The New Chieftain
The New Chieftain
After a haunch of gazelle to fill his belly from the negotiations -- which had taken from high-noon until almost sunset -- Oslo chose to return to his own tent. Rather than the regality of the chieftain's high seat which he normally sat in, it had nothing more than several heavy hide blanket for bedding, the smoothest dirt floor in all of camp, and the dirtiest copy of the GDF regulations in existence.
He was about to start reading, when as tradition demanded, Kindel poked his head in. "Is there anything else I can do for you, chieftain?" he asked.
He was about to give his traditional answer of no, when his troubles returned to him. It was very hard for him to fall asleep, for so much had happened just now compared to his 25-odd-years of living.
Last month, after being assigned to arbitrate, he wanted to understand tribal peoples. He left the Global Defense Force with an honorable discharge, and got adopted by the Warsach tribe. He fit in rather well as the adopted son of the chieftain, greatful for saving his people from draught with miltary aid under his command.
But then, his adopted brother died of a mysterious ailment -- cancer as best he could guess without a medical degree -- and then even more suddenly, his surrogate father did last week. After nothing but a report of the chieftain's last words, and a brief voice vote, Oslo found himself in charge of the tribe; he had barely found the time to greive for his new family.
"Since I can remember," he sighed, "I have never slept alone. I had a brother when I was small; a full barracks was my place of rest in The Force, despite my rank; and until a mere week ago, your father slept at my side. I find it hard to sleep, for I think of them."
While Oslo's statement was ernest, Kindel seemed to read something else into it. With a smirk, he replied, "of course, chieftain," and his head disappeared.
The next head to pop in, to the lion's dismay, was a female, who was -- if he remebered correctly -- his adopted third cousin. She seemed to have the same smile upon her face.
"You are lonely, chieftain?" she murmured.
"Only for sleep, I'm afraid," he answered, feeling quite embarassed. He didn't want Kindel to feel he had failed, and yet, that seemed quite impossible.
"Please," added the lion without thinking, "come in."
She looked surprised, and a little let down, for her loin cloth seemed intentionally too small to completely cover the area.
"Lay down here," he suggested, lust the furthest thing from his mind, "all I wanted was to hear someone breathe while I slept."
"I can certainly comfort you, chieftain, if that is what you wish."
Oslo didn't answer, but instead picked up his manual, as he felt her hands run gently over his maneless head and chin. He was glad he never had one when he thought about it.
"What is that?" she asked as he turned the page of his book.
"The list of rules I follow," he answered awkwardly in his second language. He obeyed them when possible, even after leaving the military.
"Would you read it to me?" she asked.
He couldn't help but smile; it was the most boring document he could imagine, and she asked for it like a story of sorts. He agreed, but chose to read it in his own language.
As he expected, she didn't understand, but this made crimes and their penalties a comforting string of sounds. All of the sections used phrases again and again, making it a winding epic poem.
Even before he finished the section on tribunal procedure, however, she was asleep. He wrapped his arm around her, as he did with his brother, and soon nodded off himself, the breathing giving him comfort as he had hoped.
When he woke up, she was gone. He was glad, but wondered what rumors were now making their rounds. He didn't have time to ask Kindel, for he had to announce his new plan immediately upon his getting dressed in ritual garb: one hundred hyenas were marching toward them.
***
The world goverment was generous with lands, since the population was tiny in comparison, and had created the Keinhal valley with the best of intentions. Meaning literally "no one has" in the local language, it was a lush area of over a thousand square miles where many tribes of hyenas chose to emulate the humans in their most natural state.
However, with limited rivers, the patterns of game were somewhat constrained. As Oslo saw it, the Lankar tribe hunted their own game to extinction in excess of their numbers. Now they wanted to hunt in the land Oslo's tribe currently used, changing an old treaty.
Oslo had a brief moment of clarity in the immense tent, sitting with seven other hyenas on the ground around a symbolic ring of dirt. The negotiations between were on the edge of breaking apart, and he knew how to solve it.
One of the phrases of his GDF training rung in his head: if there is no way to win, change the argument. The needs of these people are simple, his commander advised, so give them what they want, and take something of a different kind in return.
He stood up, the sign of a proclaimation written both upon his face and the heavily patched grey uniform he still felt most comfortable in. "I propose we do not share the land, but instead, make our tribes one, and promise to feed all."
