The Language of Compulsion

I. The Lord's Hounds

“Let's take a moment," the old badger said, “To consider the history of things."

He sat in a pub, The Lord's Hounds, pontificating at length to four young men (all human beings, which was rather rare for this particular pub), on the subject of supernatural cosmology. To any observer it was clear from the cadence and volume of their speech and exaggerated gesticulations that all of them, badger included, had achieved an advanced state of inebriation, which, given the time and place, was not at all out of the ordinary. And a badger that could sit and speak upright, given the time and place, was not especially out of the ordinary either.

The Lord's Hounds is a popular drinking establishment in Old Brockton, in a country today called Temhare, which is a region that lies not too far outside of our own world. In fact, it is close enough that the four young men who were the badger's drinking companions were from our world themselves, and this is what makes their conference in the pub - and the events that followed afterward - so interesting. These young men had, through the investigation of their own local folklore, discovered a passageway from their university town of New Brockton, into Temhare's town of Old Brockton, and now that they had found it, they intended to make a weekend of it. Despite now finding themselves surrounded by talking animals and human beings alike, as well as stranger, more fantastical creatures which they had, until this point, believed existed solely in fairy stories, they were grappling to understand the nature of the universe that they now lived in: one in which worlds could exist, side-by-side, with all manner of different kinds of intelligent creatures living in each, and that one could, as they had, travel from one to the next.

It was a struggle that was facilitated, at least to a small extent, by lager and whiskey, and of course given their age and the social habits of young men in general, it was not a dialectic that they were able to work through quietly, to the annoyance of most of the pub's regulars.

The exception, of course, was the old badger. He was dressed in the drab tweed coat, woolen trousers, waistcoat, and rumpled shirt of a university professor, and to the eyes of the four young men, he may as well have walked out of one of the cartoons they remembered watching as children. The study of adjoining worlds and their development was of special interest to him, and upon overhearing their conversation, he counted himself as fortunate that he was able to find visitors from outside of Temhare in the local pub. He took the opportunity to join them at their table, and introduced himself as Clive Regent, a scholar of supernatural antiquity. And it was the subject of neighboring worlds, and how they come into being, that he was at that moment expounding upon.

“The history of anything," he was saying, “Is recorded not only in the accounts given of them, but also evidenced in their manufacture. You can, upon examination and consideration of a thing's workmanship see the forces and the people who not only brought it into being, but into whatever state of care or disrepair it is currently in." And here he paused, the inveterate lecturer waiting for questions from his impromptu students.

He was met largely with blank stares and furrowed brows. It is here, though, we should introduce our four young men:

There was Kyle, by far and away the noisiest and most eager for attention of the four, an athletic young man with a square jaw and close-cropped sandy hair, and whose idea it was, upon learning of the stories of Old Brockton, to goad his friends into going tramping through the woods to find it. His ability to pay attention to Regent was hampered by three factors: he was constantly in the habit of looking for opportunities to shift the subject of any conversation toward himself, he was still struggling to deal with the reality that he was presently engaged in a conversation with a badger in a pub full of talking animals, and he was very, very drunk. These three forces worked in concert against his ability to participate in the conversation in any meaningful way.

There was Kyle's gym partner and close friend Dante, a tanned, curly-haired man of approximately the same age, though of much higher academic achievement. Dante's acceptance to the university was on a scholarship intended to increase the number students from schools in low-income areas to attend higher education, and perhaps his studiousness was consequence of this fact. He came from a very rural part of the state and spent much of his adolescence working on farms, which was a life he hoped to escape by going to college. However, his friendship with Kyle often caused him to defer to Kyle's often questionable decisions, and it was that habit of deference that found him at The Lord's Hounds. Dante, however, was not given to his friend's habit of drinking to excess, and while he had had a few pints, he was not yet so deeply intoxicated as to significantly impair any facility in making conversation.

There was Trevor, a wiry and slight-featured redheaded boy who made it clear in his speech and body language that he desperately wished for Kyle and Dante to consider him a peer, and he lit up whenever either of them acknowledged any contribution he made to a conversation. And while his two more confident friends were not necessarily mean-spirited in their conduct toward him, it was clear that they tolerated his company more than they actually enjoyed it. Often Kyle's plans required someone who would readily agree to do something that was clearly unwise, and Trevor's thirst for peer approval usually made him the reliable patsy. Trevor had hardly noticed that they were talking to a badger, as he was so eager to demonstrate his ability to drink that he could barely sit upright in his seat.

Finally, there was Trevor's younger brother, Chet, who shared Trevor's strawberry-orange hair and freckles, but none of his sycophantic behavior toward the other two boys. Chet was in his first year at the university, while the other three were in their third, and he though he had no interest at all in tonight's adventure, he had gone with them because his parents promised him the car that the four drove to the hiking spot, and he refused to let his older brother drive it anywhere there was the risk of driving while inebriated. Upon discovering that the stories about Old Brockton were true, however, his attitude toward the evening had shifted completely, and - because he still expected to have to drive their vehicle back to the university dorms at the end of the night - he was the only one of the party who remained completely sober.

But to return to the conversation at hand, it was Chet who entertained the badger's premise, regarding the history of things. “Like this table," Chet said, drawing a finger into one of the gouges in the rough-hewn pub table's weathered wood. “You can see from the joinery what kind of tools were used to make it, and you can tell from the way the corners and edges are worn smooth that it's been sat at by people just about every night for years, and the whole surface is scored from people carving their names into it."

Trevor and Kyle squinted at Chet, their mouths open with incomprehension. Trevor was about to tell his little brother how stupid he was being, but Regent slapped the table, causing the empty pint-glasses to jingle against each other. “That is exactly it!" he announced. “Goodness, smart as a new pair of shoes, you are. And people are much the same - the history of a person can often be seen in the whiteness of their muzzle and the lines on their face, and if they walk with a limp or have the indentation of a ring on their finger, you can surmise they've suffered an injury or the end of a marriage. Worlds, like yours and mine, are the same way: they change and are constantly shaped, and their history is written in the marks that the history has left in them."

Dante was doing his best to keep up. “But you could sand this table down," he said. “You could have the thing resurfaced and nobody would be able to tell it wasn't new."

“That's right!" Kyle interjected, mistaking the conversation for an argument in which he needed to back his friend up. “This bar needs to sand these fuckin' tables," he declared, feeling very strongly about the importance of smooth tables, even though he took no note of them only a moment before.

“And people heal," Dante continued. “It doesn't matter how good of a forensic analysis you do, you're not gonna find out where someone went to gradeschool, you're only going to get broad strokes of what kind of life they lived."

“Yes! Good," Regent agreed, pleased that at least half of his drinking companions were able to follow him. “Now: consider your world, for a moment. I do know something of its cultures and history, perhaps more than you do," he said, directing this last sentence at Kyle, “And I know that every single culture in your world has stories of talking animals. I know that you have stories of powerful supernatural beings, gods and monsters, vampires and satyrs, dragons and unicorns, et cetera, et cetera. Given the evidence of the things that you've seen tonight," he said, with a gesture about the pub, indicating at least one satyr and a number of talking animals with his wave, “Do you now believe that all of those stories are entirely fabricated?" Regent then indicated the name carved into the table that Chet had called attention to. “Or do you now understand that those stories are evidence of your world's history?"

Chet pursed his lips and considered this. Trevor and Kyle both looked to Dante, whom they had both decided was in the best position to win whatever argument was supposed to be taking place. “So you're saying that because we have Native American folktales and Aesop's fables, our animals used to talk the way you do."

“Do you think those stories are exclusive to your world?" Regent asked, his dark eyes glittering. “Do you think that the creation account put forward in your Bible might not in fact have been imported from a world adjacent to yours, where a demiurge giving instructions to the ocean and the land might be a more plausible method of bringing a world into being, than matter ejected from a star?"

“But we have fossils," Chet said. “I mean if we had, uh, satyrs and dragons, somebody would have dug them up by now." It was clear from his intonation that he wasn't necessarily trying to refute the old badger, but Regent seemed to be building to a point and Chet wanted to see where he was going with this line of reasoning. “Is that really how it's pronounced? Say-ters? I always thought it was suh-teers."

“Oh no, it's say-ters, though you Americans have done so many unkindnesses to the language throughout your history that I can't fault your pronunciation. But, as you say, the table can be sanded," Regent said, tapping the wood with the claw of his index finger. “And as your world - or any world - progresses along its course, and becomes more mature and fixed in the laws that govern it, there is less room for traffic between it and other worlds. At some point in your world's history, you had decided that the only creatures capable of speech or thought are human beings, and so there was no more room in it for people like myself. We didn't go extinct, obviously, but your history had, ah, healed over, so to speak. It had been sanded smooth. Eventually there was no more evidence beyond your myths, your folktales, and your holy writings to give any evidence that the things that they accounted for ever existed."

At this point Chet was prepared to go along with the premise of Regent's argument. “So like, Atlantis," he said.

Regent shook his head. “Oh no, no no no, Atlantis is a very well-documented myth," he quickly corrected, “But certainly you've discovered the truth of Old Brockton. And I know that there are other remnants of your world that still exist beyond it - what you would suppose are fantastical realms like Tir-nan-Og, and Lyonesse, which disappeared beneath the waves off the coast of your world's Cornwall some handful of centuries ago, and there's evidence to suggest that Symzonia is quite real, too, but I digress. Worlds drift together and drift apart, sometimes directly joined, and sometimes they grow to become unfamiliar to each other, veiled to history and incurious eyes. But no matter how, ah, smooth the table is sanded, it remains possible for a glass to be carried from one table to the next."

“Dude," Kyle remarked, one small, lonely synapse still firing in his head as he grasped the meaning of the badger's metaphor. “That's us!" he said, excitedly, to Dante, thrilled to be able to explain the obvious as though he had understood something very profound. “We're the glasses! We went. From another table. To this one."

“And your world is not so hardened to otherworldly excursion from it that it required anything more than a walk in the woods on a foggy day," Regent added.

“Hardened, like, like what, like clay?" Dante asked.

“Well, yes, of course," Regent said, as though it should have been obvious. “The more you - I mean, human beings, in your world - have tried to understand your world, the more resistant your world has become to what you would now describe as supernatural, molded, in a way, by your changing understanding of it. And perhaps at one point it was possible for lion-headed avatars of deity to exist in it, because that was the limit of your understanding, but as scientific inquiry advanced, anything ruled impossible by that inquiry was forced to retreat to more comfortable homes. I've made my life's work the same sort of study of the natural world of Temhare, but have been very careful, in that study, to both preserve and gain facility in how a world can be shaped simply by the application of its ancient languages, to expand what is possible through inquiry and study, rather than limit it."

Chet and Dante shared a look. They both felt reasonably confident that they understood what Regent meant. Chet turned back to clarify exactly what Regent was saying. “Uh, when you say 'how a world can be shaped,' you mean you can - what, write something down, and like, rewrite gravity?"

It was at this moment that Trevor felt the first impulse to participate in the conversation, and did so by allowing his head to slip from the hand that was propping it up and thud onto the table, passed out.

Regent had been about to respond, but was forced to pause at the interruption, and regarded Trevor thoughtfully. He then returned his attention to the conversation. “Not quite, young man, but it seems that your brother has had his fill of the subject, for the moment. And I rather think that a demonstration might be more in order, so why don't I have my driver take us to my estate? The four of you are welcome to be my guests, and tomorrow after breakfast I shall give you a more thorough demonstration of my work."

Chet was immediately skeptical of going anywhere with a strange badger on the first meeting and he was about to refuse the offer, but Kyle cut across him. “Yeah dude! Party at the badger house!"

Dante knew what Chet was about to say before Kyle interrupted him, and he gave Chet an apologetic look. “Man, I ain't gonna carry your brother's drunk ass through the woods in the dark. Besides, none of us have class until Monday. We'll be fine."

Regent sensed the temperature of the table immediately, and joined the effort to assuage Chet's concerns. “I must say, young mister Chet, you're rather much more mature than your brother, I can see that. But I promise you, I will be the soul of graciousness and good manners while you stay the night."

Chet knew he'd been outvoted, and he was even less interested in leaving his brother and his brother's friends without a ride back than he was in climbing down whatever hole Regent must certainly live in. Then he wondered, briefly, if the assumption that a talking badger would live in a hole, like an ordinary one might not be this world's equivalent of racially-motivated prejudice. Then he wondered, briefly, if it was possible to be racist outside of your own species. He shook his head, and waved his hand, acquiescing. “Yeah, okay. I just didn't want to impose," he lied, and then said, truthfully, “I'm sorry my brother's an idiot."

And with that, the five of them were in Regent's vehicle, bouncing down a long wooded road through the fog outside of Old Brockton. Chet noted with some dismay the length of the drive - they would not be able to walk back on their own, which meant that they were now, for better or worse, at the old badger's mercy, and he was the only one of the four who seemed at all troubled by that fact.

***

II. Brock Hill

The boys were pleased and impressed to discover, though, that while Professor Clive Regent did live under the ground, his home was a large hill that had been hollowed out and fashioned into a stately, well-kept manor that Regent told them was named Brock Hill, and they were greeted at the door by a tall, charcoal-furred fox whom Badger introduced as his head butler, Chalmers.

Dante drew a comparison between Regent's home and something “Like from the Hobbit, but like, bigger." The anteroom was spacious and high-ceilinged, with hunting trophies of animals of several sizes and descriptions, many fantastical, some merely exotic, mounted upon the wall. Dante and Chet were busy carrying Trevor, while Kyle was distracted by a pert, slender, tan-furred rabbit girl, about the age of a university first-year, dressed in a maid's black skirt and white pinafore. She was standing on a high stepladder, dusting the ornaments, and Kyle made no effort to hide his appreciation for the panties she was wearing, which he could easily view from below.

“Ah, yes, young Miss Miles is very popular with our guests and very well-regarded by all of our house staff, aren't you?" Regent asked the maid, which caused her face to flush pink.

“Yes, sir," she said, quietly, and quickly descended the ladder to face and curtsy for the manor lord and his guests.

“I rather think one of our guests has taken a liking to you, Miss Miles!" Regent announced cheerfully. “This young man is Kyle, and he and his friends are visitors from beyond Temhare, if you can believe it. In fact, if I can trouble you to interrupt your work, why don't you show him to one of our guest rooms?"

At this, the little rabbit drew in a breath, her face going redder still. Kyle said nothing, his mouth hanging open as he imagined the things that he would surely enjoy doing with Miles as soon as he was alone with her in the guest bedroom. Miles, of course, knew from long experience what Kyle's eyes wandering over her body betrayed about his intentions, but she deferred to Regent's instructions. “Yes, sir," she said again, and then indicated for Kyle to follow her. “This way, mister Kyle," she said.

Before they had disappeared into a hall, though, Regent said, “Our guests have traveled quite a ways to get here, and I'm sure they're very tired," and then added, in rather a strange voice, “Kyle will be asleep soon as he hits the bed." At that last remark from Regent, Miles turned her head and perked her ears, glancing back at the old badger once more before leading Kyle to his room. If Chet or Dante had caught Regent's tone, they were too busy entertaining fantasies of their own about the delicate little rabbit maid to give it any thought.

Then Regent turned to Chalmers, and continued. “Chalmers, will you see that each of these young men is given a room and a bed? I'm afraid young mister Trevor has had quite a bit to drink tonight, and would profit from sleeping it off."

