. After a moment's confusion, she turns to Arkan, looking curiously at him.

Shenjara's blade-like ears perk up at the sound of wood dragging, and she quickly turns to see its source. She gasps wide-eyed, putting a hand to her mouth, as Reikian comes into view, bloodied and bruised in a clearly epic struggle. It's all she can do to not immediately run over to him and start treating his inevitably-present wounds. What gives her pause-and makes her blush with an unexpected crimson-is the tribute he presents as her due: a bear. She can't believe he hunted, killed, and reclaimed a bear, all by himself, just for her. Her eyes tear up a little with a heady cocktail of emotion rocking her young, smooth frame.

Shenjara listens to Reikian's claim to proposition her with like-minded intensity; she figures that the least he deserves is to have his claim taken seriously, even if she originally held little intention of accepting any proposals. Her fingers clench in front of her mouth as she hides her expression, the girl processing every word and feeling not a little joy at what acts of greatness she has inspired. She feels choked by her own raw emotion as his proposition ends and it becomes her turn to speak.

Shenjara makes a somewhat pained sound at first, the girl squeaking with surprise at her own speechlessness. She smiles sheepishly with embarrassment, and she clears her throat and takes a deep breath so that she might respond more clearly. "Reikian, great hunter of our people. You have brought proposition to me, Shenjara, medicine woman of the tribe, with the spoils of great triumph," she responds with a loud and clear voice. She smiles and starts, "Reikian, I..." She stops herself and clears her throat again. She was going to accept his tribute, but then remembered that he might have competitors. "Medicine man, does any man seek to challenge this proposition's worth with his own? Does any man think his tribute greater than....this?" she asks officially, indicating to the bear-tribute. Based on the tone of her voice, she probably finds such a prospect to be a bit unlikely!

Once Shenjara finishes her speech, Arkan looks questioningly to Chaunticleer, shaking his scaled head slightly at the bird. If Reikian's impressive offer deters the bird and Genet, maybe this will all work out well! Nevertheless, the Rooster stands with great poise and quiet assurance, meeting Arkan's eyes steadily and then nodding to the draconian. With no hands and no visible tribute, it seems that the eloquent avian still intends to contest Reikian's suit. Arkan opens his mouth, clearly about to ask if there is a Rooster who would court the elf medicine-woman.

While Reikian made his dramatic appearance and speech, Coyote furtively faded into the shadows, returning with a well-used blanket from his bed. He sat down on the periphery of the crowd with the blanket draped over his feet and legs, apparently for warmth. At Shenjara's bold question to the crowd, he stands up on two feet and saunters into the center of the clearing-a movement that naturally draws attention.

The improper, lascivious, and self-centered trickster moves rather closer to Shenjara than the dignity of the ceremony suggests. He's close enough to ogle her and breathe in her scent-a familiar position, as he's often propositioned the elfling for outright mating or lesser sex acts despite his unmarried status. And, even with less-keen elven senses, he's close enough that she can smell his arousal and even see it beneath the fine buffalo-skin robe he won gambling with a rival tribe's chieftain. Granted, the incident almost started a war, but it all worked out fine in the end.

Arkan had sternly lectured Coyote on being too young and immature to marry and be a father, and had been quite surprised when the trickster cheerfully assented and said he had no name to put forward to Arkan as a proposed paramour. Now, the draconian winces as he realizes the bind he's in. If Coyote goes forward with the suit without his permission, it will undermine the power of the medicine men to guide marriages (a sacred duty that serves the unity of the tribe, he tells himself).

Reluctantly, he asks, "May the Coyote who spoke of courting step forward to present his suit." The compromise-calling upon Coyote without saying "to me" after "spoke"-is technically true and protects Arkan's role in the ritual, but also serves to legitimize the otherwise-illicit suit. Coyote now appears to have been very confident that Arkan would call him even after Reikian's show and to have inside information that he's the only remaining suitor. Chaunticleer furrows his eye-feathers in bewilderment, flustered for a moment, but waits his turn patiently.

Coyote tosses his folded, used blanket, which his parents gave to him, on the ground beside the two of them. If it's his 'tribute,' it and his courting must be a calculated insult-perhaps to repay Shenjara for not letting him slide his outsized, priapic shaft into her young, soft body and knot her repeatedly. After all, the trickster has a dark side, with the potential for malice toward those he sees as enemies. When he speaks, though, his words and expression and warm and earnest.