The rather gnarled hyena twice his age across the tabe scratched his torn ear, and thought for a moment, as if he were having difficulty finding something advantageous in the proposal.
He finally replied, "Absurd. In my generation, --"
"But there is a new generation now," interrupted Oslo rudely, "and that is why it will work."
This did not make the Lankar chieftain any happier. "You know nothing of your own tribe, let alone mine!" he snarled.
"Then why did Gruseir make me chieftan? Because he knew I had the trust of my people, and greater wisdom than any of his own!"
The other hyena stood, but his voice remained calm. "I know better than to accept a proposal which will lead to nothing but slavery."
He turned to walk out, but Oslo jumped up just in the nick of time. "We shall have no rule over your people!" His own advisor, Kindel, grabbed his arm, but Oslo ignored it.
"What?" he asked, turning briefly.
"For the moment, I say that your people shall be governed by you, my people shall be coverned by me, disputes with you shall be handled by me, and disputed with me shall be handled by you. When we learn to tolerate each other, we shall live together as one."
It was the best mutual power-sharing he could come up with, at least in a split second.
"If you accept," he continued, as the hyena's advisors followed him out, "bring as many as you wish to me, and declare that they shall share our hunting grounds."
They continued out. "Food shall make you agree!" he shouted as the last of the other side dropped the tent flap.
Now, the feelings of the only one Oslo trusted were expressed. "I fear that was unwise," Kindel pointed out, "for too many or our people remember times when they were nothing but trouble."
"And they shall deal with me," he growled. "This has got to work. No agreement is worse than this, you must agree."
Kindel did not disagree, but instead gave him a more general warning. "There are still those among us who see you as a Mongrel."
"Mongrel?" Oslo repeated.
"Everyone trusts your judgement, but they know your power shall fade without a son. They see you as an abberation that shall pass, and that weakens you."
Oslo know that natural breeding was important to them, and suspected that their genetic liniage might give credence to his lack of ability to mate with them. But he tried to ignore that fact.
"I have challenged my people before," Oslo reassured, more to himself than Kindel, "don't worry. It will work."
"If you say so, chieftan."
Oslo walked out of the tent, and told two guards on the outside to restore the throne-like seat which had been removed.
When the Lankar tribe moved in, Oslo had expected a bad reaction, perhaps even bloodshed. But the first day passed without incident. He told Kindel that this was proof he was right, that the old hatreds had been washed away by hunger.
But on the second day, Kindel was the one who seemed to be correct: two hyenas were standing before him, one with the bright blue feathers around his ears -- the mark of the other tribe.
"Tell me what happened," Oslo growled from his tall chair at the foreigner, looking down almost a foot at them.
"I killed a deer, and he stole it."
"I didn't, chieftan!" protested the other, but Oslo silenced him with his hand.
"And how did it happen?"
"I saw a deer, I followed it, I killed it. It was mine. When I was carrying it back, he said it was his, pushed me down, and stole it."
Oslo's eye kept the other from saying anything until the foreigner had finished. "Very well, now you tell me why that isn't true," he said to his family member.
"It is true," growled the elder of the pair, over 30, "except that I was about to kill it with an arrow when he lept from a tree, and knifed its neck. It was mine, I had my sights on it."
It took Oslo but a moment to decide a verdict, both politically sensitive and just. He told his kinsman, "give him the deer back, and neither of you speak to each other again."
But a nearly identical story repeated itself before him four more times. Oslo kept giving the same verdict, but was wary of the pattern being created.
When he broke for lunch, he summoned Kindel. "What is this strange hunting method they use, hiding in trees? It's causing great trouble."
"I do not know, chieftain, but it seems quite effective."
Oslo couldn't help but smile as he imagined a 5-foot jump from the hyena he just met, and how startled the deer must have been.
"In that case," he declared, "have them teach some of our younger tribesmen the technique. If they hunt in the same way, we can find a way to deal with it."
"Yes, chieftain," he bowed, tone with a note of concurrence, and left.
But Oslo immediately wished he was still here, for the next four to enter his tent that day ruined the appetite he was nursing. Two parents, the mother barely able to walk from her age, and two members of the Lankar tribe.
"Chieftain!" whimpered the aging female, "my son is about to be put to death by that monster!"
Oslo assumed she ment the head of the other tribe.
"They say he beat up his son! But, chieftain, my son did not touch him! He was out hunting at the time."