“Of course, sir," Chalmers said, his tone and expression businesslike, and he gave Regent a curt nod. “This way please," he said to Dante and Chet, making no movement to help them carry Trevor, instead setting a brisk pace down the same hall that Miles and Kyle had gone down. The two boys had to hurry to follow the dark-furred fox's bottle-brush tail and coat-tails down the hall and round a few corners, coming at last to a series of doors for guest bedrooms.

They could hear Kyle's muffled voice from behind one of the doors already, interspersed with Miles' much softer voice, and then there was an abrupt silence. A moment later, an unruffled and still fully clothed Miles emerged from the room, closing the door quietly. “No trouble, miss Miles?" Chalmers asked her, with the merest suggestion of a smirk playing across his long, narrow muzzle.

“No trouble coaxing him into bed, sir," Miles answered quickly, giving Chalmers and the boys another quick curtsy. Chet and Dante traded a look at this exchange, beginning to suspect that there was something happening with regard to their friend that Miles and Chalmers understood, but that they did not.

“I expect not, no," Chalmers answered. “Good night, miss Miles."

“Good night, sir," Miles said, and vanished again quickly down the hall.

Chalmers returned his attention to the guests and opened a door for them, to a well-appointed room with a four-poster bed and a dark walnut wardrobe. “Each of these is a bedroom, and there is a water closet at the end," he said. “Tomorrow morning, myself or a footman will see to you and take you to breakfast."

“Uh - what's going on with Kyle? Is he okay?" Dante asked.

Chalmers answered by opening the door to Kyle's room. The two boys looked in, and saw him snoring on a similar four-poster bed, facedown, still in his clothes. One leg hung over the foot of the bed. “Good night, mister Chet, mister Dante," Chalmers said, and added in a voice of patient disapproval, “Mister Trevor," and left them in the hallway.

After the head butler had gone from sight, Dante said, “Well, that's weird."

“Dude, I'm not sure I have a problem with Kyle going one night without cornering a girl," Chet said. “Cornering uh, a bunny rabbit?"

“Ain't that what rabbits are supposed to do though? Fuck like bunnies?"

“Oh shit dude, aww, that's awful," Chet said, and they both laughed.

Dante leaned in and his voice dropped to the conspiratorial loud whisper of a dare. “Dude. Would you do it?" he asked, and jogged his head in the direction that the rabbit maid had gone, and he gyrated his hips and raised his free hand into a fist, mimicking the movements of coitus.

“Uh," Chet said, not at all interested in even entertaining the question, recognizing a trap when he saw one.

But it was no good: “You thought about it!" Dante yelled, and laughed. “You're thinking about it right now!"

Chet bristled and pointed at Kyle's prone body, sprawled across a bed. “Dude, that is your best friend right there, you do not get to — you do not cast, fucking, aspersions on what I was thinking for an idea you suggested about something your best friend just tried to do," he laughed, becoming inarticulate for a moment, before collecting himself again. "So you can shut your idiot mouth, and save it for, like, that drunk asshole when he's sober."

Their laughter echoed down the hall, and they helped Trevor into bed, before finally going to bed themselves.

***

In a quiet study, in another part of the manor, the professor sat in a comfortable leather armchair, with a notebook and a cup of tea on a table beside him. He had changed into an evening robe, the salt-and-pepper black-and-gray fur of his chest bare. He puffed thoughtfully on a tobacco pipe, curls of smoke puffing from his broad black nosepad. Clive Regent was not a badger in the habit of smiling often, and in fact rarely allowed his emotions to show, except for when it facilitated whatever purpose he was advancing at the time. But inwardly, he felt very satisfied that he was able to convince the four young men now asleep in the guest beds to stay in his home, without having to resort to any more unseemly methods of coercion.

Temhare's boundaries are much more porous than those of our world, so visitors from beyond it were not exceptionally rare, but Regent's research and responsibilities often did not permit him to go hunting for them - which made the boys' discovery of Old Brockton, a town historically governed by Regent's ancestors - a welcome opportunity. While there was a great deal to be learned and gained from the study of the supernatural properties of Temhare and its history, the chance to exercise his talents upon subjects from another world was rare enough that he wasn't prepared to let it pass him up.

More helpful still, they had, in their ignorance, already rather recklessly broken the first of two very important rules of travel between worlds: Until you become familiar with a world's behaviors and temperament, do not drink the water, and do not eat the food. It was because Kyle had so much to drink that Regent was able to use an old language to compel him to fall asleep immediately. And tomorrow morning, they would have breakfast with him, and in so doing, they would assimilate enough into Temhare that they would become entirely within its power to govern.

Now: it should be noted, at this time, that while Regent's intentions toward his guests were not at all honest, and were in fact quite predatory, it is important to understand that a man like the Professor observed in his actions a strict, if somewhat perverse, code of ethics. In the employ of his talents, he was always very careful to take the measure of the individuals that he chose to take on as his wards, and determine what he felt their needs were. As you can surely imagine, these were of course radically different from their wants. A man as old, as experienced, and as supernaturally influential as Regent always took care, though, to see that the people who received the sort of education he was uniquely suited to provide were, in the end, placed in a role that they would profit from the most.

Regent derived a great deal of satisfaction, in both the intellectual and the carnal sense, from exercising his power over others in this way. And this satisfaction was, to his mind, merely a justly-earned reward from exercising the responsibility that came with his role.

He closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to settle and expand into a comfortable extra-sensory awareness of his manor. He could, with effort, see beyond the boundaries of estate and clear into Old Brockton, which is what allowed him to learn of the boys' visit earlier in the evening. For the moment, though, he only cared to know what was happening within the estate, a task that was so easy for him that it was second nature. First, and most importantly, he saw that all four of his human guests were now sound asleep. He then took a thorough inventory of everyone else in his home, as was his nightly habit. He saw what his house staff was up to, and he saw the handful people who were his ongoing projects variously sleeping in their own beds or locked in small, quiet rooms deep underground, as was necessary for where they were in their progress toward his ends.

He saw that his maid Miles - who, despite the dress and the way the little rabbit's bottom filled out those delicate panties, was very much a male, fashioned into the role of maid by Regent himself - was masturbating furiously in his small bedroom to fantasies of what Kyle might have done to him, had Regent allowed him to. Regent smiled at this, and decided to encourage the little rabbit further, by nudging his mind in the direction of visualizing having to entertain two of the boys at a time, orally and anally, all four taking turns. Little Miles's short little bunny dick hardened almost painfully at the mental picture as he rubbed at it through his delicate panties. He gasped and gripped his bedsheets with his free hand, achieving orgasm at that mental picture almost immediately. Regent regretted, briefly, that he could not allow poor Miles to live out his fantasies, as it would set the wrong tone for what he intended for his human guests. But it was no large loss - Miles was, as Regent had said, very popular with guests and well-regarded by the house staff, after all.

He saw the footman waiting just outside the door of his study, should Regent call for him, and realized with a start that he still had quite a bit of work to do yet, tonight, and ought not to keep the young man up. He brought himself back to the room. “Reese?" he called, and a trim young otter, about the same age as his guests, entered quickly. He was dressed in livery similar to Chalmers', though, because he wasn't meant to be seen by the human guests, the dress code for him was somewhat more limited in its coverage: he had on the white shirt and tie, black vest and tailed coat, but there was no clothing below his vest, save for the white spats that he wore on his otherwise bare feet.

From his waist to his ankles, Reese's lustrous brown fur was bare, the taut, smooth-furred testicles and rounded sheath nestled at his groin, bobbing with his movements. Regent rather liked Reese, he was intelligent, curious, and loyal, and did not require having to be turned into anything, nor having his mind adjusted at all, in order to carry out his duties well. Nor did he seem to have any aversion to how the professor expressed his peculiar tastes. But, despite his adherence to the peculiar dress code, he hadn't attempted to satisfy himself upon any of the professor's projects who were understood to be freely available to the staff. This left two most likely possibilities: either that Reese was, by the household's standards, a prude, or that he had some romantic interests outside of the estate. In either case, Regent hadn't yet felt it necessary to inquire or interfere, instead enjoying the juxtaposition of a young man who was trying his best to be good, while having to go about his daily responsibilities with his carefully-groomed male sexual equipment on display.

“Yes, my lord?" Reese asked, standing at attention, aware of how the professor liked to appraise him, but giving no outward signal that he was acknowledging it. Some of the staff weren't as good at not letting on that it made them self-conscious, which, Reese knew, only encouraged the old lecher.

“I'm going to be working rather late tonight, Reese, and I don't care to deprive you of a good night's rest. I will see myself to bed, you may go."

“Of course, sir. Good night," he said, in the same clipped, efficient language that all of the butlers and footmen used, and turned to go. Regent watched him go, eyes following the young otter's thick rudder tail, tailed coat betraying the curve of the bare, toned rear just beneath the black satin.

Then professor turned himself to his work, exhaling another plume of pipe smoke from his nose. He opened the notebook and took a pen, allowed himself to extend his mind to become aware of his sleeping human guests, and set about the task of authoring their dreams.

***

III. Asleep

Kyle was back in The Lord's Hounds, drinking cheerfully and boisterously as he had been earlier in the evening. His friends were there with him, drinking with Regent, and the four of them were, as they were before, the only fully human people in the pub. And, as before, he was surrounded by animal people, and everything seemed very normal. Or, at least, as normal as it was before.

Kyle found that he had a hard time following the conversation, which of course was also normal. The badger professor liked to use an elevated vocabulary, as professors often do, and his friends were all very engaged in the conversation. Kyle had to focus very, very hard on the conversation to understand it, and he desperately wished that they would find something more interesting to talk about than .. whatever it was they were talking about.

“Domestication!" Regent bellowed, suddenly. “The domestication of dogs is a subject I find especially fascinating, especially as it pertains to your world."

That much, Kyle was able to understand. “I like dogs," he volunteered, dumbly.

“Honestly, I don't trust a man who doesn't," Regent said. “They're innately likeable creatures! Always eager for approval, and so they try very hard to make themselves liked by everyone. Do you know, in your world, they believe that dogs domesticated themselves? Simply by staying close to humans long enough, they were bred, tamed, and chose to evolve from wild animals into household pets."

It was a great effort for Kyle to understand everything, and while the subject wasn't especially interesting, he was able to follow along. He hoped he could find a way to shift the subject to be more about him, which was always the subject he felt most comfortable talking about. But the badger, at this point, was addressing him and him only, and that was a good start. “That's crazy," Kyle said. “I mean, I guess it worked out for them? We take care of them and they take care of us. Some of them, anyway."

Regent nodded affably. “A mutually beneficial arrangement, surely! I rather think that humans and dogs have quite a bit in common, which is why they get along so well. Dogs are very loyal and socially-oriented animals, and they fit very well into human social groups. And I think that humans often see a lot of themselves in dogs, sometimes maybe more than they're comfortable with seeing."

All of this made an awful lot of sense to Kyle. “Yeah," he agreed, quickly. “I mean people like to form up in packs, like us," he said. It sounded strange to him even as he said it, but he couldn't stop himself. “And I think dogs have a pretty good life. They don't have to think too hard about anything and someone else makes their decisions for them. People are like that, too, we like having someone else to work for and answer to."

“And you like praise," Regent said. “You want to be told you're a good boy."

Kyle sat up. That phrase, 'good boy,' shot down his spine and made his heart race. His mouth was dry. “I - I am a good boy," he insisted. He found himself desperate to have this confirmed by Regent, who he now recognized as the pack leader. This whole time he thought he was the leader of his pack of friends, but upon meeting Regent it was obvious what a true pack leader looked like.

“Yesss, you're a very good boy, aren't you?" Regent asked. “What a good dog you are! Sit here," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor beside him.

Kyle hopped down from his chair and landed on all fours. When he looked down, he saw dog paws, not human hands. This was normal, dogs have paws, and he was a good dog. He hurried to Regent's side and sat down, trembling with excitement, eager for instruction.

“Now, let's see what a good dog you can be," Regent said, his voice calm and authoritative. “Roll over," he said.

Kyle quickly rolled to his back, his belly facing upward. Regent leaned down and rubbed his belly affectionately, blunted badger claws dragging pleasantly through Kyle's fur. Kyle kicked one of his hindlegs involuntarily, and his tongue lolled from his mouth.

“Sit up," Regent said, and when Kyle returned to a sitting position at the badger's feet, Regent said, “Speak."

Kyle tried to answer with words, but managed only to bark. Again, this did not feel especially out of the ordinary.

Regent rewarded him with more praise. “Good dog! Good, good dog. I can see that you're very well-trained and obedient," he said, and though his voice was full of self-satisfied condescension, Kyle was unable to detect any of it. “Now, Kyle, beg."

Kyle sat up and raised his forelegs into a sort of prayer position, and did his best to hold the pose.

The badger's voice took a gentle, chiding tone. “Oh, now, Kyle, I don't know what you're begging for. Do you really want to be a dog? Is that what you're begging for?"

At this point, Kyle did not understand the question. Of course he was a dog. He tried to answer, but his voice was only able to produce barks and whines, pleading for his master's approval.

But Regent pretended like Kyle was articulating language. “I see," he said, thoughtfully. “You know that you're dreaming, and you want to have this experience when you wake. You want to live as a pet dog, and you know that I have the ability to grant you that. Well, in that case, you had better convince me. Tell me what a good boy you are, Kyle. Beg."

It seemed to Kyle that this was a very important moment. He wanted nothing more than to convince Regent of what a good dog he was, and he strained to make the words, “I'm a good dog! I can be a good dog! Please, please, let me show you what a good dog I can be!" But, again, he could only make dog noises, and his inability to articulate human speech to express his desires felt to him to be an enormous failure.

However, Regent's expression softened, and he pursed his lips. “Ah, well then. I didn't know you wanted it that badly. I'll see to it that you're properly arranged," he said, and he leaned forward, producing a leather leash, and he clipped it to the collar that Kyle did not know he was wearing. “There's a good dog," Regent reassured him. “Therrre's a good dog."

Kyle felt like his heart couldn't contain the joy of having his role affirmed like that. His tail wagged furiously and his entire body trembled. Regent led him on the leash out into the dark, and soon Kyle drifted to a deeper sleep, his mouth forming the words, “I'm a good dog," as he lay in bed.

Meanwhile, in his study, Regent nodded quietly, jotting down the notes in his journal, in an ancient language that had the power, in both speaking and in writing, to shape the nature of Temhare. “You're a very good dog," he said quietly, though of course his study was empty save for himself. “A very good dog indeed."

He turned the page.

Across the hall from Kyle, Dante stirred in his sleep. In his dream, he was wandering through the corridors of Brock Hill, until he found the foyer, and he exited through the front, into the crisp morning air, to have a quiet walk of the grounds. The night before, he wasn't able to see much of it, owing to the dark of the evening.

In the crepuscular light of early morning, though, it was much easier to see. Regent's estate consisted of the large hill that the manor had been dug into, and the lawn was kept mowed and tidy closest to the hill. The grasses were let to grow taller in the fields, and Dante could see that there were grazing animals scattered throughout the grounds, no doubt to do the work of mowing and keep the number of groundskeepers to a minimum.

Dante chose a direction to walk in, off of the gravel road that led back into town. He could tell from the paths that were beaten into the grass which were preferred by Regent and his employees, and followed one. Soon he arrived at what he identified from the barking noises coming from within as a kennel, though he did not enter. The barking sounded familiar to him, though - rather like his friend Kyle's voice, and he smiled to himself, remembering how eagerly Kyle begged to be fashioned into a dog the night before. His friend must be inside, getting situated with his new lodging, he reasoned. It didn't especially bother him, or seem strange; Kyle seemed very happy to be a dog, and it fit his personality.