"Shenjara, you are the loveliest woman of our tribe," he flatters the girl, since the tribe generally sees motherhood as the wellspring of greatest feminine beauty and she have no offspring. "You make me toss and turn at night, and pant by day, with your grace, charm, and talents in herb-lore and magic. Why, you've even tempted a bastion of the community like me to break taboos and wish many times to lie with you long before we're married." This is spoken with wry, self-deprecating humor and a teasing wink, perhaps to distract from the presumption that she *will* be married.

"Where others might make their suit about themselves and the material things they give to you, I know that marriage is for life and the strength of the body fades with age. So, my suit is about you. In bearing our pups and babes, you will only grow in your loveliness. In carrying children upon your back or breast, bent with middle age, you may walk with less physical grace-but your emotional grace will only swell.

Where those hidebound by tradition," he continues with a dismissive glance at Reikian and a smug flick of his gaze over Arkan, "see a hunter's and guardian's worth diminished by age, I will bring us wealth, abundance, and safety through my cleverness and flexibility-traits that only ripen with age. At this festival of Ripening, don't look back at what your suitors have done; look to the lifetime ahead and what they will yet accomplish."

Coyote pauses expectantly for Shenjara's reaction. With his back to much of the crowd and his face hidden from most of the others by his proximity to her, he appears straight-backed and confident to them. But the elf can see his sardonic expression and lolled, teasing tongue as he seemingly encourages her to reject him for his lack of tribute. Once she does protest, or remains silent long enough for the tension to build to a peak, he grins and gestures to the blanket.

"Of course, I see beyond tradition, but still respect it," he announces magnanimously. "And, so that our inevitable joining may be blessed and welcomed by all the people of the tribe-and to accentuate your impressive beauty-I bring you an unrivaled tribute." He bends toward the blanket-flicking his tail up to waft his scent naughtily at Shenjara-and emerges with something that was hidden in the folds. As he unfolds it and settles it upon her shoulders-bending the rules of the ceremony by touching her, if only through the fabric-the crowd emits a collective gasp and buzz. Coyote, a famously lazy and inept hunter, has somehow obtained the skin of a feral tiger. It's a gift suitable for a chieftain's wife, and also a calculated dig at Reikian's long-anticipated suit.

Shenjara's attentions turn to Arkan, awaiting a proclamation of a suitor. She catches where he's looking and turns to spot the standing avian. Right on schedule, really. She had suspected he would proposition her as well, particularly if Reikian did. She is a bit surprised that he's still willing to try after such a magnificent tribute, however, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his belt to try and beat it out. What really catches her attention, however, is the coyote sauntering her way.

Shenjara blushes more, looking a bit uncomfortable as he makes his lascivious state rather known to her. She feels his eyes rolling over her sun-kissed body, and feels an urge to cover herself with her arms as he ogles her. However, that would stain the dignity of the tradition, so she resists. A soft little grunt rolls from her throat as that scent of unrelenting mischief and arousal roll over her; she's never really found the Coyote unattractive. On the contrary, she finds him rather sexy despite, or perhaps because of, his personal careless and wanton nature. Her primary concern is the damage he commits to the dignity of the Tribe and its traditions.

As a medicine woman apparent, the traditions are everything to her. But as a young, blossoming woman, her desires sometimes beg her to say "Damn the traditions!" She turns to face him more directly as he approaches the middle, only surprised by how long Arkan takes to save the face of the Ripening with his grudging proclamation. "And what, praytell, tribute have you to match the splendor of your predecessor's?" she asks. She winces just a bit when he drops the blanket at her feet, hoping to Mas that he will not embarrass her and the tribe with his careless musings... and also hoping that he doesn't do something unspeakable if she should happen to deny him.

As the words begin to flow, however, she is reminded of just why he is so damned appealing in the first place. Where Reikian matches charm and wit with deeds and respect, Coyote doubles down HARD on the charm and wit. His silver tongue is legendary among the tribe's women, and more than one has nearly fallen prey to him. What's more, the audacity of his dealings with their rival tribe are only matched by the cool, sly way that he managed to save the tribe from war immediately after. Given that he was responsible in the first place, it had been accepted to let the matter slide and be forgotten entirely.

Shenjara whimpers barely audibly as he twists reality to suit his whims, both hating and loving the way that his eloquence washes over her and finds ways to wiggle down into her core. The way he makes her clench and ooze delightfully, the way his presence draws out her most primal and visceral wants. The way he manages to smack around her civilized sensibilities and only leave her wanting more of it. He disgusts her. And yet she can't get enough. She looks uncertain as he turns her attentions toward the future, rather than the past. She has been trained under the auspice that the past informs the future, and so the tributes themselves ought to stand as testaments to what the future might bring.