Her husband, or so Oslo gathered, looked sternly up at him, but said nothing. He needed no words, for his eyes said it all.
The other two members were far closer to Oslo's age, with several scars each. When their stony expression and cold eyes did not change when the pleas struck their ears, Oslo was surprised at their lack of empathy.
"Have you anything to say?" he barked at them.
"No, Chieftain," the taller one replied in a gravelly voice.
"Then why are you here?"
"To make you keep your promise," he growled with a cold satisfaction, "tell them their son must die."
Oslo couldn't do it. The tears in her eyes had some effect, but the primary reson was his sense of justice moved him more. Truth being such a slippery notion, that sentence was too harsh for that crime; especially based upon heresay evidence. But he did consider his agreement binding, so after a moment's pause of contemplation -- a moment spent doing his best to ignore the cold eyes of the enforcers -- made his declaration.
"I wish to speak to your chieftain," he growled to the foreign pair, "bring him to me."
They stepped out silently, with two long strides.
"I shall ensure your son does not die," he consoled to the parents once the two were out of earshot, "don't worry. You may go, and I shall return him to you alive."
They walked much more slowly out than the confident strides of the males, eyes staring a foot in front of them. Based upon their faces, they didn't believe him.
Oslo wished he had Kindel at his side -- more for general support than anything -- but knew he had to do his best to convince the other chieftain, alone.
The Lankar cheiftain soon stepped into the tent, wearing a rather sadistic grin.
"Do you wish to change our agreement?" he asked with mock surprise.
Oslo stepped down from his chair and took the GDF Rules and Regulations from his pocket, and clenched it to avoid forming a fist. "I merely ask you to treat your prisoner as one of your own. You may punish him as is your right, but execution is not for a mere scuffle, and you know it!"
It was hard for Oslo not to put too much anger in the words; the Lunkar chieftain, in his view, clearly wanted their agreement broken.
"I would kill one of my own if they attacked my son," he replied with a smile he could not hide. "My standard is no different for your kinsmen."
"Then I would ask you to announce this fact to all of us."
"Everyone knows what I do," he growled defiantly, "so you shall gain nothing."
"So then you should have no qualms about announcing it. But I warn you," replied Oslo sharply, "my people might not like it very much."
The vicious, toothy smile turned to a toothy growl as his eyes hardened into diamonds.
"Is that a threat?"
"Why no," replied Oslo with a taunting tone, "for remember, under our agreement, anyone who attacks you would be yours to punish -- but you may have to hand out your punishments laying on your belly being tended by your wife."
This taunt was enough. With a snarl, the tribal leader marched out of the tent, and called for everyone's attention.
Only as they were assembling did Oslo realize he might have pushed the chief too far. But as both of their tribes gathered, and Kindel returned to Oslo's side looking nervous, the Lunkar chieftain began, his eyes avoiding the elderly couple when he spoke.
"I have decided upon a punishment for Junde, who has committed an unforgivable crime against my son," he declared.
Oslo saw many eyes harden, seeming to know what to expect. Shifting followed, and the parents seemed to hang on his every word.
"He shall be hung from a tree by the wrists for two entire days. That is all."
He marched back to his tent in a rather large huff, as the two parents who were about to lose their son smiled at Oslo. As the crowed broke, with a lot of grumbles and some sighs, Oslo indicated his acknowledgement of their silent thanks, and returned to his tent with Kindel.
"Will anyone learn their ways of hunting?" he asked, knowing that is why Kindel had returned so quickly.
"They refuse, unless the children join their tribe."
"It is obvious that it will be a source of endless conflict. I suppose we must plan for the next step."
"I don't think the Lunkar chieftan will accept marriages into his tribe," pointed out Kindel.
Oslo didn't say anything; he assumed Kindel had heard of his previous successes, and this is how they generally went. "Well, I have to find something, don't I?" he grumbled.
"Chieftain," Kindel asked a little more sharply, "why did the GDF advise you to put warring tribes together?"
"Simple: disputes are best tolerated within a family. Land, food, comfort, marriage, children, all these things are held common among all tribes."
"But did not the tribes you taught to live together both come to you as a judge?"
Oslo assumed he meant 'arbitrator.'
"You can surely see your position is different now," Kindel finished.
Oslo sighed. "Then what would you have me do? I cannot fight them, I cannot merge them, but they are here."