As he continued his meandering morning constitutional, Dante discovered that most of the grazing animals on Regent's farm were longhair sheep, and they tended to gravitate toward him, perhaps instinctively following a human, needing to be led. Dante wrinkled his nose and frowned. He didn't especially like sheep, or farm animals of any kind - despite having spent much of his adolescence working in stables and on farms, he did it because it was the work that was available, not because it was work he especially liked.

He looked up from his wooly entourage, though, to discover he'd wandered right up to a barn. He didn't remember seeing it earlier. Maybe he had gotten so preoccupied with looking at the path he was walking that he didn't take the time to look up to see where he was actually going.

But Dante had even less interest in exploring the barn than he did the kennel. He turned to double back to the manor, and found that he was going to have to practically wade through a lake of sheep - they had all clustered behind him, and many were passing him to enter the barn, surrounding him. He saw that they were actually being herded in (which, of course, was strange for the hour, you bring the livestock in at night and lead them out to graze in the morning, but dreams do not always make perfect sense), and that several dogs were nipping at the stragglers and barking, doing the work of guiding the sheep into the barn.

Dante had to lift his arms and be very careful not to step on or trip over the sheep as he was swimming upstream, to to speak, but it was no good - he stumbled and fell to all fours. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't regain his footing and stand up again, and he found himself being pushed into the barn with the rest of the animals. By the time he made it to the edge of the flock, the sheep had been gated in - there were heavy horizontal bars blocking his exit.

The gate was only chest-high, though, and these sorts of gates were easy to climb over: they were basically very wide ladders, after all. He reached to grasp the bar, and where a hand should have been, he saw a hoof, of the sort belonging to the sheep. Beyond the bars, the dogs were barking, telling all the livestock to stay inside, to go where they belonged, and not deviate from where they are led.

All of it made a very uncomfortable sort of sense to Dante. He shouldn't aspire to be more than he was, he belonged in here, with the other livestock. He could only go where he was told, and he remained where it was comfortable - following the barking and nipping of his friend Kyle, whom he recognized on the other side of the gate, cheerfully wagging his tail and lolling his tongue, pleased to have done the important work of herding the sheep.

Kyle would now, no doubt, return with the shepherds and curl at their feet in the house, while Dante remained out in the barn, with his peers. The barn doors were being closed, and the warm, dark interior of the barn closed in on him, with a sense of inevitability, and of finality.

In his room, Dante's sheets were soaked with sweat, and his breathing was labored. In the study, Regent allowed the dream to end there, but he frowned, unsatisfied with how it had ended. Of course he knew that Dante was most comfortable being led by his peers and following their decisions, but it seemed that he resisted the narrative that Regent had laid out.

He made a mental note of this, and turned the page.

It was now well past midnight, but there were still the remaining two boys to prepare for tomorrow's plans. Regent set his pipe down, and stood, and stretched, pushing his belly forward with his fingers interlocked behind his back, and he took a deep breath. He spent a moment pacing back and forth in his small study, before easing himself back into his chair and opening his notebook.

Because they were brothers, Regent had a specific plan that involved the both of them, which made his remaining effort somewhat more expedient - their dreams could share the same events, and when they woke, of course, they'd both be so ashamed and embarrassed by what they had dreamt that they wouldn't dare bring the subject up in the morning.

In the next room over from Dante, Chet was sleeping peacefully. Across the hall, neighboring Kyle, Trevor was asleep. In the dream, Chet was sitting in a rocking chair in a well-kept garden behind the manor. It was a bit of a walk to reach the garden, but it was well worth it for the atmosphere. Lines of hedges and carefully manicured rose bushes were arranged about the perimeter, and there were fenced-off rows of vegetable patches. In the chair next to him was Regent, and the both of them were placidly watching Trevor play a game of fetch with Kyle, who had been a dog since last night.

Earlier in the morning, Regent had Trevor and Chet on a tour of the grounds, with a leashed Kyle alongside, and they let Kyle loose to participate in the herding of the sheep into the barn, as a demonstration of how well-trained the dogs were. They could do it entirely without instruction! One command from Regent and all of the hounds knew exactly what to do, exactly how many sheep there were, and where they all needed to be herded.

Of course, it was the wrong time of day for the sheep to be brought in, but in the commotion, their friend Dante had been swept along with the movement of the flock, and had been transformed into one of them in the process. With the readiness that Chet had seen Kyle submit to becoming a dog, it did not seem any great stretch that Dante ought to become a sheep, and Regent reassured him that he would be comfortable in the barn until supper. And in the way that one tends to accept the logic presented to them in a dream, Chet accepted this as normal.

Regent offered had offered him a pipe, after packing it for him. Chet was not a smoker, and so had no experience at all with tobacco pipes, but he was not about to turn down the unique opportunity to recline in the partial shade offered by the garden trellises and enjoy an afternoon smoke with a talking badger. The whole experience was almost a caricature of pastoral pleasures.

The both of them watched Trevor eagerly romp with their transformed friend. Though Chet was Trevor's younger brother, Trevor had always been the more childish and impulsive of the two, and Chet often found himself annoyed and exhausted by Trevor's relative immaturity. To Chet's mind, Trevor was an idiot child in a man's body.

But as he watched, Trevor began to change. Imperceptibly at first, but with every throw of the stick and roll in the grass, Trevor became shorter, and more slight. His clothes began to change, from the t-shirt and jeans that he entered Temhare with, to something more appropriate for the general fashion of Temhare - dark trousers held up by suspenders, and a button-down shirt. Then those trousers became shorter; a fashion that buttons at the knees, with socks that cover the entire calf. And a jacket of a similar color, something Chet now recognized as a school uniform for boys.

And - Trevor was a boy. Could that have been his older brother? It scarcely made sense now, since Chet was well into middle-age, and Trevor had barely begun puberty. Chet puffed his pipe thoughtfully. Perhaps his old badger friend had placed something more than merely tobacco into his pipe, to addle his senses. Of course Trevor was not his brother, he was his nephew, and it was his responsibility to look after him.

Trevor had always been a very impulsive child, after all. Took a lot of energy and a lot of care to look after him, since the boy's parents were no longer around. Sometimes it required a turn over his knee, to help remind him to keep him out of trouble, and respect his elders.

It seemed like waist of the knickerbockers Trevor was dressed in continued to climb, until they became shortalls, tied with a rope around his waist. The poor lad was having difficulty managing the dog, now, since the dog was as large as the boy was. Or, the boy was as small as the dog was. Sometimes that gave Kyle funny ideas about pack structure, and he lost interest in chasing the stick, jumping up and trying to straddle Trevor, mounting him to assert dominance over him.

Chet whistled, and called, “Kyle, no! Bad dog. Trevor, come on over before he gets any more ideas, I think Kyle's had quite enough fun with you this morning."

Trevor had stumbled to all fours, knocked over by Kyle's comparative strength and size, and he was crying out with frustration as the dog held him down, only jumping off of him when his great-uncle Chet called him off. Quickly, the now five-year-old boy got to his feet and hurried back to the pair of old men.

“I think I perhaps ought to give Kyle a bit more time in the kennel," Regent said, and rose from his chair. He called Kyle over, leashed him again, and said, “I will meet you back in the parlor when you two are finished," before ambling out of the garden, leaving the pair of them alone.

At some point while Trevor and Kyle were playing, another transformation had taken place, that neither Trevor nor Chet had noticed - but they were both now also canines: ruddy-furred golden retrievers, rather than human beings - but unlike Kyle, the both of them remained humanoid, like Regent and his house staff.

Chet, who had grown much older, now had a bit of white on his muzzle, and his belly had grown to the same comfortable and generous circumference that Regent's had. His clothes, too, had changed - they were now the clothing of a fell farmer, suspenders and trousers, and a faded white collared shirt. He reached out to tousle his great-nephew's hair.

When his hand made contact with the soft red-gold fur of Trevor's head, though, something very interesting happened. Quite suddenly, Chet found a rush of memories flooding to his mind: years of experience living in a small cottage outside of Old Brockton, living as a fell farmer. He remembered Trevor being sent to him as a very small pup, the child of a half-nephew he'd never met, who for circumstances he would never be told, could not look after him, and for whom Chet would be his only family. He remembered also, that this boy was in some other reality his brother, but that was no longer the world that they lived in.

And he knew, instinctively, that the years of life experience that he found he had gained in the space of an afternoon were years that were now removed from Trevor. All of this new understanding, though, felt very right, and very correct to him. Trevor had always needed, and would always need Chet to look after him, and now it seemed that things had been placed in a much more sensible order to enable him to do exactly that.

Trevor blinked up at Chet with confusion. It seemed something very similar, and yet the reverse, had happened to him: where Chet had been granted knowledge and confidence, it had all, in an instant, been taken from Trevor, and he was now very dependent on Chet.

Chet petted him soothingly. “Shh, pup, it's okay," he said, his tail wagging behind him as he rocked lazily in the chair. “Do you know why Kyle does that?"

Trevor peered up at his great-uncle with wide eyes, and shook his head. “Nuh-unh."

The old dog set down his pipe. The two of them were alone in the garden, now, and it seemed like a good moment to teach Trevor an important lesson. “It's because dogs like to understand who is in charge, and by hopping up on you like that, he's trying to tell you that he's in charge, and he wants you to do something for him." Chet shifted in his seat, and adjusted the crux of his trousers. “But Kyle ain't in charge of you, is he?"

All of this made sense to Trevor, but now that he was a pup, he lacked the understanding to see where it was leading. “Nuh-unh," he said again.

Chet leaned forward. “Who is?" he asked.

“You are, uncle Chet," Trevor said, guilelessly.

“Yep. Your great-uncle Chet's got to take care of you, and he's the pack leader. So you're gonna do something real nice for your old uncle Chet," he explained, and he leaned back in his chair, unzipping his trousers and fished out his sheath, which was quickly becoming plump and stiff at the thought of the lesson he was sharing with his grand-nephew.

Trevor looked down, and then back up at Chet, the pup's face still the same sweet, innocent, guileless expression as it had been a moment before, and waited for further instruction, sensing that this was an important lesson for him. His tail wagged, slightly, as he was eager to do as he was told.

And Chet smiled down warmly at the boy.

In his study, Regent had to adjust himself, as well. He was especially pleased that two of the boys staying with him were related, as interfering with families in this particular way was a favorite hobby of his. Moreso that he had correctly assessed Chet's relationship with his older brother, given how readily Chet took to the role assigned to him in the dream. While he could do whatever he liked with his guests, his direction always went so much more smoothly when they wanted it, on some level.

He was about to close his notebook, but paused. A fade-to-black right when things had reached the defining moment of their relationship was not, after all, his style. And where was the point in having guests like these over if you weren't going to take the time to really indulge yourself, after all? It was late, but with a few more lines he could really give their bedtime story the ending it needed.

“There's a good boy," Chet said, tousling his transformed brother's hair. “Take it into your mouth and suck on it."

There was a twinge at the back of Tyler's mind that suggested that there was something very wrong about what he was doing. But he wanted to be good, and there was nothing in the world that was more important to him now than not disappointing his great-uncle. The little pup opened his muzzle and guided Chet's cock into it, and began to suck obediently. As soon as his mouth made contact, Tyler felt his body flooded with warmth, and he felt very safe - more safe, and more free of worry or anxiety than he could ever remember feeling in his life. His tail wagged. He belonged here.

The bright red flesh in Tyler's muzzle twitched with the sensation, and Chet sank back into his rocking chair, tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Good boy," he panted, rubbing Chet's ears affectionately. “You're practically made for this, aren't you?" And Chet felt it, too - the sense of closeness and paternal connection. He regretted waiting until the poor pup was five years old to introduce him to this, but there would be plenty of opportunity to make up for lost time. Chet could never fill the role of Tyler's now-absent parents, but his relationship with the boy would be special in a very different, but no less significant way.

Regent breathed out a satisfied breath, jets of smoke exhaling from his wide nose as he sank into his chair. That was more like it. He closed the book and set down his pen, and then removed the pipe from his mouth, to tamp down the remaining tobacco to extinguish it. Then he rose from his chair with some effort, and ambled off down the hall to pay a visit to young miss Miles and have her see about the sexual appetite that he'd worked up for himself, before finally heading to bed.

***

IV. At Breakfast

The next morning, the four boys joined the professor at breakfast in the parlor. Chet and Trevor were very careful not to make eye contact with each other, and of the four boys, only Kyle was at all talkative in the morning. The rest were so discomfited by the events of their dreams that they had difficulty making conversation, and of course nobody but the professor knew that they all shared the same narrative the night before.

Regent, however, was very cheerful, and carried on a lively conversation with Kyle, largely about nothing. Regent was eagerly discussing the history of fell farming in the village of Old Brockton, and how many generations of families lived as tenants in the village. He did not clarify that they were his tenants, and of course none of the boys cared to ask, or knew enough about the traditions of landed gentry in their own world to recognize what that meant, exactly.

Breakfast was fat, aromatic sausages, fried eggs, fried tomatoes, fried toast, herbed roast potatoes, and baked beans. There were also English puddings on the table, sausage rolls and scotch eggs, a collection of savory breakfast pasties with golden, flaky crusts, fried mushrooms, a very large platter of colorful fruits and cheeses, and kettles of tea and coffee and a selection of creamers to sweeten them.

“Ordinarily I do not eat so extravagantly," Regent explained, of the quantity of food that had been laid out for them. Reese suppressed a laugh, though enough of it escaped through his nose to catch the professor's attention. He half-turned his head to address the otter footman standing at attention against the wall. “Are you having a go at me, mister Reese?"

“Not at all, my lord," Reese said, with a good-natured smile. He was well aware of exactly how much he could get away with, and had no compunctions against treading that line.

Regent was glad of a foil for the conversation, since the boys were mostly of little use for it this morning. “Reese is too polite to comment on his employer's appetites when company is present," he said to his guests. “But I feel that a badger of my age ought to be permitted a bit of leeway with regards to how much he carries about the middle," he added, patting his belly.

“I meant nothing by it," Reese said cheerfully. “Only that you come by it honestly, sir."

Regent laughed. “Any more like that out of you, otter," he said, shaking his finger at the footman, “And I'll have you take over for kennel duty for a month."

“And deny miss Miles of the pleasure, my lord?" Reese asked.

Kyle perked up. Though he had been very drunk last night, and was still feeling very groggy this morning, he had not forgotten his interest in the delicate rabbit he had attempted to corner the night before. Nor had he forgotten that he missed his opportunity. “You got that tiny little girl cleaning your kennels?" he asked, feigning sympathy through a mouthful of eggs. “She'd - get all that lace she's wearing dirty."

Regent carefully cut into a sausage, and was even more careful not to smile too obviously at Kyle's persistent interest in his maid. Reese couldn't have known how perfectly he set up this line of conversation, but Regent was very glad that he did. “Oh, you have no idea," he said. “It is very messy work that generally I prefer to not to have any of my house staff do, but she says she enjoys the opportunity get out of the house. And she likes to spend time with the animals," he lied. And Reese had to stifle another laugh.

“I feel like I'm missing an important part of the joke," Chet said, glancing sidelong at Reese. Chet was only picking at his food, but in order to avoid being rude, he had eaten some grapes and a few cubes of a white cheese.

Reese had to improvise, but at least it was easier to invent lies about what took place on his employer's estate to otherworlders. They tend to believe whatever you tell them, since they have no idea what to expect, after all. “Spend time with the animals, sir. When - aren't all of us?" he said, emphasizing 'us' to differentiate the members of Regent's household from the four humans that sat at breakfast.