Shenjara, nonetheless, hears out the Coyote's entire proposition. It is his right, after all; even if he snubs tradition repeatedly, he is still entitled to use tradition to his favor. She hesitates to react when the Coyote gives pause, and her mouth opens mere moments before he continues. Protest is clear upon her face, but his continued words ease her gorge for the time. Her ears perk up, and her eyes narrow with suspicion. An old, ratty blanket as a tribute is quite an insulting one, to her, to him, and to the tribe. But she must wait for him to finish...and as he finishes, she gasps in shock herself. Her body goes rigid and numb as a magnificent tiger's pelt rolls free of the ratty thing and plants itself atop her shoulders.

Shenjara is stunned by the surprise, her knees feeling weak as she's given a gift that accords her such status as to make any woman in the tribe quake with jealousy. Her mouth falls open as the pelt rests upon her, rendering her quite magnificent to behold! "C-c-Coyote, I...." she stammers, the elf at a complete loss for words. She turns to the medicine man, an intense blush on her face, looking to him to save her from this somehow. "A-Arkan?" she says queryingly, perhaps as if seeking for him to move on to Chaunticleer before she must say something.

Arkan watches Coyote's show with disapproval, along with an uncomfortable awareness that the medicine man personally benefits from the established traditions that he safeguards and that Coyote's talents at creativity and persuasion have the potential to be genuine assets to the tribe. "Surely such a speech merits a response?" he chides Shenjara gently, as Coyote has courted her vigorously in his own way. Her current suitor emits a barking, rolling laugh, rich with life and amusement; he seems to view courting (and indeed life itself) as a form of play to revel in, not something to take with earnest solemnity.

Shenjara whimpers a little at Arkan's chiding, turning back to Coyote. Her knees feel weak, her thighs pressed together to maintain what little dignity she can hold together. Only Coyote, and perhaps Arkan, can smell her arousal, fierce and primal and ready to breed. She bites her lip and builds her composure. Her voice cracks a bit as she announces, "C-coyote Argent-tongue. You have brought proposition to me, Shenjara, medicine woman of the tribe, with a tribute of magnificent splendor and befitting the grace, nobility, and dignity of the tribe." She can't help but stroke the pelt, feeling its rich luxury with her own fingers. "M-medicine man, does any man seek to challenge these propositions' worth with his own? Does any other man think his tribute greater than these?" she manages to finish, though it's clear that the splendor she's inspired has begun to take a toll upon her composure.

Coyote licks his lips, slowly and invitingly, his member twitching as the elf mentions his proposition. As she caresses the pelt, he rolls his shoulders and slits his eyes contentedly as if he were the one being stroked. He surely intends to reinforce the association between the pelt and himself, so that he'll have marked her with the garment and will keep her thinking of him no matter who she marries. After all, Coyote doesn't see anything wrong with lying with another man's wife-even before Coyote is married. Then again, from the soulful gaze he gives the medicine-woman as his tail 'accidentally' flicks her ankle, it's clear he's sincere in wanting her as his wife-and already planning to spend so much time knotted in her cleft that she can't even dream of other males.

Arkan speaks up with alacrity this time, having learned his lesson from Coyote's importunate interjection. "May the Rooster who spoke to me of courting step forward to present his suit," he intones, his voice a bit shaky on the first few words--but growing more decisive as he settles back into tradition. Chaunticleer strides forward patiently with his wings furled upon his back, stopping at a more-proper distance, as Coyote withdraws--making a furtive lewd gesture to the bird that's mostly hidden from the crowd and then offering the elf a wink as if to say that he knows she's just humoring the other suitors.

The bird draws a deep breath, prepared to deliver the speech and gift that he's long planned-then clicks his beak and cocks his head. "Art thou well, milady Shenjara?" he coos concernedly. It's a breach of protocol, if not to the extent of Coyote's.

Shenjara blushes as she spots Coyote's reaction to her stroking. The girl almost wonders that he's not pressing his erection against her, given his tendency to impertinence. She manages a sheepish little smile-just for him-that might suggest he keep trying her, even if she says no to him. Her arousal continues to tease his nose and Arkan's as he remains so close and suggestive to her. The only concern behind spending all her time knotted to the Coyote is that she'll have no time for the other Tribesmen and women!