Kindel smiled distantly, the smile of the great wisdom he shared with his father. "Wait," he replied.
"Wait?" growled the lion.
"If you were prepared for them to say no to your agreement, and slowly starve for season after season, then you should have the patience for this chieftain decline in strength. Another may be selected, and beng young, might be less hostile."
It was an answer Oslo knew he couldn't tolerate very well; but that afternoon, at least, he declared he would hear no more complaints until tomorrow.
***
Every day after, for what his GDF calandar would have considered two weeks, Oslo heard complaints. It didn't matter whether their crime was stealing food, or the increasingly commmon bodily retribution for a crime of the past. Oslo attained the facts -- the testimony and physical scars -- and judged them as a JAG officer would. The punishment scale was somewhat different, short physical agony often replacing long physical imprisonment, but he did his best to keep the punishments routine and mundane.
He also did something Kindel agreed with: he went among the Lunkar tribe as a Mongrel. He stripped off his ritual attire and took a bath in the mud, so as to remove any of the charisma he had learned to project. With only a brushing off so he did not drip, he then went out to hunt, and found them before long.
In addition to finding the mud most amusing, they took the sign as it was intended. He learned that many thought he was making an honest agreement, and that he cared about their welfare. In fact, a few of the young members were growing dissatisfied with the current chieftain, for wiping out their land, and now threatening the agreement necessary for their survival. While not even the young would teach him hunting, talking and listening were skills Oslo put to good use.
"It seems impossible," he complained to Kindel, after he had returned, "that first they can be so kind and wise, and then later go out and try to skin one of my kinsman like a carcass. Are they lying to me? Are they pretending to be kind to me?"
"Only you can judge that, chieftain."
"They don't seem to be, and yet, this is what happens." Oslo sighed.
Kindel smiled once again. "Families hurt and yet love. It is obvious you have no brothers."
Oslo knew he would fail to grasp this lesson. "I had one brother, but we did not skin each other alive. Besides, he was not related to me; almost half of us are -- not even born," he replied, awkwardly.
"Not born?" repeated Kindel quizzically.
"I suppose you've never visited my part of the world, have you?"
"Never."
Oslo wasn't sure how to explain it in this language, but came up with the best explaination he could. "The parents give a machine tiny pieces of them, and it creates the child as if they had mated."
The mild contortion of Kindel's face indicated he didn't quite understand, but after a moment, he changed his muzzle from incomprehension to amusement. "Forigve me, chieftain," he said coyly, "but our way of making children seems more fun."
Oslo laughed. "Yes," he concurred, "but your way won't work with some of us. Many of us have trouble, and more than that, many mates are --"
Oslo stopped. The word he was looking for was not only missing, but he just now realized the entire concept might be missing. No one in this tribe chose a mate of the same gender, at least not that he could see.
"-- are like each other," he finished awkwardly.
Kindel didn't get it. "How so?" he asked naiively.
Oslo had to think hard. "Well, you and I are alike, and Frani is different," he finally managed to say, frustrated that he could not think of a word for gender in the abstract sense. It was attached to everything.
"I think I understand you, chieftain, but I don't see how..."
Oslo didn't realize until Kindel had talked until he looked at him for a response. Running through his images, images which of his views of affection and lust, brought up feelings in him which had been quiet since dealing with the grief of his adopted father. The wisdom he had shown; the free advice he had given; his submissive, playful manner; and modest stature mixed together to create in Kindel a creature whom Oslo suddenly found very attractive.
He was broken out of his brief reverie by the eyes looking directly at him, expecting an answer.
"Chieftain?" Kindel repeated.
But Oslo had momentarily lost his second language. He wanted to say, "I'll show you," and rush over and tackle him. But he couldn't do that, knowing that Kindel certainly liked females.
"Did you hear me, chieftain?" Kindel repeated.
With additional words, the language came to him. "Um, I apologize," Oslo said, managing to snap his eyes away toward the wall of the tent -- which normally was very rude. "Leave please," he demanded.
Kindel looked at him, head tilted, and eyes wider. Anger, fear, or puzzlement were all possibilities. "As you wish, chieftain," he answered slowly, and stepped out.
Oslo waited until he was out of sight, and then tried to center himself for another batch of complaints. But he found himself having difficulty listening, his mind requiring active attention to concentrate on any minute details that might tell a lie from the truth. And when the case was not clear, he was quick to judge, inflicting mild pain more often than issuing an injuction never to speak to eachother.