“Oh, I get it," Chet said, but he couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice. “That joke don't get tired? I mean you've been animals your whole lives, the novelty of it has to wear off the the time you're like, five."

“Not when we have human guests, sir," Reese said, feeling like he'd adequately evaded having to explain what was quite so funny.

Regent was pleased to note that all of his guests were eating, even if Chet and Dante were not eating much. They had eaten, and that was the main thing. That meant, of course, that there was enough of the substance of Temhare in them to make them also within its natural influence; and more importantly it meant that their bodies would now answer to his authority as readily as their minds had the night before. And though they were all to varying degrees rattled by the dreams they'd had, being back in the real world and having a hot meal had quelled their nerves. For the most part, anyway: Dante remained sitting at the edge of his seat and ate very little.

Regent rubbed at his whiskers with a napkin and pushed his chair back from the table. “I say, would you be interested in lending her a hand in the kennels, young mister Kyle?" he offered. “You seem like a dog person."

Kyle felt his ears go hot, remembering performing tricks as a dog for Regent the night before, and said, “I'm a—" before stopping himself from finishing the phrase “A good dog," and swallowed. “Yeah, I like dogs," he said.

“Mm. I don't trust a man who doesn't," Regent said, echoing the words he had said in Kyle's dream verbatim. He felt it was safe enough to be so blatant with Kyle, because the young man did not strike him as being especially clever. Most young men at the age of Kyle and his friends reminded Regent of eager young puppies anyway, all full of earnest energy and eagerness for approval, when they were not otherwise occupied with the four F's of survival: fight, flight, food, and the reproductive urge. Regent spoke up again. “I say, Reese, would you be kind enough to escort our young mister Kyle to the kennels, so that he might assist miss Miles with kennel duty?"

“Of course, sir," Reese said, and bent forward at the waist slightly in the suggestion of a bow. “Mister Kyle, when you are ready."

Kyle was of mixed feelings about heading to the kennels after his dream last night, but he also sensed from the context of the conversation that Regent was clearly playing wingman for him, in so obviously arranging for him to be alone with the hot little rabbit he'd tried to get into bed with. The fourth F was a powerful impulse that easily made idiots of most men, and with Kyle, the threshold to idiocy was not at all high. “Yeah, okay," he said. “Guys, I'll catch up, all right?"

The plan was met largely with exasperated rolled eyes from Chet and Dante, but Trevor said, “Right on, dude," as Kyle rose from the table and moved to follow the well-dressed otter from the parlor.

Before he left the room, though, Regent reached out and gripped Kyle's wrist meaningfully, and let his voice drop into a peculiar tone as he said, “And Kyle? You be a good boy for Reese, won't you?"

Kyle felt as though lightning had shot through him. The sensation from the dream returned, exactly as it had last night, and he desperately wanted to be a good boy. “Y-yeah," was all he'd managed to say. If he'd had a tail, it would have been wagging furiously. Reese was going to take him outside. He trotted after the footman eagerly as soon as Regent let go of his wrist.

If any of the other three boys had noticed the strangeness of the exchange, it wasn't visible on their faces. They were used to Kyle losing his mind around girls. As soon as Kyle was gone, though, Dante asked, “Professor, there's something I've been wanting to ask you all morning, but I didn't want to do it in front of Kyle. Last night, you said that Kyle would be asleep as soon as he hit the bed. And your maid said that that was exactly what happened. Is there something strange about your beds that I should know?"

Chet and Trevor both sat up and looked attentively at Regent for a response. They were both also curious to know if there was some kind of supernatural strangeness at work, that would put their minds at ease about the dreams they'd had last night.

Regent stirred cream into his tea calmly. “Oh no, there's nothing out of what you would consider ordinary about the guest beds. You'll forgive me if I surmised that your friend's intentions toward my maid were less than honorable, and his state of intoxication would surely have only further eroded any few scruples he may have otherwise had. So to address what I think is your real concern: yes, Kyle was induced to sleep, and did so exactly as I said he would, but it was not the bed that caused it, but the words I used."

Dante and Chet were again listening intently, with Trevor already becoming distracted. “What, like you hypnotized him?" Dante asked.

“Not exactly, although I suppose that's the closest analogue for what you'd have in your world. Do you remember last night when I said that I had made it my life's work to study Temhare's laws and language? Every world has very old laws, and very, very old languages. Some languages pre-date civilization or even speech, and it's these languages that some of the oldest natural laws are recorded in. Tell me, do you remember the specific words I said?" Regent asked.

Dante said, “Yeah, that's easy, you said he'd be asleep as soon as he hit the bed."

“That's the sentiment that I expressed, certainly, and all of you understood it, but I didn't say it in English. When I said those words, I said them in a very old language that doesn't have a name for itself, but I am in the habit of calling it the language of compulsion. Which is, I should add, a very reductive term for what can be done with this language, and for how it is meant to be used, but it is a language that is universally understood, and when instructions are given in it, people very often find it difficult to resist following them. The body carries out the command before the mind even pauses to consider whether or not it wants to."

Dante and Chet exchanged glances. There was already a lot that had happened since discovering the passage to Old Brockton that they would have dismissed as impossible before. Trevor, however, scoffed. “Bullshit," he said, seizing the opportunity in Kyle's absence to try to be the blustering alpha-male of his peer group. The night before, had already passed out well before they ever arrived at Regent's estate, and consequently did not witness the event Dante brought up.

“Goodness, speaking of language, yours is rather sophisticated too, isn't it?" Regent said, with gently chiding sarcasm. “Tell me, young mister Trevor. You're Chet's older brother, aren't you? I have to say, between the two of you I get the impression that Chet is rather more reserved and cautious in his decisionmaking and in how he presents himself. You seem to have a bit more of your friend Kyle's youthful recklessness, if you will forgive me for saying so."

“If you're sayin' my brother's a buzzkill tag-along I agree with you," Trevor said. And then with a shrug, he said to Chet, “Sorry, dude, just sayin'."

Chet rolled his eyes and crossed his arms defensively. “Yeah, you have to put up with your little brother hauling your dumb ass out of bars because two beers is enough to put you under. What a drag, next time I'll let the cops pick you up."

Regent cleared his throat. “Well, I promised you a more thorough demonstration today, after all." He set his tea down and his voiced dropped into the tone that Chet and Dante recognized from the night before. “Trevor, curl the fingers of your right hand into a fist, but keep your thumb extended," he said. All three boys were listening intently, and though they were all able to understand what Regent said with absolute clarity, none of the actual sounds he made were words that any of them recognized. They weren't even sounds any of them could remember or repeat the instant after he said them.

But Trevor was making the thumbs-up gesture that Regent had described, and sat up with a start when he looked down and saw it. He had no recollection of doing so voluntarily.

Regent continued. “Now, place your thumb in your mouth, and suck on it. The way a child does." And of course, Trevor immediately complied, and his thumb bobbed in his mouth as he sucked on it like a toddler. “There, that feels nice, doesn't it? Calms you down, I should say," Regent said.

And though Trevor was embarrassed at how helpless he was to do as Regent said, and at the childish display he was making - particularly after having had that particularly emasculating dream the night before - as soon as Regent said the words, he did find the feeling of his thumb in his mouth to be very soothing, and it gave him a feeling of safety.

The other two boys looked on in disbelief at first, and then Chet had to suppress a laugh. This seemed appropriate for his brother. Dante laughed, too, but his was a more nervous laugh, to mask how alarmed he found himself becoming at the power that Regent demonstrated and felt comfortable enough to exercise over his friend.

Dante chose his next few words carefully. He didn't want to risk upsetting their host, since their host not only had this kind of power over other people, but had no qualms about showing it off as a parlor trick. “Professor," he said, “Forgive me for asking, but as your guests, how can we trust that you won't also apply that language to us?"

“I think I've already demonstrated that you can't," Regent said matter-of-factly, indicating the red-faced thumbsucking Trevor with a jog of his head. He peered at Dante calmly, the badger's limpid black eyes as unreadable as his tone.

There was a very articulate silence that followed. The three young men stared at Regent, waiting for a punchline to break the tension, or for one of the three to be the first to leap from the table and bolt from the room so the other two could follow.

Regent's eyebrows lifted as he seemed to realize his error. “Oh, heavens, that sounded rather more ominous than I meant for it to be, forgive me," he said, straightening and doing his best to placate his guests. “Last night I was thinking only of the safety of my maid, and I suppose it was very rude of me to enlist Trevor to participate in a demonstration of the language without first seeking his consent, I apologize. Though, it my defense, I think he was rather asking for it," the old badger said with a wink at Trevor. And then in the language of compulsion, he added, “You may take your thumb out now if you like, lad."

It was only because he didn't want to appear any more foolish in front of his friends that Trevor pulled his thumb from his mouth and gripped his hands tightly in his lap. He still very much wanted to suck on his thumb - Regent said nothing, after all, to dismiss how nice it felt to do so. “What the fuck," Trevor said under his breath.

Regent clucked his tongue. “Mind your language, now," he said to Trevor, and reached over to patronizingly tousle his red hair. “Now, if we're done with breakfast, I would like to give you a tour of my estate. Shall we go on a walk, lads?"

Trevor didn't want to find out what else Regent could do to him, and had been suitably cowed into obedience after the thumb-sucking episode. Dante, however, remained skeptical of Regent's motivations, but was now performing the wary cooperativeness that one adopts in the presence of a potentially mentally unstable individual who really wanted you to show you their collection of firearms. “Yeah, okay, let's have a look," Dante said. “Lead the way."

The three followed Regent to the front entrance of Brock Hill and out onto the gravel road, and Chalmers, the head butler, followed after them, closing the door.

Dante felt like this was a good moment to make an excuse to leave. “Hey, Regent, uh, sir," he said, clearing his throat. “Listen, I don't want to be rude but I'm really nervous about where we left the car. We weren't intending to leave it overnight and I'd really like to head back and make sure it hasn't been ticketed, or towed," he said. It felt like the weakest excuse he'd ever given anyone in his life.

Strangely, though, Regent appeared to buy it at full price. “Oh, goodness, of course, we can't have you running afoul of the authorities," he said, suppressing a wry grin. “Chalmers, would you be kind enough to escort young mister Dante to the garage and see that he's given a ride back into town?"

Chalmers bent at the waist in the same curt bow that Reese made earlier. “Of course, sir. Mister Dante, this way please," and indicated with a cant of his head the direction to the garage.

“Yeah, hey, I'll catch up after you guys get back, all right? Give me a call as soon as you're back and I'll come get you," Dante said, to Chet.

Chet and Trevor were both a bit surprised at Dante's sudden eagerness to leave, but neither of them registered the fear that he had shown at the table. But they could both sense a polite excuse being made in place of the genuine reason to leave, and neither of them wanted to press further in the presence of their host. “Yeah, that's cool," Chet said. “We'll see you."

With that, the party divided into two, with Dante and Chalmers moving in one direction, and Regent followed by the two brothers in another.

***

V. The Road

The garage was quite a ways from the manor itself. Chalmers set a brisk pace, and Dante crunched along behind, down a gravel road bracketed in on either side by high hedges. “Doesn't the Professor ever get tired of hiking all this way to get to his car?" Dante asked. He was baffled that anyone would have their garage so far from their home, having grown up in a world of attached garages and cars that you generally drove yourself, rather than employing chauffeurs who did that sort of thing for you.

“Ordinarily the car is brought to the manor's front entrance when Lord Regent is preparing to leave," Chalmers said, not bothering to turn or pause to answer.

Dante remained half a step behind Chalmers, and for the most part his eyes remained on the slate-gray fox's brush tail, which swayed behind him in the rhythm set by the pace of his stride. “And you couldn't.. ring to have that done now?" Dante asked.

“We could," Chalmers said, and did not explain further.

“But you didn't," Dante said, trying his best not to reveal his impatience with Chalmer's carefully practiced air of quiet disdain. He wondered if it was some sort of old-timey British butler thing, or if it was just a Chalmers thing. The otter, Reese, didn't hold his nose quite as high as Chalmers liked to, but then again, Reese was technically a footman, and not a butler. Though Dante wasn't exactly sure what the difference was between the two there, either.

“I was under the impression that time was of the essence, in your case, mister Dante," Chalmers said, in a clipped tone, half-turning his head to address Dante from the corner of his mouth. “We could certainly call for a driver to ready himself and in a half an hour I'm sure he would be, or we could make the short walk to the garage together and I could carry out the errand as driver myself."

“Ah," Dante said, skeptically. “Takes a lot of people to run one guy's house out here, huh?"

“Mister Dante," Chalmers said, “I promise you that you have positively no idea. An estate like Brock Hill is more than simply one guy's house, as you call it." His face curled with distaste as he repeated the phrase. “It is an historical landmark, a source of employment for much of the village, a community center, and a local seat of government. And in the case of Brock Hill in particular, a site of prestigious academic research."

“That's an awful lot for - uh," Dante said, and broke off when the pair rounded a bend in the road to discover that their way was blocked by a flock of fell sheep. The high hedges and berms that bracketed the road had them wedged in and there were roughly a dozen or so yards of road to cross that were completely choked with black faces and white wool. The males had small horns curling about their ears.

Dante found his face turning very red, and felt a stirring in his pants that was in no way appropriate for the situation. He felt like he recognized many of these sheep individually from his dream, and he stammered.

Dante felt like a fool - there was no way for Chalmers to know what he had dreamed last night, and for all he knew, it was likely an anxiety dream followed by a strange coincidence the next morning. Though, after seeing his friend Trevor eagerly suck his thumb at Regent's command, he wasn't sure whether he ought to dismiss his dream as merely a coincidence, or as being somehow prescient, now that he knew that forces he only understood to be supernatural existed in this world, and that Regent had facility with them.

Chalmers swiveled one ear around toward Dante, and clasped his white-gloved hands behind his back, facing the sheep, and swishing his tail thoughtfully. “Mm. And even if we had called for a driver, he would have been delayed further," Chalmers observed. “It's no good waiting for them to clear, they'll be here until one of the hounds catches up with them and urges them through to one end of the road or the other. We shall have to push through," he said, and carefully began wading through the press of sheep, gently urging them aside, and making his way to the other end.

Dante watched Chalmers make his way through the flock of sheep to the other side, where the fox took a moment to brush the excess strands of wool fibers that remained clinging to his trousers, before standing and facing Dante. Upon seeing that the young man had made no effort to wade through the sheep yet himself, he said, “Mister Dante, it was my understanding that you wished to leave immediately."

Dante didn't really know how to explain his apprehension to Chalmers without coming off as a five-alarm idiot. “I don't—" he said, his voice catching in his throat.

Chalmers rolled his eyes. “I promise you, mister Dante, the animals do not bite. They are accustomed to close contact with people and the worst thing that you can expect to happen is getting a bit of wool on you."

Dante said, “Er, yeah, I mean, I know, I grew up working on farms," he explained feebly, feeling his neck and ears grow hot with embarrassment. He wished he could come up with any plausible excuse to avoid having to enter the flock. Finding none, he was forced to surrender. “All right," he said, weakly. “Just a minute."

Dante stepped forward and began gently pushing the sheep aside, to walk through them as Chalmers had. He felt the hair rise up on the back of his neck, and the volume of the sheep bleating seemed to become very loud to him, matched only by the volume of his own blood pounding in his ears. His head started swimming and he found himself taking very shallow breaths, and he worried that he would faint.

On the other side of the flock, waiting for him, Chalmers fished a pocketwatch from his vest and checked the time. He was very careful to avoid letting a smile creep across his muzzle, though of course if he had, Dante would not have noticed it now.