Shenjara hears Arkan speak, even as that tail brushes her ankle enticingly, and turns her attentions back to the bird as he approaches. Her more sheepish smile softens to one of sincerity as the charming bird comes to the forefront of the Tribe's attentions. She brushes out her clothing to clean up her appearance. His question, however, catches her off-guard! She blushes again and then coughs before answering him. "I am well, dear tribesman. I am simply..." she starts before taking a beat.

Shenjara takes in a deep breath and then speaks to the tribe as a whole, "I am admittedly overwhelmed by the love from my Tribe, and the love I hold for each and every one of you. Hunter Reikian and Coyote Argent-Tongue have been two outstanding symbols and actors of that love, and so I'm quite touched to my core," she explains. "Please, Chauntice, present your proposition as is your right by tradition," she invites, seeking to turn the attention off of her and get things moving again.

Chaunticleer watches with interest as his love-interest brushes off her clothes, drawing attention to the feminine endowments that helped her win so many suitors in the first place. Not having hands, the bird wears no garment beyond the feathers that serve him as a natural mantle. As such, she can smell his desire and see his winking sex (beneath a coyly-curled tail), even though he's not flaunting himself at her like Coyote did. Where Reikian might try to lure his wife into bed with verbal invitations, and Coyote with physical ones, Chaunticleer will offer her a tacit invitation to couple and access to his body at all times.

The bird hesitates as Shenjara flatters her first two suitors, both directly and by granting them heroic epithets, and then refer to him by a childhood pet name. Reikian preens unobtrusively, while Coyote makes a dirty gesture and rocks his hips when she refers to being "touched to her core" by the Tribe. "Milady, I do honor to those who already have spoken. Thou knowest well that no Rooster can be the hunter that Reikian is, and few tribespeople indeed could match the...moral flexibility of Coyote," he chirps brightly. He means the words as a caution and reminder, though the irrepressible canid simply laughs and nods-turning it into a compliment.

"But Coyote aptly said the body tires with age, and would have spoken sooth belike to observe that pelts fall to rags in time. As a medicine woman, thou must needs know better than most that all material things, indeed, shall pass in time. And yet, my love for thee is no passing fancy of youth, so I have thought long and hard upon how to immortalize it. In singing the traditional songs of love to thee, I have honored thee and our ways, but not yet added to them. And so I place before thee a song of mine own composition, to live forever in the hearts of our forever and become part of our oral tradition."

With that, the bird serenades the elf with the promised song, which contains her name several times and alludes to her most desirable traits. Either the bird has quite a lofty opinion of her, or he is deliberately accentuating her positives and minimizing her flaws for posterity. "Traditions and new ways are both important, so let me sing an old song to thee as well," he adds, delivering a virtuoso rendition of the old song that has gotten the best reaction from her in the past.

Chaunticleer finishes his performance, flourishing a bow to the quiet applause and huzzahs of the tribespeople. After all, unlike the other gifts so far, this is one that he gave to the whole audience today-and by extension to all future audiences. "I dare to hope that my tribute shall please thee, whoever thou choosest. Yet, courting is about our future together and not just the trading of gifts," he clucks with a rumble in his voice that suggests elf-body as a suitable gift to him. "And so I pledge to thee to be a proud father to thy children, teaching them the songs, tales, and ways of our people and helping them excel in whatever paths they would take." He glances at Coyote, wrinkling his nares, and then adds, "Well, within reason." The male turns back to Shenjara, winking brightly, as he does his best to match all that both mammals offered and add his own contributions to the mix.

Shenjara's hands slow as she catches Chaunticleer's eyes, allowing herself to please both him and the rest of the tribe with a single, final caress of her form to really accentuate her feminine charms and her status as a symbol of youthful fertility to the tribe. She smiles softly and then listens to his proposition, standing quietly before him with her hands clasped to draw attention to her bosom. She blushes only slightly at the presented desire, rather used to his being perpetually in the "buff."

Shenjara giggles a bit at Reikian's preening, and also at Coyote (as well as a few other of the more bawdy-humored women in the crowd). She grins widely as Chaunticleer references his predecessors, getting a kick of her own from the words "moral flexibility." Her grin subsides into a gentler smile as the bird transitions into his proposition proper, beginning to describe the framework within which his sits. She enjoys how he appeals more directly to her position and her deepest-held values as such, becoming more alert when he declares that he's composed a new addition to their oral traditions in order to immortalize her and make her a member of the tribe forever.

Shenjara's hands clasp each other tighter as he begins to serenade her, the elfling's rich flesh taking a warm glow as the love for Tribe, tradition, and her settle into her core. As he crafts her into a verbal gemstone, she savors the depth of these loves, and the way he does great honor by her and her people with his tribute. The added bonus of a remastering of an old favorite, just for her, only adds to the magnificence. By the end, she's barely holding back tears. She sniffles and wipes her misty eyes, smiling warmly to him.