Worse yet, when Kindel stuck his head in the tent to ask if anything was needed, Oslo almost invited him in -- almost. But when he avoided it, the female hyena, to whom he had now read a fifth of the statues, was no longer welcome company, either. He apologized to her, but was no less firm about his desire to sleep alone -- or at least, to try.
He wanted to brood until the desire went away, a desire that he ought not have for the sake of his position and his friendship. If he could not quell it, it would destroy everything.
That first night was one of many which followed, collapsing from sleep slowly after staring at the wall as long as he could in defiance of himself.
***
The sleep he didn't get began to affect him after several days. But while it was corrosive to his mood and his judgements, Oslo did manage to loose all sense of lust or affection. He thought he could keep going like this, with a nap or two to get him through the day.
But then, Kindel came in after his evening meal with some news. "Your waiting is over," he playfully declared, "the Lunkar tribe may have a new election."
"Election?" repeated Oslo with a yawn.
"It seems the younger generation are making some new friends with your kinsmen, and don't like how they're being treated."
Oslo managed half a smile as the thought penetrated his brain. Kindel was right after all.
"How fares the chances of the current chief?" he asked.
"If they hold it, he is barred from selection."
"Wait, what do you mean if?" asked Oslo, having missed the "may" in Kindel's original statement.
"The vote will be taken whether to replace the chieftain in three days. If you are going to be sharp, I would suggest you invite your cousin back and get some sleep."
"No," grumbled Oslo, feeling that his drowsiness had become acceptable over the course of a few days.
"What has she done?" asked Kindel, both concern and ability to punish in his voice.
"Nothing!" snapped Oslo, "just don't bother me about it!"
"As you wish, chieftain," replied Kindel, taken somewhat aback, "I apologize."
Kindel's submission, his tone of non-cerimonial pain, made Oslo re-evaluate himself. "I apologize for my anger," he added, "but you, of everyone, cannot help me."
"If I cannot help it, and cannot ask about it, may I at least tell the chieftain a story?" he asked.
"Certainly," answered Oslo, unable to hide a smile as he knew he would be entertained, and probably enlightened anyway.
"Long ago," began Kindel, voice quiet but sure-footed, "many humans believed in creatures called daemons. These were spirits, each ruling their own tiny corner of the universe. Some were good, some were evil, some were apathetic. But all could be bought for the right price, and make things go one's way."
"So what?" interrupted Oslo, wanting to get to the point and take a nap.
"The way the spirits collected upon their debts," concluded Kindel, "was to keep the debtor awake at night, and give them nightmares. Whatever spirits torment you, chieftain, pay them."
Kindel's words were what ran through the lion's head, over and over again, as he lay awake that night. Even The Manual tormented him; the part he encountered before too long was the section on fraturnaization regulations.
He slammed the book, and wondered about the existence of those spirits briefly before getting up. He decided that Kindel, once again, was right. Unfortunately, he expected the poor hyena to dearly regret his advice.
"Kindel," Oslo whispered through the tent wall, leaning down to where he guessed the hyena's head might be.
There was no answer.
"Kindel!" he repeated, this time in a stage whisper.
"Mmm?" mumbled a familiar voice from within.
"Wake up!"
"Chieftain," he murmured, as the tent stirred, and the hyena appeared in nothing but his loin cloth. "Do you need something, Chieftain?" he mumbled drowsily, stretching himself out -- and in so doing, revealing the front of his entire body in the dim moonlight.
It made Oslo more aroused, but did nothing to ease his difficulty or ascertain how he should approach what he feared might be a new concept.
"Let's go for a walk," Oslo whispered. Kindel seemed rather surprised by the suggsetion, but followed Oslo away from the camp.
"Where are we going?" he asked, the exercise quickly awakening him.
"I don't know," replied Oslo, "why don't you just find us someplace away from here to talk?"
Without another word, Kindel stopped following, and turned north, toward the river. The sounds of dirt and brush beneath their feet kept making noises which eerilie tracked their path; but fortunately, no one followed.
Eventually, close to the river, Kindel sat down at the base of a rather large tree, branches sprawling out in every direction. Oslo sat down beside him, assuming this was it. He still wasn't sure if he should do what he found himself contemplating; all the more from the hyena's earthy smell, which was something of a turn-off.