Dante stumbled, and nearly fell to all fours, and let out a frightened yell. He landed with his hands resting on the back of one of the sheep and quickly he stood again, his arms windmilling for balance. He had to stop and force himself to breathe. His senses were assaulted by the flock of sheep, which he was now completely surrounded by. His nose was full of the odors of wool and sweat and earth, and the bleating of the animals sounded hypnotic. He felt his knees going weak. He tried to say something, or at least thought he did, but he wasn't sure if the sound he made was words, or more bleating. He began to doubt whether he'd woken up at all, or if this was another very unsettling, emasculating dream.

He could distantly hear Chalmers' voice. “We must hurry, mister Dante, or I shall feel compelled to leave you among the sheep." Chalmers hadn't looked up from his pocketwatch. He was marking the minutes it took for Dante to cross the flock.

Dante panted, and he felt his feet become leaden. He was beginning to become dimly aware that something more was at work on him, now, than just his own paranoia or fear. His skin began to itch, as did his scalp. The tips of his fingers and his toes felt swollen and throbbing, like they'd all just been hit with a hammer, but he wasn't in any pain. He had a hard time putting words together, his tongue felt thick in his mouth, and though he heard Chalmers talking to him, anything the smug fox said was drowned out by the droning bleating of the sheep, which it now felt like his entire body was vibrating in harmony with.

Dante looked up helplessly at Chalmers. The tall, slender figure of the fox seemed a long way off, and the color of the hedges and the sky seemed to drain away. Not that everything had gone gray, exactly, but it was like Dante's eyes had forgotten what color was. The light on the leaves of the hedges became more pronounced, and Dante sensed that Chalmers was now a different kind of being from him. Somebody who stood upright, and spoke, and whom Dante was meant to follow.

At the same time, Dante felt like he knew what was happening, and that he had a responsibility to resist it. But before he even knew what was happening, he began frantically pulling his clothes off. Clothes did not belong on him. He tugged his shirt over his head and cast it aside, and began fumbling with his belt, unfastening it clumsily, and then unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He fell to the ground, writhing on his back with his legs in the air, surrounded on all sides by sheep standing over him as he desperately pulled his pants and boxers and shoes and socks off all in one motion, and lie naked in the gravel, panting as he stared upward for a moment, trying to work out in his head exactly what he was doing. His hair had become longer, and his face darker, and the pupils of his eyes elongated and horizontal, taking in a much wider field of view through them than any human could.

A short distance away stood Chalmers, watching a drama take place that was, to him, a matter of routine. Of course he did not know the specific agenda that Regent had with any of his guests, he only knew that it was vanishingly unlikely that any of them were going to leave the estate in the same state that they were in when they had entered, if Regent chose to let them to leave at all.

The professor tended to be rather more relaxed about allowing people to hurry off after a meal, since by that point there was very little they could do to resist his power over them, especially as long as they remained on the estate, where his power was especially concentrated. The human boy might have some idea of what was happening to him, but it really did not matter now. He had consented enough to Regent's overtures that any small efforts to resist them now would not be enough to stop the transformation from taking place.

For his own part, Chalmers had no particular opinion on whether or not any of the guests 'deserved' their new roles or not. Chalmers' first loyalty was to the Brock Hill estate, and after that came loyalty to Regent himself, and he tended to agree that Regent's governing of other people and arranging of their lives was often for their own good (though he never volunteered his opinion of any of his employer's projects unless he was specifically asked to, of course). And unlike Reese, Chalmers often took a lascivious interest in many of Regent's projects, if they happened to be transformed into something that was to his tastes. But in the case of Dante, his becoming livestock directly contributed to the wealth and upkeep of the estate, and that was enough for Chalmers.

Dante lay in the gravel, desperately trying to clear his head and gain control of his body. He moved to all fours, and pushed himself with some difficulty to a standing position. The hair of his pubic region had now become very thick, and matted together, and his penis was no longer visible beneath it. Likewise, his chest hair had become very dense, and his skin was growing dark all over. He tried to say something to Chalmers, but only managed a wavering, indistinct sort of yell. He stumbled forward, willing himself to complete journey through the flock, determined to do so on two legs.

At the base of his spine, he could feel a tightening sensation, and his ears remained very hot. His entire body itched as it grew follicles of hair that were much more dense and close together than human hair, and he grimaced as his face elongated, his nose flattening and new teeth pushing out to fill his longer mouth. Dante paused for a moment, lifting his hands to confirm his fears - they were no longer recognizable as human hands, his thumbs having completely retreated up his wrists and his fingers now much more close together.

In fact, his entire body felt hot. It was now very difficult for him to focus his attention any part of his body where the changes were taking place, because it was now happening very swiftly, to every part of him. He could no longer see Chalmers or hear him, and for a very long moment, Dante just stood there, bleating helplessly, as his face darkened and his ears grew long and heavy, his torso became longer and his ribcage extended forward, his legs shortened, and all of his digits fused into hooves.

During this space of time, though, the press of sheep moved on, past where Dante was standing, leaving him dazed and disoriented as the final changes in his body took place, the last bit of warmth and tightening concentrated between his legs, and within his belly. He was now very thoroughly a sheep, standing alone in the gravel, his discarded clothes laying near him, the herd of sheep a little ways behind him, and Chalmers ahead of him, still calmly looking at his pocketwatch.

Chalmers looked up, finally, having noted the duration of Dante's change for Regent's records. He paced over to the transformed sheep and calmly gathered up Dante's clothes from the road, to be disposed of. He noted Dante's lack of horns. “Mm. Seems lord Regent has rendered you female. I expect you'll have a very interesting afternoon as you become introduced to your role in the herd," Chalmers said.

As Dante's transformation slowed and settled, his - or rather, her - awareness of the environment around him had changed significantly. Her human intellect had not dimmed so thoroughly that she had lost the ability to comprehend speech, though she could no longer answer in kind. She could respond only with a plaintive bleating as her heart beat rapidly at the realization that everything that had just happened was real this time. And she was governed much more by instinct now.

She was keenly aware that she was standing some distance from the flock - her flock, she realized - and the distance from them was enough to make her feel the anxiety of separation. Moreover, the smell of the other sheep was much different to her now. There was something very.. attractive about the scent and the presence of the other males, something that made her belly very warm, that made her paw at the gravel with her forehooves. She knew that all of these feelings were not from her own mind, but were yearnings that her remade body felt, and she also knew that to give into them would be to surrender her humanity more fully, and that she mustn't.

She saw no way to reclaim her former identity on her own now - perhaps the effect of the transformation would wear off if she could but find her way off of the estate, or back to her own world, but she also feared that it might carry over with her and that she was truly at Regent's mercy. And of course she could say none of this - not that any of it would make a difference to Chalmers, anyway, since he was clearly party to Regent's designs on her and her friends.

“You should know that you're a bit of an outlier," Chalmers explained. “Ordinarily when one is being transformed the way you are, they don't typically resist quite so much. On some level, some part of them wants it, and by the time they're refashioned, that is the part of them that is making the decisions. In any case, I suspect you'll get used to wanting what you think you don't, before too long. Our rams are generally calmer and less competitive with each other than most - I think they all understand that there is no small supply of ewes like yourself to go round. When the hounds have you back in the barn this evening, someone will be along to see that you're given a bell and an ear-tag, denoting you property of the estate. Enjoy your stay."

With that, Chalmers strode off, leaving Dante to consider the implications of what the fox had just said. She wondered how many sheep in her flock had been humans once themselves. How many other young men had wandered from her world into Old Brockton, only to be pressed into a new life as one of the badger's many projects. She wondered if the little rabbit maid that her friend had tried to have his way with was one of them, and in that context the maid's demeanor the night before made so much more sense.

More alarming still was Chalmers' comment about rams - the implication was clear that Chalmers had meant that Dante was going to be bred as a ewe. That, she could not allow. She resolved that her most likely path to freedom was to continue home on foot, since now nobody would be coming to rescue her and her friends would not recognize her if they saw her.

But she felt something behind her - a nudging against her haunch, and she turned to see that the flock had moved again in her direction, and a ram was nosing against her tail. He was smelling her, she realized. Dante was no stranger to the cycles of farm life, and she knew full well what was happening - moreso because she felt her heart flutter eagerly at this attention from a male, and she hesitated momentarily in her eagerness to leave.

Would it be so bad? This was something that very few people got to experience, and of course nobody would know it was her. And she was desperately turned on - she could feel the heat between her legs, and the intense desire to be safe under a strong male ram - to be part of the flock, to be possessed. To live a life where she didn't have to make any decisions for herself, to be kept by rams and hounds and shepherds. To wear the mark of ownership in her ear.

She shook her head to clear it. Rationalizing her way into becoming comfortable living as a farm animal was astonishingly easy, and she moved again to begin to walk down the gravel road so she could make her way off the estate, and then she felt the ram behind her move to mount her. She felt the weight of his body on her hips and her whole body trembled with need. She bleated again, and the sound of her own voice made her aware of the dozens of sheep now surrounding her, utterly unconcerned with what was happening to her, the ritual of mating was something that they were blithely indifferent to as it was as much a normal part of their day-to-day lives as eating, sleeping, being shorn, and being herded.

But to Dante it was something else entirely. She was going to be fucked in the middle of a road by a ram, as a ewe. Her sheep vagina was going to be penetrated by a sheep dick, probably several times, and she may even become pregnant and give birth to and nurse little lambs. She knew that ewes went into estrus about once every other week, which meant that if she wasn't in heat already (although she was certain she was), she would be within the month. If she did not get away now, she was going to become pregnant. This was not how Dante had hoped to have a family.

Still, she could not bring herself to move as the male clumsily straddled her. He foundered for a moment before losing his grip and sliding backward, causing her to take a few steps forward. This wasn't unusual, Dante knew, from her experience growing up on a farm. Sex, for any species, animal or human alike, was often clumsy and required a bit of negotiation to reach the objective, it was only in pornography that it was flawlessly executed and picturesque.

But when she felt the male slide off of her, her immediate reaction was of dismay. She needed to be bred, she'd never felt so intensely horny in all of her life as a human male. She didn't know whether it was normal for all ewes to feel the reproductive instinct as strongly as she felt it now, or if hers was especially strong due to Regent's refashioning of her body, and it did not occur to her at the moment to wonder. She knew that she had to leave, to reclaim her life as it was before she arrived in Old Brockton, but when she had felt the male mounting over her, there was a sort of reassuring helplessness about it - it was happening, it was no longer something she had any control over, and thus could not be blamed for allowing it to happen to her. When he fell off, she was free to move again, and she could again make the choice to run. And she wanted to run. But she also really, really wanted to stay.

Dante pawed at the ground again, deliberating, and then closed her eyes, feeling something very small and insubstantial crumbling inside her. She remained where she was. She felt the ram move in behind her again, and she wasn't going to move away from him. She was going to let herself be bred.

The ram again hopped up, and Dante breathed out, surrendering. It just felt so correct to have him on top of her, and his forelegs walked further up, just forward of her legs and hips, getting a firm grip.. She felt his haunches move flush with hers, and she could feel herself getting very hot in a region of her anatomy under her tail that she was not familiar with, the sensations of mating as an animal utterly strange and overwhelming to her.

She felt the pendulous weight of the males's testicles bump against one of her legs. She didn't know how she knew that's what they were, but she knew. She felt the weight of his belly against her tail, and she felt something very warm rub against her. And then he thrust into her, and did so repeatedly, without further preamble and without any of the careful artfulness or consideration of her comfort that a human man might show to a human woman. This was how animals mated.

Any thought of leaving was gone from Dante's mind. She had never experienced sexual pleasure so intense as a human as she felt it now, and she bleated helplessly. There was nothing sexy, in the remnants of Dante's human mind, about the appearance of sheep, or the way that they smelled, or the sound that they made, or any of their habits of reproduction, but being rutted as she was now, in the middle of the gravel road near Regent's garage, was the most powerfully erotic thing that had ever happened to her, and to realize that was utterly defeating.

It only took the ram a few thrusts more before he had finished, and he hopped from her immediately, leaving his semen to spill from her, and she could feel it running down her legs and soaking into her fur, and knew that the smell of ram spunk would cling to her. She stood there in the road, surrounded by the other sheep, indifferently stumbling in the same direction as the rest of them were lazily moving, reeling from the emptiness left in her when the ram dismounted.

She felt like something irreversible had happened. She could not go back to being someone who had never been fucked by a sheep, and the vestigial remains of her human sense of self felt completely defeated. And, worse, the neediness she felt before the ram had mated with her had not been satisfied. Certainly, she had experienced an orgasm the likes of which she had never felt before, but she was not finished, her need to be bred had not been fully sated.

And then Dante felt another nose sniffing under her tail. She turned, and saw another ram curling its mouth into the flemen expression as he determined her readiness for breeding. She saw that there were several rams in the flock behind her, and sensed their interest in her. She wasn't going to be mated once, she realized. She was probably going to spend the rest of the day satisfying Regent's sheep. She was going to be bred repeatedly.

Worse, it was not horror that she felt at that realization. Shame, certainly - but more than that, relief. Delighted anticipation. Dante held still as the next male readied himself, and then with the same clumsiness and the same few false starts, moved in behind her, and rutted into her. Any thought of returning home was dissolved as her itch was scratched by each successive male. Each one only made her want the next, and in the brief moments of clarity she had after each male finished inside her, she did her best to soothe her shame and humiliation by trying to reassure herself that she never really had a choice.

Surely, she thought, this was Regent's design from the moment he joined them at their table last night, and the moment he arrived, his fate was sealed. That she was doomed to be the eager little ewe she was now, and it was never in her power to choose otherwise.

In those brief moments of clarity she still could not bring herself to believe it fully, of course - she could not help but recount all of her steps, looking for the decision she could have made to remain Dante the man, rather than Dante the sheep, and wondered where she could have turned another way to retain her dignity. Of course there was none - from the moment she and her friends entered Temhare, Regent would have seen to it that there was no turning back, but the vestigial remnant of her human sense of self seemed now primarily to serve to feel a sting of shame after every ram that rutted her.

And then, she would feel another one sidle up behind her, and thrust himself into her, and spill into her, and only while she was being bred did the world make sense.

VI. The Kennel

As Kyle and Reese left the manor, Reese wasted no time in engaging in idle conversation. He had been invested with a measure of Regent's authority in order to carry out his responsibility with Kyle and intended to enjoy it for the brief period that Kyle would still remain capable o human speech. “Did you sleep well?" Reese asked.

Kyle looked up with a start. “Huh?" he asked, his head already a bit fuzzy with memories of his dream the night before, called to the surface by Regent's instruction to be a good boy.

The young otter was about the same age as Kyle, but he'd been working for Regent long enough that Kyle's state of distraction didn't surprise him at all. “Something about the ale they serve down the pub, I'll wager, Having a hard time shaking it this morning? Maybe a bit of hair of the dog is in order," he suggested, doing his best to keep the smirk that was already edging its way into the corner of his mouth from also revealing itself in his voice.

That three letter word, of course, was already echoing in Kyle's head. “-Dog," he said. “Good dog." His voice was quiet and he was repeating the phrase mostly to himself. He was startled again to feel Reese's hand rubbing the back of his neck, perhaps affectionately.

“Aye, that's the truth. We have very good dogs here in Temhare! The Brock estate's been raising uncommonly smart hounds for generations, ever since Lord Regent's ancestors were invested with that name. 'Course that story's liable to be a long walk for you, eh?"