Shenjara waits until he finishes his presentation, giving a little nod in lieu of a bow. She appreciates how he gives a subtle nod to both she and the man standing behind her, as his pledge to her future children suggests the birthing of the next medicine man as well. It's a pure and direct respect to everything the tribe holds dearest in its values. With a little humor, of course, at the end there. She laughs a little bit as she starts, "Chaunticleer Birdsong, great bard and word-weaver of the tribe. You have brought proposition to me, Shenjara, medicine woman of the tribe, with a tribute of immortality for the greatest virtues of the tribe...and me." She pauses for a moment, clutching her breast and giving him the triangle gaze with a subtlety only he can catch.

Shenjara lets that set in for a moment before she finally turns back. "Medicine man, does any man seek to challenge these propositions' worth with his own? Does any other man think his tribute more honorable than these?" she finishes, expecting that this should finally be over and that she'll be given the responsibility to make her decision as woman, medicine woman, and future wife and mother of the tribe.

Arkan offers his younger compatriot an encouraging smile, approving of how she's handling the pressure and attention and doing honor to each of the speakers-though he's still concerned that her choice of one of the males, or rejection of all, will sow strife in the tribe. He turns and looks into the crowd; one might suspect the staid draconian of showboating for once, as three suitors are almost unheard of and four would be unprecedented. He shakes his head sternly at someone, then sighs and shakes his head more ruefully as his caution is met with a nibbled lip and then a determined nod. "May the Genet who spoke to me of courting step forward to present his suit."

Kinshirr is terribly shy around married women, and seemingly even more so around Shenjara, so she's hardly spoken with him before. He's known for being shy, rather effeminate, and quiet, so it's surprising to see him courting anyone so young-let alone against such stiff competition. Even so, the Genet nods to a otter woman, Estelle, who serves as the mistress of pottery for the village. As Chauntice bows and gracefully steps away, the viverrid and mustelid carry forward a small, plain table and then an elegantly-carved chair and set them before her. The furnishing are village property, so clearly not themselves the tribute. Then, the two of them make another trip to fetch a large, lidded urn, setting the heavy pot upon the table with some difficulty.

The urn is elegantly shaped, with outward swellings at the center and toward the top to mirror the female body, and is engraved with pictographic representations of the village and village life. While the lines of the artwork are deliberately spare and understated, it's so vivid that one can recognize many of the villagers. Shenjara features in the scene, leading a gaggle of children of indeterminate species and mixed ages, while other villagers near her in the scene seem to be glancing her way and smiling.

The Genet quietly thanks Estelle, who smiles encouragingly and returns to the crowd. The two have a friendly familiarity with one another, despite Estelle's greater age and married status, but it's clear that there's no sexual tension between the pair. Kinshirr takes a deep breath and sits down, putting Shenjara in a position of prominence by placing himself literally beneath her. "Shen, I know you probably aren't interested in a boy who does women's work, but I have to follow the dreams of my heart. I've known for seasons that I'll never have huge muscles, exaggerated endowments, or a voice to make nightingales jealous, but I understand rock and clay."

"Five winters ago, the harvest was poor, but we would have had enough food to make it to spring if the damp and vermin hadn't gotten into our food. My sister was one of those who *died* that winter and I remember how sick you were." Gravely, the viverrid flips back the lid of the jar on a hinge, showing that it is joined to the jar and fits flush with it. "With this creation, the Ripening of autumn will never again be followed by the famine of winter," he says firmly, looking around at the whole Tribe as he presents this gift to them as much as to her. It may be ambitious to expect a new style of pots to guarantee adequate food, but it really could make a big difference-and Kinshirr's sincerity is undeniable.

The Genet reaches into the pot, taking out a set of painstakingly-chiseled stone figurines that clearly represent the elf, himself, and their future family. He arranges them on the table, letting her see how he's envisioned her bosom swollen with milk and motherhood, her belly fecund with another babe on the way, and a mix of kits and children who exemplify their parents' traits in different measures. "Marry me, Shen, and our house will forever be filled with love. I can't hunt like a predator, but I can preserve what our people find against the bitter cold. I don't have the debauched passions of a lecher, but I'll listen to the whispers of your heart and try anything you desire. I'm not eloquent or charming," he continues despite appearances to the contrary, "but I can grave our hopes and memories in stone, to endure when remembered tales evolve and spoken memories fade. I love you."