"What have you to say, cheiftain?" Kindel asked, breaking Oslo's meditation rather suddenly.
"I forget," lied Oslo, as he tried to turn the conversation around. "Why did you choose this spot?"
"It was a spot where my brother and I would talk," he said, voice suddenly becoming tense, making Oslo briefly wonder if the hyena knew what was in store for him. "If you need to talk, this is the place."
"What would you talk about, if I may ask?" Oslo pressed, hoping to make up the discomfort he was afflicting later.
"Females mostly," he replied with an embarassed smile, whose teeth glimmered in the faint haze of moonlight peeking between tree branches.
"Well, this is a good place, then, for I have some questions," Oslo purred. "Since children are out of my reach, what are the rules for -- mating?" It took a moment to say the word he already knew of in their language.
"It is quite simple, cheftain," Kindel replied, with an air of strange sanctity, "if you do not produce a child, and are quiet, you are free to do as you please with whoever will have you."
Oslo looked back into his eyes, and let himself go. Pinning Kindel to the tree with his eyes, he stood up, and with excited breaths, knelt in front of him so their eyes were level, and brought their bodies close together.
As Kindel looked more and more nervous, Oslo slowly leaned forward, pressing their stomachs, then chests, and finally muzzles together.
"Chieftain, I -- mph," was all the hyena could protest, air rushing back and forth through his nose, which tickled Oslo's cheek. He did not seem to resist, but Oslo knew he probably didn't like it, either.
The moment he let their muzzles untangle, Kindel was panting in fear. "Chieftain, what will you do with me!?" he whimpered.
"Nothing you won't like," replied Oslo, as he knelt over Kindel's legs, keeping him from getting up, and removed the hyena's loin cloth. He was clearly not aroused, so Oslo decided to try and fix that.
He knelt down, and enduring a bit of bad taste, stretched out the sheath and kissed the pink flesh. Kindel stifled some sort of noise resulting in a short whine when Oslo's muzzle touched the end of the flesh. But with the second kiss, the hyena knew what to expect, and Oslo's muzzle continued to touch and gently manipulate the head, Kindel's penis began to grow.
Like a slow tree working its way upward from its roots, Kindel rose under the caresses of Oslo, the kisses turning gently into tongue flecks, slow licks, and finally, immersion in his mouth. The soft sheath fur tickled his cheeks, quite unkempt, but at least not getting into his muzzle as he slid the smooth, pink head in and out.
From the panting and grunting Kindel made, Oslo guessed how he had learned to enjoy pleasure from long nights with none other than himself. His face reflected a complete loss of concentration, indicating sublime enjoyment. Soon, another sign appeared; dribbles of precum were beginning to ooze from the pink tip as Oslo's tongue focused on the vein running along the cock's back side.
Oslo considered himself victorious: like the tribes he would merge, Kindel would feel compelled to accept and reciprocate his unusual tendencies. His trust of Oslo had let the lion start, the hyena's own body would let him finish, and his sense of morality would make him pay Oslo back in kind.
Just as Oslo was having this most satisfactory thought, the hyena's breathing changed above him, his legs spread, and with a few sporadic trusts, semen began pouring into Oslo's mouth. It was a taste the lion found unique, but within expectations. The hyena seemed a little muskier than many others, but the flow came slow enough Oslo could easily swallow it all until he felt the hyena's muscles stop pumping.
Clean up seemed just as good to Kindel as the experience itself. He grunted, seeming to suppress any vocal sounds; another habit of self-enjoyment late at night, Oslo thought.
Oslo licked up the clean, pink flesh of all the sticky goo it had ejected. It even took over a minute for him to respond to the lion after Oslo released his cock at last.
Through a nervous system still feeling the aftereffects of his wave, the hyena mumbled, "wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, ..."
But the small bit of vicarious pleasure Oslo got from his act paled in comparison to the desire he had for reciprocation. "Now will you -- do the same for me?" he asked nervously in anticipation, knowing of no word in the language for what he had just done.
"I apologize, chieftain," sigh the hyena through his haze, "too tired."
"Then please allow me to do something else to you," panted Oslo, contemplating the other alternative form of pleasure he had taken on occasion.
"Whatever you wish, Chieftain," Kindel replied, words that Oslo found stimulating in themselves.