Kyle had a difficult time making sense of any of the words Reese was saying, and he wondered if it wasn't possibly the accent. Around the old badger, Reese's conversation was clipped and precise, his accent very refined. But as he spoke to Kyle, it seemed like he allowed some of his upbringing to show - his accent became more rural. The hard R's started showing up in his words, and his cadence was less formal.

But even though he didn't understand exactly what Reese was on about, Kyle could at least pick up cues in the way that the footman spoke, and smiled, and in the up-tone of a question. Reese was friendly, and encouraging, and pleased with Kyle's presence, and wanted him to speak, so he answered, smiling and nodding, with an enthusiastic, “Yeah!" that might as well have been a bark.

“There's a good boy," Reese said. “Shall we get to the kennels quickly, then? Would you like to see your lovely little bunny friend, show her what a good boy you are?"

The way Reese kept talking to him was incredibly condescending, but Kyle felt his heart skip every time he was called a 'good boy'. Every time Reese repeated that phrase, Kyle felt a surge of eagerness to please the otter he was following. He didn't trust himself to make words, so he only nodded, and did his best to keep pace with Reese, who had quickened his stride.

Before long they had crossed the green to the stable building, and could hear the barking of dogs inside. The noise became more pronounced when Reese opened the door, and motioned Kyle inside.

The kennel itself consisted of a very long, wide hall, with several smaller alcoves breaking off, each with one wall lined with fenced enclosures for the individual animals. Some of the wings were completely empty, indicating that the Brock estate had the capacity to house many more animals, if necessary. The volume of the barking increased even further as Reese and Kyle entered, their smell and sound exciting the animals.

Reese, however, was unperturbed. He raised his head and said, sharply, “Hush!" and in an instant, the noise stopped.

At the sound of that word, Kyle, too, felt a sort of reverent awe. He felt like he should say something, and tried to will himself to speak, but found that he couldn't.

Reese stood with his back to Kyle, so that the human could not see his smile. Reese knew full well that Kyle was likely far enough along under Regent's influence that he, too, would have been effectively silenced by a command intended for the hounds. He gave Kyle a long moment to squirm, before turning his head slightly to look back at him and said, “Oh, I didn't mean you. You may speak, if you like."

Kyle felt something in his throat loosen, and drew a breath as though he'd been holding it. “Y-you. Um. They're really well trained," he said. Unlike Dante, he had no prior suspicion that Regent's intentions toward him and his friends were at all questionable, and only now began to wonder what was affecting him in this way.

“Oh, yes," Reese said, cheerfully. He waved a hand in the direction of one of the alcoves, indicating that Kyle was free to look closer at the animals if he liked. As Kyle moved closer to the animal enclosures to look over the large, stately dogs looking up at him, Reese said, “They're frightfully intelligent creatures. Smart as people, really. Better at doing what they're told, though, and very eager to please."

All of the dogs were large breeds - Huskies, shepherds, malamutes, ridgebacks, and mastiffs, and Kyle noticed uncomfortably that all of them, at least in this particular alcove, were intact males. Some of them even revealed, as they were sitting, a bit of red between the legs, as dog penises jutted half-exposed from their prepuces. Kyle felt his cheeks and neck redden, though he wouldn't have cared to notice any of the animals' state of excitement before the peculiar events of his dream last night.

More uncomfortable still, he felt the stirrings of an erection himself, upon seeing them. Kyle tried to visualize the pert little rabbit he'd tried to bed the night before, tried to picture what he'd do to her, to try to chase from his mind the very unfamiliar lewd imaginings he was now entertaining.

“Miles must not have gotten to these lads yet," Reese said, though he offered no further explanation of how he could tell. Nor did he even elaborate on what 'kennel duties' actually were, now that Kyle thought about it.

The nameplates on each of the enclosures also caught Kyle's eye: Prince Edgar, Prince Willem, Count Phineas, and so forth. “Why are they all named like that?" Kyle asked.

“Oh, that's just how his lordship likes to name them. Says there isn't a dog in the county without at least a drop of royal blood in it and it's his lord's wish that they be treated as such. He dotes on them, really, which is why he likes to send the prettiest maids out to look after them. And speaking of, here's miss Miles now!" Reese said, indicating the petite rabbit rounding the corner into the alcove.

Miles' eyes widened and she paused when she saw the two young men standing in the alcove, looking at the animals.

“How are you finding the hounds today, miss Miles? His lordship suggested that our guest might appreciate lending you a hand in seeing to the hounds this morning. I hope they're not all spent already?"

The little rabbit's face burned red through his fur. “You know they aren't," Miles said, his voice quiet.

“Of course they aren't. That must be why you're so fond of them," Reese said, gamely. Reese didn't really know what Miles had done to merit being fashioned as he was into the petite rabbit he was now, or to be required dress as a maid and present himself as a shy, coquettish girl, as Regent rarely shared his reasons for doing anything. The old badger was always confident that he knew what would suit a person best, though - and in Miles' case, it meant being a slender, servile little rabbit with a nearly unquenchable thirst for performing oral on anyone and anything that would let him. Reese suspected that the little bunny's panties must surely be constantly moist.

If Kyle picked up any of the subtext of the conversation, he did not show it. He only barely noticed that Miles had entered the alcove, and glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the dogs contained on the other side of the fence. All of them were looking at him, too, rather than at the maid and footman. All of them with the same sort of expectant look on their face, like they were waiting for him to throw a stick, or to feed them. One of them licked its jowls. When interacting with dogs, Kyle was always reasonably sure of where he stood in their imagined pack hierarchy, but now he felt disarmed, he got the impression that all of them looked down on him, despite their being animals, and being shut in their enclosures.

Reese's hand on Kyle's shoulder brought him back to the conversation. “Well! I think perhaps we ought to get started, don't you?" he said. Kyle nodded dumbly. Reese said, “Miss Miles, would you be kind enough to set out two of the sawhorses?

“Two of them, mister Reese?" Miles asked, her face looking a bit like a frightened deer caught in the headlights of a car.

“Well, yes, of course. His lordship intended for you to demonstrate for our guest, not merely instruct him," Reese said. “Two of them, arranged parallel, in opposite directions and slightly staggered, so the rear of one is visible from the front of the other."

Miles nodded curtly, and left the alcove. Kyle could hear the shuffling of furniture in the central hall. “Sawhorses?" Kyle asked, trying his best to remain focused on the conversation and not be distracted by the dogs again. He couldn't imagine what sort of dog-related chore could possibly require the use of sawhorses.

“You'll see, right this way, please," Reese said. Kyle followed the footman to where Miles had dutifully arranged a pair of what were mostly shaped like sawhorses, but had a leather-cushioned central bar, with a few leather straps and ledges along the sides. “Miss Miles, would you care to show our guest how to get into position?"

Miles took a deep breath, her heart racing, and swallowed. She laid herself belly-down along the central cushion of one of the sawhorses, and straddled it, letting her knees rest in the ledges. Laying down like that, her panties were tantalizingly visible under her skirt, and Reese noted with some satisfaction that her panties were, indeed, slickened and damp, the thin cotton translucent with the little bunny's issue.

Kyle stared, too, not able to put together immediately that the unfamiliar topology outlined in the contours of Miles' panties did not conform perfectly to what he understood was supposed to be there. He was only glad to get another glimpse, though this time he didn't feel the sexual thrill he'd come to expect from getting an unintended peek at a pretty girl's underclothing.

“Now you, mister Kyle," Reese said, gesturing to the unoccupied sawhorse. “Belly down, tail up, except facing the other direction."

Kyle hesitated, his brow furrowing. “I still don't understand," he said, cocking his head to one side in a subconscious show of doggy confusion.

Reese rubbed Kyle's head affectionately, which only served to make Kyle feel even more off-balance and patronized. “It's an exercise to socialize the animals to you, and I assure you it's completely necessary. You'll see, be a good boy."

And that phrase was enough to disintegrate what remained of Kyle's will to resist, almost without thinking about it he laid down, his sawhorse parallel to Miles'. He could turn his head to the right and see her pert, exposed rear, and at this distance he could more clearly make out the smooth curve of Miles' scrotum through the rabbit's panties. He stammered, feeling the characteristic revulsion of a heterosexual young man who feels his very narrow sense of masculinity threatened when encountering another man who does not conform to it the way he believes another man ought to. “Y-you're a guy? You're a fucking dude?"

That brought a swift tap on his nose from Reese. “Hush!" he said, with the same quick, sharp voice that he used with the dogs when he first entered. If he had a tail, Kyle would have tried to tuck it between his legs at this. He looked up at the otter, chagrined and needing reassurance that he was still a good boy, eager to demonstrate his willingness to please. But Reese's expression was businesslike, as he fastened straps from the sawhorse around Kyle's limbs, cinching them snug and buckling them. In a few moments Kyle was bound fast in that pose. “Can you move?"

Kyle tested the restraints as hard as he could, and the wooden support structure that he rested on creaked, but he found that he was immobilized. He looked up at Reese, still with those helpless puppy-dog eyes, and shook his head in the negative, still unable to speak.

“Good, that's what we want," Reese said. He produced a hook-shaped implement that had a sharpened blade on the interior, and with it he cut down the back of Kyle's shirt, and then his belt and trousers, splitting them open. He then tugged them rather roughly from beneath Kyle, leaving the boy naked and trussed in a presentation position on the sawhorse. He then bound Miles in a similar fashion, but rather than cutting off all of Miles' clothes, he only cut the panties off, tossing them to the floor directly in front of Kyle.

With Miles' intimate region thus exposed, Kyle could see more clearly the small, round, velvet-furred scrotum and short little pink taper that were Miles' sexual equipment. He'd never seen genitalia that small on anyone since his own when he was a child - no wonder the little bunny had to be a girl in Regents' household.

Kyle's sophomoric judgment of the little rabbit was interrupted, though, when he felt something cold and wet applied to his own exposed buttocks. He cried out, more out of shock at the sensation than pain. He tried to ask what the hell the otter was doing back there but found his ability to speak was still arrested from Reese's earlier command to be silent.

“This is urine suspended in a gel lubricant to make it easier to apply," Reese said, anticipating the question. “When the females are in heat, our miss Miles has to collect some of it so that we have a supply of the scent on hand. It makes it much easier to induce breeding interest in the males, though many of them by now are so acclimated to what these sawhorses are for that there's no need for it. But we like to be thorough, don't we." Reese rubbed the mixture into the cleft of Kyle's rear with a rubber brush, and used a gloved hand to slip a finger covered with it into his ass. Kyle yelped in protest.

“I certainly hope that my little finger isn't what you're crying about, pup," Reese said. “You'll be glad of the lubricant before too long." Reese then padded into view, the little jar of clear gel in hand, and he applied it in similar fashion under Miles' tail. Miles made a little gasp when he felt it. “I'm surprised you notice it at all at this point, miss Miles, given what rabbits are made to do!" Reese said, with a chuckle.

Miles didn't answer, but kept his ears pinned back, glowering at Reese's teasing. While Miles spent a lot of time being intimate with the animals, most of the time it was under his own volition, done privately. Being used this way in front of a guest was, while an occasional indignity, an indignity still. Reese gave Miles an affectionate swat on the bottom, and walked off again.

A few moments later, Kyle could hear him coming back. “Open your mouth wide," Reese said, and Kyle obeyed without hesitation. He didn't see what Reese had brought to his face, but felt something firm, which tasted of rubber, push up against his teeth, forcing his mouth open wider. It popped into place, resting behind his bicuspids, keeping his mouth open wide. Reese's hands were soon behind Kyle's head, pulling whatever it was in Kyle's mouth snug with similar leather straps. “This is what's called a ring gag," Reese said. “You're going to be tempted to try to keep your mouth closed for the lads that will want to come 'round the front, and we can't have that.

Kyle's mouth was forced to stay wide open due to the ring gag, and before long he found himself drooling because of it. He made unintelligible noises at Reese, by now certain he knew what the otter meant by 'kennel duties', and by now certain he absolutely didn't want to carry them out.

Reese knelt down so that he was eye level with Kyle and smiled at him. Reese had the jar of urine-lube in his hand again and carefully applied the brush around the outside of Kyle's open mouth. Kyle tried to turn his head aside. “Now, stop that, or I may accidentally stick this IN your mouth, and I'm certain you don't want that. Of course, given what's going in your mouth today, you'll not care about it for too long, will you?" Reese said cheerfully, painting Kyle's face with estrogen-laden gel.

“We won't need any of this for miss Miles, though, the dogs are very familiar with that end of her by now. And I think we're ready to get started, aren't we?" Reese announced. He put away the gel and washed his hands at a sink, leaving the pair with their thoughts for a few moments while he cleaned up. Then there was the faint noise of metal dragging on metal in one of the alcoves as bolts were slid aside and gates were swung open.

Kyle's breathing became frantic, panting through his mouth as he was unable to close it. He strained at the restraints holding him in that pose, forcing him into a very canine presentation position. Doggy-style, it was called, but it wasn't something he ever intended to be on the bottom of. And certainly not beneath any actual dogs. But by now it was too late, he could hear the clicking and scrabbling of canine claws across the bare concrete floor as they hurried toward him, he could hear their panting. And in another moment there was the feeling of a cold nose sniffing and pressing against his bare inner thighs. He saw another large dog appear beside him, sniffing under Miles' tail in much the same way.

Then the dog beside him sniffing at Miles mounted him eagerly, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the head of another dog come into view, and he could hear the muffled, feminine squeaks Miles was making as the pair of dogs mounting the little rabbit expertly positioned themselves and started to penetrate the pretty little maid in tandem.

Then Kyle felt paws on his back. He felt the legs move to grip his hips, and he felt something warm, and slick, and unfamiliar nudge up between his legs. Kyle was so occupied by what was happening to him that he was completely unaware of the fact that he, himself, was achingly erect. He had been struggling to keep any sexual thoughts of these animals at bay since he entered the kennel, had tried to concentrate his more lurid attention on Miles, but even that had been upended when he discovered that the rabbit was a male, and thus no longer somebody that Kyle was willing to consider as a sexual object.

Kyle couldn't see the dog behind him, but he could feel the firm curve of its ribcage resting against the curve of his spine. He could feel the warm breath between his shoulderblades. He sucked in a breath as the animal pushed into him, he clenched instinctively, but the large dog that he was to be sexually dominated by was undeterred. The animal didn't have any technique, it wasn't trying to satisfy or pleasure him in any particular way - it was interested only in completing the task of mating, and once it was inside him it began pumping its hips rhythmically, the smooth red flesh sliding in and out of him. Kyle moaned his protest. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable and demeaning, and all he could do was make unintelligible sounds through his ring gag.

In a corner of the room, Reese had pulled a chair up to a table and unfolded a magazine. The otter footman was not especially interested in most of the professor's projects, nor did he have a special taste for seeing foolish young men sexually humiliated by trained animals. For him it was merely a job, he might have mustered the same level of interest for the task of feeding the dogs as he had for seeing people bred by them. But it was a task that required, at the very least, someone to clean the room up when the dogs were finished, and to make sure that Kyle wasn't injured in the process. For the moment, though, there was no work to be done beyond the passive duty of supervision, and so Reese could enjoy a bit of a break from his regular duties. So while Kyle was to be repeatedly mated with by Regent's hounds, a bored footman read a magazine only a few yards away, as though there was nothing at all out of the ordinary about what was transpiring.