He looks up at her with his eyes wide and vulnerable, expecting a crushing rejection from the love of his life and desperately hoping for your acceptance. And, though Kinshirr would deny having the courage of a warrior or the confidence of a lover, he holds his back straight and his gaze steady, not trembling as he awaits for judgment.

Shenjara's smile slowly turns into flabbergast as it steadily becomes more readily apparent that, no, it's not quite over yet. Her look is one of utter amazement when her superior and male counterpart declares that one of the youngest, and least masculine, of the pubescent boys in the tribe steps forward to make his claim and proposition her. She's always tried to play a warm, affectionate role in his life, finding him in more in need of somewhat-motherly guidance than the rest of the boys. She's always considered him something of a little brother, even if their interactions have been so scarce.

Shenjara feels the wind knocked out of her to find that Kinshirr has, so young and vulnerable, chosen her as his greatest wish to bear his children and share his life. She watches quietly, both out of respect and out of shock, as the boy and his mentor work to set up his tribute to her. Her eyes catch those of the otter matron, knowing that she had to have helped or at least have known that this was coming. It's a complex look, full of emotion running the gamut. As the new pot settles on the table, she-and the crowd-gasp at its design and decoration.

Shenjara finds the pot both beautiful and practical, standing as a physical manifestation worthy of the yarn spun so recently by Birdsong. Indeed, it will likely be set in a public place, if she decides to reject him. When children ask about the pot in the future, it is likely Chaunticleer's song that they will sing. This is a prospect not lost on her, even for a moment, as it is one of her roles to ensure that the oral traditions are not forgotten. Even if she is not the one to repeat them, it is her role to guide curious and hurting young ones to the bards to hear stories and songs of consequence.

Shenjara's eyes continue to roll over the pot as the Genet speaks, misting up as she becomes overwhelmed by everything. She has inspired immortality, both in song and in stone. She has inspired great triumphs and magnificent splendor. She has inspired courage, passion, creation, and innovation. She has drawn out the irrevocable love confessions of more men than any woman in the tribe's history at any one time. She can barely keep her feet underneath her.

Shenjara's barely able to breath by the time the Genet finishes. She remembers Kinshasa's death. She had a hard time recovering from the guilt of surviving, as a healer, while a sweet young girl had not. Kinshirr took that wound and withdrew even more. He used it as a catalyst for a masterpiece, one in her name, to ensure that it would not happen again. "I...Kinshirr..." she starts, once again at a loss for words. "Kinshirr Stoneshaper, he who molds the everlasting with his bare hands. You have....you have brought proposition to me, Shenjara, medicine woman of the tribe, with a tribute of promised life and denied death. You have made whole the tribe with your gift to deny Dar to take another of Mas' children before their time." She just watches him for the moment, a tear streaming down her face. Then she turns to Arkan once more. "Medicine man..." she sniffs chokingly. "Does any man seek to challenge these propositions' worth with his own? Can any other man think his tribute more virtuous than these?" she asks, her words changing to show the sheer incredulity at such a possibility at this point.

Arkan waits quietly for the span of several breaths, giving Kinshirr a chance to steady himself as he sheds tears in sympathy to the elf's, and perhaps also from the wellings of hope at her strong emotional reaction. The Genet considers that his gift is not so paltry after all--designed by his keen mind, crafted by his nimble paws, and inscribed with the vision of his heart--though he still doubts that she'll see past his superficial inferiority to the other suitors. In any case, after Arkan waits with a huffy glare at Coyote and nobody else speaks up, he shakes his head at her. "Nobody in the Tribe could doubt you have received impressive offerings," he answers. "It is time to make your choice."

Shenjara must steady herself as well, while she waits for the moment to subside. She allows herself tears until Arkan begins to speak, and then immediately wipes her tears and returns to her composure as the onus turns to her. She lowers her head and closes her eyes. "Four tribesmen have stood forth to make their claims to proposition me, Shenjara, medicine woman of the tribe. Four tribesmen have presented tributes worthy of the tribe...undeniably worthy of the tribe. Virtue, honor, life, and love we have seen before us, each in full force," she monologues, looking to Chaunticleer, Reikian, Coyote, and Kinshirr in that order. "As a woman of the tribe, I must choose he who will best serve the tribe and I as my husband," she finishes her lead up.

Shenjara takes a deep breath. She turns her faces to each of them in turn and smiles warmly. "I love you all. All four of you. The tribe. I love each and every one of you," she says finally. "But I must choose Reikian's proposition," she proclaims.