Miles, by now, had his eyes closed, his face buried in the belly-fur of a large mastiff that had its forelegs on his shoulders and was eagerly bucking into the little rabbit's mouth. Miles had done this enough times with the animals that he knew immediately, by taste alone, which of them he was eagerly sucking off. There was something reassuring to him about their warmth and their weight on him. Something that Regent had placed deep in the back of his brain, of course, but even so, he only felt fully whole when he was hilted, in front and in back, with dog dick.

Another animal had by now circled around to Kyle's front and was sniffing at his face. Kyle turned his head aside but he could only move so far. The black-and-tan shepherd began licking at him, wagging its tail eagerly. Kyle could feel the warm, wet tongue on his face, and it entered his mouth a few times. Then it moved to mount his head, hopping up to rest its paws on his back in much the same way the mastiff on Miles was.

He saw it coming, the length of red flesh that wobbled as it hung beneath the animal's belly, pointed at his face. He saw the clear liquid dribbling from the tip. He tried to turn his his head aside, to force the ring gag from his mouth, but the shepherd atop him moved quickly, and without difficult slid itself into his mouth. There was a dog dick in his mouth. He could taste it, it was hot and salty and it filled his senses. Kyle had to close his eyes because his face, too, was now pressed to the animal's belly. The shepherd began to buck, matching the pace of the dog already mating him from behind. Kyle could feel the warm, soft testicles bumping into his chin as the shepherd's hips gyrated back and forth.

Both of the dogs were fast. Not in terms of the speed that they thrust into him, but they both finished quickly. The shepherd jetted threads of semen into his mouth and he could feel it pooling behind and under his tongue. He tried to force it from his mouth but as he couldn't close it, he couldn't spit effectively. The shepherd laid on top of him for a moment, its tongue lolling out happily as it satisfied itself. Then it hopped down, and Kyle gasped, shaking his head as best he could to try to shake the canine ejaculate from his mouth, and it slickened his chin. The dog behind him soon finished, too, and withdrew from him as well, and Kyle could feel the warm seed sliding from him and on down his legs, and against his perineum.

He only had a moment, though, because he could now see that he was surrounded by dogs, all of them looking at him and eagerly wagging their tails, many of them already sporting erections. Beside him, the mastiff had finished with Miles and another had taken its place, rutting into the little rabbit eagerly. Kyle was no longer paying attention to what was going on with Miles, though.

Kyle's whole body itched, and there was a soreness above his anus that he assumed was a consequence of being penetrated, but it was positioned at the base of his spine, which might have struck him as peculiar if he was in a state of mind to give it any thought. His fingers felt tight, as did his ankles and knees. But now there were two more dogs, one he again he could not see, behind him, and an energetic husky hopping dutifully up to inexpertly push its cock against his face, smearing the lubricating gel and its own pre-ejaculate fluid against his cheeks. It soon found his mouth and immediately began eagerly thrusting, and it barked happily at its conquest.

Kyle didn't know anything about canine anatomy. If he did, he might have thought it peculiar that the portion of the anatomy referred to as the bulbis glandis - more colloquially called the knot - was not, in any of the dogs that had mounted him so far, becoming engorged. They thrust into him eagerly, vigorously mating with him as though he was the fertile female that the pheromone-laden lubricant he'd been prepared with was telling them that he was, but none of them had yet tied with him.

He also didn't notice that the restraints holding him in place were becoming looser on him. His body was changing, helped along by the attention being given him by Regent's kennel full of eager dogs, and though he tried to resist it he could not help swallowing some of the semen left in his mouth, first by the shepherd, and next by the husky. When the husky finished, its place was taken by another, and by now Kyle was not taking note of the breed of animal. He did notice the smell, though, and the taste were distinct. Each of them were different, and he was becoming more aware of the smells in the kennel, and could separate them. Even though he couldn't see how many dogs were milling around him, wagging their tails and lolling their tongues, eager to take a turn with him or the rabbit next to him, he was aware now of each of them distinctly.

Reese looked up from his magazine. There was now a layer of golden fur all over Kyle's body, and his legs had now pulled completely free of the restraints, because they were now considerably shorter and narrower than a human's legs. He was well on his way to being dog-shaped, and from the look of his ears and the snout that was pushing out of Kyle's face, he was going to be a golden retriever. Reese rose form his seat and rummaged about in a cabinet along one of the walls, producing a collar, and casually strode over to where Kyle was. He waited for the dog currently busy with Kyle's face to finish - this never took long - and then leaned down and fastened the collar around Kyle's neck. He gave the now much more doggish Kyle an affectionate rub behind the ear, and Kyle wagged his tail.

“Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy? Is it you? Who's gonna spend the rest of his life on all fours, eating out of a bowl on the floor, playing fetch and sitting up and begging? Is it you? Yes it is, yes it is! What a good dog you make!" Reese's voice was cheerful and patronizing. If Kyle understood what he was saying, he gave no indication. Reese pointed at another golden retriever that was patiently waiting for a turn, and its eyebrows lifted with interest when it caught the signal. Reese then snapped his fingers and pointed at Kyle's tail. “Tie," Reese said.

The dog that was back there hadn't even finished yet, but the big retriever obediently hurried over and pushed it aside, mounting up and thrusting energetically under Kyle's frantically wagging tail. Kyle also barked and yelped, though the noises he was making were soon muffled again when a bulky gray-and-white malamute moved to mate his face, and it licked eagerly at the muzzle of the retriever that was instructed to tie with the dog that had been Kyle.

Reese moved to the other sawhorse and began unfastening Miles. Miles' delicate maid's uniform was now rumpled, dog hair showing up easily on the black fabric, and stained with dog semen. Reese waited for the dog Miles was currently sucking off to finish, and he gave one of the little rabbit's ears a meaningful tug. Miles looked up at Reese blearily, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist and swallowing. He was still rocking back and forth gently with the rhythm of the shepherd currently thrusting under his tail.

“Kyle's just about ready. I put a collar on him, and I think by the time Prince Leopold has untied with him he'll be done. I have other things I need to take care of, can I trust that you'll see he's properly homed when you're all finished here?" Reese asked.

Miles looked over at Kyle, who now on first glance would look like a very large golden retriever to anyone who didn't look closely - his hind legs were still too long, and his trunk still too short in proportion to them, and his head was still too rounded in the crown, but these things were now changing quickly, and within the next twenty minutes or so, he would be fully animal. Miles nodded, and said, after clearing his throat. “Yes, of course."

“And if you wanted to let him take a turn with you for being such a good dog, I wouldn't judge you for it," Reese said, with a playful wink. He then turned to leave the kennel, whistling to himself.

Miles watched Reese go, the otter's thick tail swinging with his gait. And then Miles' vision was blocked as another dog moved into position. Miles opened his mouth wide and closed his eyes, eagerly sucking. Of course he knew that Reese was judging him for it, even though Reese knew perfectly well that Miles hadn't been in control of his own needs for a very long time now.

And of course Miles was going to let Kyle was going to take a turn with him. There was no dog in this kennel who wouldn't.

VII. The Back Garden

“It's a blend of imported tobacco and other herbs grown right here in a greenhouse on the estate," Regent said, packing a pipe and passing it to Chet. The pair of them were settled into wicker chairs in the shade of the estate's back garden. The air smelled of cut grass and carefully-tended flowers.

The scene was familiar to Chet, as it was one he remembered from his dream the night before, and after having been given a tour of the grounds with his brother, he felt confident that he knew the direction the rest of the afternoon was going to go.

Earlier, in their morning stroll, while Dante and Kyle were busy being fashioned into animals, and being vigorously bred, Chet and Regent walked side-by-side through the garden paths as Trevor followed boredly behind, both boys unaware of what was happening to their friends elsewhere on the estate.

Trevor had paid no attention to the conversation, keeping his hands thrust in his pockets, wishing he'd gone with Kyle or Dante rather than tag along with this boring old-timey show-and-tell, and he interjected with complaints a few times, before a meaningful shush from the old badger robbed him of the ability to speak. Trevor still felt a longing to suck his thumb, planted in his mind by the professor at breakfast and never dismissed, and it was only his fear of being caught in the act that prevented him from indulging now.

Chet and Regent, though, had a very grown-up conversation. Regent explained a great deal about where his own power is rooted, that it comes from both the land and the people who live there. That generations of families, that plants and animals that grew and lived and died, who all come from the ground and then return to it, were all comprised of the same substance, sometimes fashioned into soil and sometimes into plants and trees, sometimes animals, and sometimes people. Further, Regent shared his view that this substance was best given purpose when shaped by a skilled hand. That clay is not always the best at shaping itself, and thus it doesn't necessarily make a great deal of sense to allow it to decide for itself how best its needs are served.

He explained that his family had lived in Brock Hill for thousands of years, and in the space of that time they accumulated a great deal of understanding about what the needs and wants of that substance, that clay, so to speak, are. It colored his sense of morality, and his view of the nature of consent: what a body wants is often very simple, but the mind will often busy itself with arbitrary constructions and rationalizations for why the body is wrong. Regent's understanding of needs and wants made it that much easier to use the primordial languages to reorder bodies and reorder minds into something that, to his eyes, seemed to suit them better. That deep knowledge that the Regent family had accumulated had made them, in effect, a sort of force of nature; and they wielded as much an influence, if not more so, on life in Old Brockton as sun, wind, or rain.

And you do not argue with the sun, the wind, or the rain, you simply do your best to structure your life according to their behavior.

It might have sounded absurd, even terrifying in its self-justifying solipsism, if Chet hadn't already seen Regent demonstrate his power. Instead, it was illuminating. Reassuring, in a way: the world that the boys had stepped into last night made very little sense at first, but now Chet was feeling a sense of clarity.

Regent went on to explain that part of why his talents worked on the four of them were because they'd eaten and drank with him. They were now, at least in some small part, comprised of the substance of Temhare, which now made them also subject to the peculiar forces of nature that governed this world. And so, in effect, subject to Regent himself.

So later in the day, when the three of them were seated in the estate's back garden, and Regent offered him a pipe, Chet noted Regent's comment about it being a blend of herbs grown in his greenhouse. “I've always been a little bit curious about pipe-smoking," Chet said, considering the pipe as he took it from the old badger. “But if I try this, I'm taking more of Temhare into my body, like you said. Which means, if I understand you correctly, this will make me even more, ah, subject to your powers."

Regent nodded placidly, his gaze fixed on Chet, his fingers interlocked over his belly as Chet considered the pipe.

“But I've already eaten breakfast with you this morning, so even if I decided that I didn't want to risk it, you could just as easily compel me to do it, the same way you made Trevor suck his thumb," Chet said. Trevor, who at that very moment had decided he might try sneaking his thumb into his mouth, quickly moved his hand back to his lap, his face beet red.

Regent nodded again.

“I don't.. really have a choice, do I?" Chet asked.

Regent smiled politely and shook his head. “I'm afraid not, my lad. But you do have the advantage of being the only one of your friends who can choose whether you go along willingly or not."

Chet found that the prospect of what was about to happen did not fill him with apprehension. Instead all he felt was a calm sense of resignation. He took a match from the table and struck it, giving a moment to let the sulfur burn away. He brought the pipe to his mouth, dipping the match into the bowl. He puffed at it a few times, inhaling to draw the flame downward through the pipe and into his mouth.

“Now - take care you don't inhale it, lad. You want to puff it into your mouth, not your chest," Regent said. “Let it go out after a moment - there we are, now give it another light."

Chet did as he was instructed, allowing the first light of the pipe to go out, and then he repeated the ritual of lighting it, drawing again with his mouth, and taking care to hold the smoke there before puffing it out again, rather than draw it into his lungs. He set the second spent match on the wrought-iron garden table and leaned back in his chair. Already he felt a sense of his mind, his awareness broadening as he tasted the subtle smoke of the pipe.

It started first with his awareness of his older brother Trevor, meekly sitting behind the two of them. But Chet didn't think of Trevor as his older brother anymore, not since this morning. It had begun with his dream the night before, seeing him regressed as Chet grew older, until there were two generations of distance between them, and that sense only compounded throughout the day. When Trevor helplessly sucked his thumb, when he quieted down after being shushed, and now Chet could sense Trevor's persistent need to put his thumb back in his mouth, and his squirming anxiousness at not being able to speak at all.

That Trevor's ability to speak had been casually revoked by Regent during their walk was something that Chet only now became aware of, but it certainly came as no surprise, and it seemed to fit. Lads like him are best seen, after all, and not heard.

From Trevor, though, it spread further, as though Chet's awareness and sense of self was a pat of butter slowly melting and expanding over toast. He sensed a pair of people approaching - no, one person, and a dog at the end of a leash. He recognized them before they strode into view. It was Regent's young otter footman, Reese, and the dog was a transformed Kyle. Chet saw what had become of Kyle this morning, how he was led to the kennel and the method that Regent used to put enough of Temhare's … substance into him to make it possible to transform him bodily into an animal.

This led Chet to wonder what had become of Dante. He puffed a bit more at his pipe, his eyes going out of focus as his gaze rested on the stones at the far edge of the estate, his mind wandering over the grounds until he found him - or, rather her - housed in the barn, having been transformed into a sheep in very much a similar fashion to how Kyle had been changed into a dog. Chet had always liked Dante, or at least, of all of Trevor's circle of friends, Chet had disliked Dante the least, and he looked over at Regent with a quizzical expression.

He didn't have to say anything for Regent to know what he'd found, as they increasingly shared the same understanding of the estate. “Yes, I had rather a difficult time getting a bead on Dante. He didn't seem to warrant it as much as Kyle and your brother, so I'm still deciding whether or not to keep him. I might give him an opportunity to decide for himself, ere long."

Chet nodded, as this now seemed perfectly reasonable to him. He lowered his pipe to the arm of his chair, and something on his arm caught his attention. The hair on his arm was growing thicker, and began changing in color, lighter on his hands and darker on his arms. He brought his other hand up and looked at it, seeing a darkening patch of skin on his palm that was swelling, and similar pads on his fingertips. His fingernails were tightening, becoming harder and narrower, turning into claws.

“How are you able to do this to me without the same, ah, encouragement that Dante and Kyle needed?" Chet asked, as his body began to change.

“Because you consented, in a way," Regent said. “You had an idea of what that pipe might do to, and even with that knowledge, you went along with it. Makes things easier when people don't try to put up a fuss."

Chet watched the fur on his arms thicken with calm bemusement, and continued puffing at his pipe. His belly grew heavier, too, and the fabric of his clothes became coarse. His trousers extended upward over the curve of his belly, a bib covering his chest with straps extending over his shoulders as they became a farmer's overalls. He could see a canine nose push forward from his face, and the nuances of the herbs of the pipe he was smoking became even more pronounced and easily read as his sense of smell intensified. And all the while, he felt years and years of experience and understanding flood his mind: knowledge of the history of Temhare, of Lord Regent's centuries-long life governing the parish of Old Brockton, knowledge of how to till the soil and care for animals. New memories filled his mind alongside the ones of his previous life as a college student, memories of living as a tenant farmer in Brockton, of caring for his great-nephew, of herding sheep and plowing fields.

While Chet was preoccupied with the sensations of his own transformation, Reese finally came into view, with Kyle on a leash. Reese knelt to unclip the leash from Kyle's collar, and Regent patted his knee to call Kyle over. The energetic golden retriever that had once been a college-age boy eagerly and obediently trotted to Regent, tail wagging furiously.

“There we are, you turned out to be a very good boy, after all, didn't you?" Regent said, affably. This only caused Kyle to wag his tail even faster. There was very little left of Kyle's old intelligence left in the dog, and what remained was subsumed largely under canine instincts and an overwhelming need to please. Regent leaned down and whispered something in the dog's ear, and Kyle got very still for a moment, before turning his head to look at Trevor and began wagging his tail quickly again, pawing excitedly at the paving stones.

Regent turned to Trevor, who was still fidgeting behind Regent and his brother, largely ignored up until now. The professor cleared his throat, and in the language of compulsion, said, “Trevor, why don't you play with your friend, here?"

Trevor nodded, still mute, but eager to play with the dog as he was, of course, helpless to do otherwise. He ran out onto the green, followed by a happily yelping and barking dog that had only this morning been the center of his circle of friends, unaware of what had happened to him, or that he now, finally, had Kyle's complete unconditional approval. Trevor found a stick and threw it, but Kyle seemed more interested in Trevor than a thrown stick. Kyle jumped up against Trevor and licked at his face, and Trevor laughed and fell over. Kyle licked at Trevor's face and nipped playfully at air a few times, and then closed his teeth around Trevor's shirt and tug and shook.

Chet and Regent watched, each of them puffing at their pipes, with Reese standing at attention nearby, hands clasped behind his back. Chet heard the words that Regent had whispered into Kyle's ear before sending him off to play. “Trevor needs to be transformed the same way, as the other two, doesn't he?" Chet asked.

“Aye, he does. I thought he might like it best coming from a friend," Regent said.

Chet nodded, and he felt the stirrings of an erection at the thought. Casually, he reached down to adjust himself. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, before clearing his throat and said, in the language of compulsion, “Trevor, lad, undress and present for your friend." His own attempt at the language was heavily accented and didn't have the same perfect grammar as Regent's, but somehow he knew the words to say.

Trevor looked up and nodded mutely, quickly stripping naked, helped along by Kyle's eager teeth. In another moment, Trevor was on all fours, front low and ass high, mounted by the golden retriever that had been his friend. Kyle's tongue lolled out happily as he moved atop Trevor the same way he himself had been mounted by the animals of Regent's kennel earlier in the morning.

As Kyle began to push himself into Trevor, asserting himself as a higher-ranking member of this particular pack, Trevor curled his fingers of one hand into the grass, his other hand moving unselfconsciously to put his thumb back in his mouth. Trevor knew that his brother and Regent were watching him, but he had no control over what his body was doing. Stranger still was the feeling of eagerness and satisfaction he felt in the position he was now in; though he didn't yet know that it was his friend Kyle atop him, breeding him, some part of him still sensed it. That being used in this fashion was, in a sense, validation from someone he had always desperately wished would think of him as a peer.

And while it happened, Trevor's body also began to change, in a style similar to what was happening to his formerly-younger brother. Black and white fur sprouted over his body, new follicles growing in, making him feel itchy. There was a tightness at the base of his spine as a tail curled outward under Kyle's belly. His fingernails and toenails narrowed, pawpads appearing on his hands and feet. Trevor's body became more slight, as he lost muscle mass that he'd spent so much time in the gym trying to build, his shoulders narrowed, his build became more gangly as his hands and feet seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body. Trevor also grew a muzzle similar to that of Chet's, and his ears flattened, broadened, and lengthened so far that they flopped forward.

From where he was sitting, Chet was able to get a much better view of how Trevor was changing than Trevor himself was. Chet could see that Trevor's body was now more closely reflecting that of a border collie, at least in his fur and tail and the shape of his head. But he appeared to be remaining humanoid, much like Chet was, though while Chet grew steadily older, Trevor now appeared to be a teenager. Chet recognized him now as his great-nephew, and he smiled, puffing smoke from his nose.

“Shall I give him his voice back?" Regent asked. The old badger was much more interested in Chet's transformation into a sturdy old border collie, which was now largely complete.

Chet had grown and aged to be physically much closer to Regent's apparent age, if not a bit older still. His muzzle was peppered with white fur and he was very content in how his life had shifted, now utterly unconcerned with whoever he used to be in the world he first came from. Chet, like his friends, was now very much a creature of Temhare.

Chet shook his head. “No, I don't think that'll be necessary. I don't recall a single intelligent word ever coming from his mouth, so this is better for him. I don't think he needs to be a proper pup, though. Where you have him now will suit me just fine, and I could use the hands on the farm."

“As you like it! I think it might be time for Reese and I to adjourn to business elsewhere, and let you have some time to get acquainted with your nephew," Regent said, pushing himself to his feet. Chet gave him a nod and the badger and otter made their way back to the house, leaving the old collie to be the sole audience to the lewd scene playing out on the green.

When they were gone, Chet brought his fingers to his mouth and made a sharp whistle. Kyle immediately pulled out of Trevor, spilling some semen down Trevor's legs in the process, and trotted over to Chet, the heavy red flesh of his canine cock swinging and bobbing beneath him. Chet pointed at the ground. “Sit, boy," he said, and Kyle sat, panting happily.

“Trevor, come on over here, now," Chet said, and Trevor sheepishly pushed himself up to a standing position, revealing that he, too was sporting an erection, and though his was now similar in shape and canine configuration to Kyle's, Trevor's was much smaller in size. He tried to cover himself with his hands and moved to gather his clothes, to try to dress himself.

“I didn't say to put your clothes back on, lad," Chet said, his voice taking on a timbre of impatient authority. “Just come listen to your old great-uncle Chet."

Trevor dropped his clothes and complied, though he still did his best to hide his genitals with his paws. He stared at his feet, feeling very small, even though he was standing and his uncle still reclined in the wicker chair.

“Do you know why our friend Kyle wanted to mount you so badly?" Chet asked.

Trevor looked down at Kyle and then back at Chet. His tail was tucked between his legs, and he shook his head. While Trevor had always been very stupid as a human boy, it seemed fitting to Chet that he not be able to speak. It suited him better - Trevor had never had anything intelligent to say, and communicating in this manner was a much more pleasant means of interaction with him.

“It's because he thinks of you as part of his pack, and he wants to assert his rank over you. Thinks he's an alpha, this one, even now," Chet said, patting Kyle's head affectionately. “And I think in your case he's probably right. Best you keep him happy. But Kyle's not your alpha, is he?" Chet asked.

Trevor again shook his head, though this time the question was much easier to answer because the answer was implicit in how the question was asked.

“Do you care to guess who your alpha is, Trevor?" Chet continued, and he meaningfully adjusted the now-conspicuous bulge in the crux of his trousers.

Trevor meekly pointed at his great-uncle. Chet nodded, and puffed at his pipe again. “'Sright. D'you know what that means for you, lad?"

This time, Trevor neither nodded nor shook his head. He shuffled his feet, his eyes following the movement of Chet's free hand, settling on that bulge in the fabric of Chet's overalls. He swallowed.

Chet let his voice drop into an approving growl. “That's right, lad. That means you'd best keep me happy too, hm? Please don't let me believe I need to tell you what to do, now."

Though Trevor now had only very dim memories of his life as a human, his memory from the dream the night before was vivid in his mind. It was something he was unable to put out of his head for most of the day; and the longer it burned in his mind, the feelings shifted from shame and revulsion to a deep craving. He dropped to his knees immediately and began fumbling at the buttons fastening the fly of his uncle's overalls. He thrust his hand in and guided the thick, turgid red collie cock out, and guided his uncle's heavy testicles forward too, cupping them in his hands.

Chet scritched behind Trevor's ears pleasantly. “There's a good lad. This is really where you belong, isn't it? It's all right that you're a runt as long as you've got your old man to look after you, hm?" Chet chuckled, puffing on his pipe amicably as he teased his scrawny teenaged nephew.

Trevor looked up at Chet with a cowed expression, even while he was dipping his muzzle to take Chet's cock into his mouth, closing his thick black canine lips around it, and began bobbing his head eagerly. Trevor felt a sense of calm wash over him and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head at the feeling of having his oral fixation satisfied in this way.

Chet only grinned cheerfully at the faces Trevor was making, and continued petting his nephew's head, sighing contentedly at how good it felt to be satisfied in this way. Trevor's canine muzzle was perfectly shaped to accommodate the task, and his tongue was soft, eager, and thorough. The old man sank back in his chair, his new weight causing the wicker to creak as he shifted in his seat, and he continued to puff at his pipe.

He heard Kyle whine and paw at the gravel, bringing him back to the present. “Oh, heavens, where are my manners?" Chet said, and snapped his fingers and pointed at Trevor's ass. The golden retriever quickly moved into position and again mounted Trevor, thrusting frantically into him.

As Kyle mated with him, Trevor could feel the base of Kyle's cock swell. The dog pushed deep into him and Trevor closed his eyes, grunting through his mouthful of his uncle's cock, swallowing repeatedly. There was tightness and a distinct sense of discomfort as Kyle pushed hard, stretching Trevor's anus to what felt like it had to be its limit and then a pop and a release of some of the tension as something seated inside him. Kyle's knot had swollen to its full size, and had successfully sank it into Trevor, tying the two of them together.

With the awareness granted him by Regent's tobacco blend, Chet knew immediately what had happened. Though it would not have been hard to guess, at any rate. Chet chuckled again, tousling the fur on Trevor's head. “He's tied with you, my lad. You two will be stuck like that for about a half an hour or so, I expect. Though the longer you keep him excited, the longer it's liable to be."

Trevor made a whimper, but continued sucking eagerly, his head bobbing up and down, and Chet's own knot began to swell. As Trevor sucked, his lips began kissing it with every motion of his head. Chet had to set his pipe down, unable to budget the mental attention necessary to keep from spilling the bowl as he felt himself edging closer to reaching climax himself. Instead, he clutched the arm of the chair with one hand and the other was now tightly gripping the hair between Trevor's ears.

Chet bucked and rocked his hips in time to the movements of Trevor's mouth, growling and thrusting into the boy's muzzle. Soon, Chet placed both hands on the back of Trevor's head and pushed the boy roughly down on him so that he was forced to open his jaw wide to accomodate his great-uncle's knot. Trevor's nose sank into the fur beneath the old dog's overalls and he whimpered at the sudden forcefulness, and found himself having to swallow repeatedly the thick jets of canine issue hitting the back of his throat. He couldn't do it quickly enough and coughed a little, letting some of the semen escape from the corners of his mouth, but his uncle wouldn't let him pull his head away, holding him, there.

With his uncle's orgasm, their relationship solidified, and Trevor's memories of his old life became impossibly distant. He'd always been a mute, simple boy, raised by his great-uncle Chet, living with him on a tenant farm in old Brockton that was owned by Lord Regent. He sheared sheep and swept floors and ran errands for the old dog that looked after him, his slender little body able to do things that Chet couldn't do for himself. And things he just didn't like to do for himself. Things like this.

In the old language that he still seemed to have some facility with, Chet said, “You're going to stay there, boy. Until your old man's knot has gone down again, and only if Kyle's untied with you, too. Do you hear?"

Trevor nodded quickly, the movement of his nose under Chet's belly causing it to ripple. He was forced to breathe through the thick mat of his great-uncle's pubic fur and overalls, the worn fabric stained with dirt and permeated with stale pipe smoke from years of service on the farm. He had to stay there on all fours until his dog and his uncle were finished with him, and with his new memories in place, he knew that this was neither the first time he found himself in this position, nor would it be the last. It probably wouldn't even be the last time today.

Chet held his boy there for a long moment, his tail twitching and a growl in his throat as he finished rutting Trevor's mouth. Chet had a much better grasp on what his old life had been like than Trevor did, and so there was some part of him that took a deep sense of satisfaction rutting into his nephew's maw like this, given who he'd used to be, and how he used to carry on. This seemed so much more right, and he was looking forward to enjoying his new life on the farm with him.

The feeling that followed an orgasm, as the body relaxed, was one of the Chet's favorite moments. There were going to be a lot of evenings like this, dutiful pup helping the old man get off while he enjoyed a smoke and watched the sun go down over the gentle Temhare hills. Chet leaned back into his chair and picked his pipe back up, puffing on it happily.

He patted Trevor's head. “There's a good lad. You're all right, lad."

VII. Life After

Later that evening, Chet and Trevor again joined Regent at The Lord's Hounds, and Chet and Regent again enjoyed a boisterous conversation and several pints of cider. This time, though, the pair of collies and their pet retriever went home to their cottage in town, leaving Regent to return to his estate.

In the weeks that followed, Chet found that he could no longer produce the language of compulsion the way that he had in the back garden of Regent's estate, and he surmised that it had either something to do with the tobacco blend that town's lord had shared with him; or, more likely, that Regent himself had extended a bit of talent to his new friend and tenant for the sake of the afternoon.

There were times that the expanded awareness would return to him, and sometimes he almost felt that he could again form the syllables of the ancient language that shaped Temhare's natural laws. But during these times, the old dog's consciousness could only sense as far as the edges of the farm, the thoughts and feelings, instincts and dreams of the creatures that lived on it. He knew that this was because this was the dominion that was granted him by Regent, and to exercise this power at all was a rare privilege, and so he did not begrudge the times when he could not muster it and was grateful for when he could.

Though he was now an old dog, he never felt as though his youth had been stolen from him. He would be old in the ways that hills and fields and rocks and rivers were old - old, but an ageless part of the world that remained and shaped it. He, now, was a creature of this land, and would till and keep it, with his great-nephew and the animals that had once been his friends. Kyle minded the sheep, and Dante became mother to a great many of Chet's flock.

And Dante was, in a way, allowed to return home. On the other side of the division that separated Temhare's Brockton from that of the world they'd come from, a human Dante woke with a start in the car they'd left, the next morning. He returned to his dorm and discovered that his three friends had been erased, completely, from having ever lived in his world. Dante checked school records and made phone calls and found nothing - he was the only person who remembered them at all. The world had been sanded smooth.

Even then, those memories, too, shared a new parallel narrative. He remembered knowing them, as much as he remembered never having known them, as the evidence of their lives as humans healed over and disappeared without so much as a scar to show where they'd been removed.

At night, when he slept, Dante was, again, a sheep on Chet's farm. She was herded and grazed in pastures, bred, and sheared for her wool. She was corralled into a barn at night, and when she slept, she would wake again in the human world, living two lives, one on each side of the divide. In the morning he'd wake with the most achingly intense erection from his experiences on the farm.

Dante tried to tell himself, at first, that these were just dreams, but they occupied him from the moment he closed his eyes at night until when he opened them again in the morning, and he soon understood that Temhare would never fully let him go. There were times he wondered if he should try to cross over again, to demand his life back from the old badger, but he was confident that that conversation would not end well for him. This life that he was living now was the closest he could hope to get to normal again, and he worried that there would come a time when he would stop waking as human. More than that, he worried that he would welcome it when it happened.

Worse, still, was Chet seemed to know, when he tended to Dante, of her situation. There would be the occasional wink and sly comment. The way the old dog would grin, leaning on his walking stick, as one of the rams mounted her.

Not long after his friends departed the estate, Regent was again in his study, making notes in his journal of how life would proceed for them from here. That Chet and Trevor would stay on the farm, with Chet being invested a small portion of his power, to govern and shape the lives of those who lived there in much the same way that Regent did over those in the parish. Kyle would stay a dog, and Dante would remain with one foot in the world he'd come from, so that Regent could better extend his influence beyond Temhare.

Human curiosity was a very useful tool, especially when paired with the self-destructive foolishness of young men. Dante would, in his way, contribute to the rumors surrounding the passage to old Brockton, though of course he'd do his best to warn people away from looking for it. His pride and shame would, in equal measure, forbid him from elaborating as to why, and this would be enough to tantalize more young people into stumbling through the woods and finding their way to the cozy little pub filled with animal people.

And there the old badger would be, with a pint, and a smile, and a story to tell.