Reikian has been watching the elf with the patience and intensity of the predator that he is, mostly still and silent during the proceedings. With far more rivals than he expected--especially when Arkan had supported his desire to press his suit--he had a long wait, but one that's well worth. Rising to two feet, he strides over to her in his hunting gear--still festooned with Rakshasa and bear blood--and sweeps his arms around her. As he tugs her into a fierce, passionate embrace, he presses his muzzle to hers in an enthusiastic kiss; it's as much a celebration as a seduction. "Let us head to your hut now," he mrowls in low, hungry tones. "I look forward to your next test."

Shenjara smiles shyly as Reikian approaches her, the girl giving a nod of acknowledgement. She leans into his hug somewhat gingerly, not exactly having hoped to have her body and clothing smeared with blood. She squeaks in surprise at the passionate kiss, the elfling's ears going red with combined embarrassment and anticipation. When he pulls out of it, she's panting softly, looking not unaffected, and smelling of horny elf. She smiles sheepishly and nods, but says, "In one moment, Rei." She puts a finger on his cheek and returns his kiss for a few seconds. She pulls away slowly from him, holding him by his hand until out of reach when the grasp breaks.

Shenjara heads first to Coyote. She takes his paw and says, "Thank you for your tribute," before leaning slowly in to kiss his cheek. She whispers into his ear, "We can still have fun some time," before pulling away and moving on to Chaunticleer. She does the same for him, whispering into his ear, "I will never, ever forget what you did for me tonight." When she does the same for Kinshirr, she kisses his forehead AND cheek, and whispers, "I almost chose you...almost...I'm so, so sorry that I couldn't choose you too." When she pulls away from his cheek again, he can see another tear running down her cheek.

Shenjara at last pulls away from Kinshirr and the rest of the tribe, returning to Reikian with a somewhat sad smile. "Come, Rei. It is time for you to prove your love to me...in private," she says with a little giggle. She grasps his hand and walks with him to leave the crowd, blowing a little kiss to Arkan when only he can still see her.

Coyote shows just what he thinks of tradition by propositioning three more females that night--first another eligible unmarried woman, then a famed and married dancer, and finally a pubescent wolfess who is rather young to marry. All three refuse him publically, with his breaches of taboos alone providing adequate incentive. However, a few days later, he is caught consensually mating with the impressionable wolfess anyway (not a surprise to him, as he'd arranged to be caught). Having broken the society's laws, they are both considered unmarriageable and sent into exile.

Playing on the wolfess' sympathies, he persuades her that he's heroically standing by her and will marry her anyway, and doesn't mind leaving the tribe as long as he can be with her--a much more dramatic claim in tribal society than it would be in the modern world. Of course, given that he stole a tiger skin from a rival tribe to present it as a gift, hoping to return it once Shenjara married him, he is perfectly happy to get out of town. The pair does end up marrying and he fathers a dozen daughters on his wife, to say nothing of the granddaughters that he fathers on them. Though she might have lain with him knowingly once he was married and somewhat respectable, he instead disguises himself as Reikian (supposedly arrived home early from a hunt) and lies lustily with her, revealing his true nature as he climaxes and suddenly knots her!

Chaunticleer is heartbroken at first, but also happy that his rival and friend won Shenjara. He pours his emotions into a suite of melancholy love songs that make the rounds of the local tribes and survive in altered form for centuries. He doesn't court anyone the next year, but the fame inspired by his melancholy songs wins him plenty of admirers. Eventually, he meets a snowmew who shyly convinces him that kisses, touches, oral sex, and even the "Kiss of Submission" don't count as sex. After much furtive love-play--with the risks involved only heightening their excitement--he courts and marries his Serafina, though he and Reikian occasionally swap wives for a night and make one another's wives jealous in the process.

Kinshirr may have appeared to be in puppy love, but the young male possessed self-awareness and wisdom beyond his years and was in true, precocious love with Shenjara. He's crushed by his defeat; while coming in second is two places better than he'd expected intellectually, knowing he was close to winning leaves him agonizing through many long, sleepless nights as he wonders what he could have done differently to overcome that slight gap.

The Genet sticks to his pottery, but grows even shyer around females--as if he'd drained a lifetime's reserves of boldness and courage in his very public proposal to Shenjara. He can't bear to attend her wedding to Reikian, but he gives her a masterpiece for a gift--a set of figurines of Shenjara Reikian, and their kittens/children, realized with as much artisty and care as his courting tribute. It's the Genet's way of showing that he wants her to be happy and fulfilled, and that he bears her no grudges, even if he's empty and alone every day.

As much as he isolates himself and throws himself into heightening the art of pottery to new levels, he can't escape the company of Estelle or her otter daughter. In many quiet conservations, he tells her about his visions for artwork and the tribe's future, pouring out the dreams of his soul while thinking of it as simple chatter. He doesn't imagine that his determined focus on the well-being of the tribe and creating works of lasting value is validating him in her eyes far more than any boast or tribute.

Four years later, Ripening is followed immediately by an early, hard, and long frost interspersed with many heavy storms. The village weathers the winter with just enough food and no deaths from starvation, thanks to their harvest being assiduously stored in the "Genet jars" that had come into widespread use in the interim. At the following Ripening, the otter woman shocks the village and her beloved alike by becoming the first female ever to court a male at the festival. It becomes a running joke between the soon-married pair as to whether Kinshirr had to prove himself intimately to her or vice versa, but the joke ends every time with a consensus that they both passed the test, and often with a mutual challenge to one another to pass the test again.

Kinshirr leads his life in quiet obscurity, taking only modest payment for his innovations and raising a clutch of the happiest, most liberated children that the village has ever seen--though his wife has to intervene at times to keep him from spoiling them rotten. He's quite insistent that their first daughter takes after her mother when she becomes the first Chieftess of the Tribe, but her impassioned public speech and vision for the people show she takes after him more than he claims.

Reikian's legacy lives on in the continuation of the Tribe's hunting ways and preservation of their values, until they eventually assimilate into encroaching modern society. Chaunticleer's trills and lyrics evolve by gradual degrees, influencing the music of modernity, but losing the original details along the way. Coyote earns quite a reputation as a rogue and trickster, becoming enshrined into myth and legend as a powerful spirit creature in local lore--possibly the result of his planting the idea in various collaborators' heads and then retelling the tales over and over again in a variety of disguises. Still, modern people seem to enjoy the stories of the canid's comeuppances and failings at least as much as the ones he tried to create and preserve.

Kinshirr lives to a ripe old age and dies peacefully in bed, surrounded by his family and honored for his many contributions to the tribe. In time, his jars cease to be known as "Genet jars" and the origins of his artwork are forgotten. However, when archaeologists dig up the village a millennium later, they are astonished at the quality and artistry of the early works they find--meeting standards that exceeded what they discovered in digs from centuries-more-recent locations. The culture, seemingly lost to the erosive and changing forces of time and assimilation, is in some measure resurrected by the discovery.

The archaeologists speculate that that tribe worshipped a progenitor elven goddess who took a different consort each year, judging from the statues they find of her and her legendary broods of Genet-elves and Rakshasa-elves. Displayed in museums and rekindling interest in his people after they are gone, the Genet turns out to have come as close to immortality as any of his people, and to have given Shenjara and Reikian an equal share in that. He would have been rather overawed by his accomplishments, even later in life, but would have smiled to know that Shenjara and her first love lived on in memory and legend.

Shenjara, while happy with her new husband Reikian and a baby on the way, watched with growing pain each day as Kinshirr crumbled before her rejection. She wanted so badly to bring him deeper into her life, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. When he eventually married to Estelle's daughter, she personally presided over the wedding, despite the Medicine Man being the traditional Master of Ceremonies at such events. After their wedding, Shenjara became much closer friends with the two, and their children intermingled constantly over the years. A couple of them even married when they came of age! Shenjara cried tears of agony alongside his wife when he passed, and her love for her own husband only strengthened in the remaining years of their shared life. When she eventually passed herself, the last words she spoke were to proclaim her undying love for both the husband she'd lived with and the husband she'd lost forever.

According to her dying wishes, the only songs sung at her funeral rites were those composed by Chaunticleer, a last tribute to the man she'd spurned who hadn't deserved it. She also gave to his family a great quilt she had spent years sewing. It featured all six of them: Reikian, Shenjara, Chaunticleer, Serafina, Kinshirr, and their Chieftess, and three great trunks growing to form one tree. Beneath each of them, she had embroidered a glyph to represent them: Reikian's glyph was a bear's claw. Her own was a leaf. Chaunticleer's was a golden harp. Serafina's was...a bed (a little inside joke). Kinshirr's was a mountain with a pot inside it. The chieftess' was a lordly staff. The quilt became the inspiration for a new village standard, featuring a great tree with three trunks on a golden disk with a red background. Shenjara's family, for as long as it lasted, kept the first one. On it were inscribed the words: "Virtue," "honor," "life," and "love."