It was hard for him to restrain himself pouncing on the poor dog, and forcing himself straight inside his guts for the warmth, heat, and tightness. But he did the best he could by grabbing a hold of the hyena and yanking him from leaning back against the tree to laying face down in the grass.
Kindel did nothing more than grunt at his rough handling, a grunt which briefly reminded the anxious lion that body he had been given free reign over was more than a toy.
"I apologize," he purred, beginning to stroke Kindel's mottled back, "I promise to be more gentle."
But his gentle words were laced with an unmistakable growl of lust. It may have been this, or it may have been the roving of his hands from Kindel's back to his buttocks, that made Kindel suddenly give a rising groan of fear and become tense.
"It's okay," repeated Oslo, trying to focus on removing that growl, "just relax."
"Oh chieftain, ..." whimpered Kindel, voice laced with fear.
"Shhh," Oslo tried to comfort, moving his strokes back to his back and neck, "just relax, and it won't hurt. Relax. Relax. Good, just relax."
While the muscles did relax, Kindel's face remained contorted, and his breathing reflected nothing but anxiety, which had seemed to replace the complacent calm of his former state.
Oslo considered this to be the best he could get, licked his left index finger, and gently pressed open Kindel's tailhole.
He cried out, but did not resist Oslo's invasion. He wigged it around some, making the hyena further moan, squirm, and reflexively get up on his knees. He whimpered and tears silently ran from his eyes.
His face matched the look of one who has eaten too much of a powerful spice, and was having their nervous system innundated with a single sensation: hot. But, as Oslo had experienced in his own past, this sensation was just as primal: expell.
Since the hyena was doing everything he could with his teeth, his face, and his hands, to avoid acting upon it, Oslo took this as willingness to continue. He kept Kindel in a far different kind of ecstatic experience for a minute or two before finally withdrawing his finger, and hunching over the sqatting, spotted haunches of the one who was about to fulfill his wishes.
Despite his great anxiety, when Oslo finally did decide to insert his erect cock, a very similar size to the finger, Kindel didn't make any sound but a muffled grunt amid his panting. The feeling was just as Oslo had known before, but what made it special to him was his ability to grasp the soft fur, and transfix his eyes on the body before him, knowing it even more completely than just carnally.
The deeper it went, the more noise Kindel made, emitting a continuous groan when Oslo's full shaft felt the indescribable, powerful grip of muscules and flesh unlike any other on the body. The withdrawl sent an ecstatic chill up his spine, further building into a full excitement as he reinserted. Before long, he was squirting precum, and greasing up the inside track down which he was sliding.
This built a cycle, for Kindel resisted his pushes with even more might, which caused his muscles to flex, which caused Oslo to thrust deeper. And when it had built enough, Oslo, with several grunts of his own, pushed himself in, clenched his teeth and Kindel's shoulders, and orgasmed hard.
Oslo enjoyed not only the rush, which made his hips thrust irregularly a few more times, but the entire sensation. It was not merely a rancorous mating, but a mating to one who he found himself incredibly attached to. This only strengthened his afterglow feelings of affection, and made him even slowler to dismount.
Feeling he might have emotionally hurt Kindel, he just knelt behind him as he let go of the hyena at last. But rather than clambering away, or springing to his feet, Kindel actually collapsed, out of breath.
"Daemons, gone, cheiftain?" he huffed.
"They got quieter," Oslo answered affectionately, "I apologize."
Kindel didn't respond, but instead squirmed, and purged what Oslo had just given him. Oslo now remembered his loss for words earlier, and hoped he could get at least get this question answered before his relationship to Kindel permanently changed.
"What -- what do you call this?" he asked.
"Mating, of course," he replied weakly.
"It's the same word?" asked Oslo.
"Yes. All I wish to know, chieftain," continued Kindel, rising slowly back to his feet, as if his balance were difficult, "is why."
Oslo wasn't sure how to answer that question on so many levels. "Why do we love anyone? I don't know, either," he answered succinctly.
"So it is love you feel for me, chieftain?"
"I do now," he sighed with a gentle smile.
"Because I will perform for you as you need me to, but I want to know how long that is."
Political considerations, however, were not at the top of Oslo's hormone-flooded mind. "You don't have to do this ever again if you don't want to," he replied gently.
"If chieftain still licks me, I will think about it," Kindel replied wearily.
That was enough to make the lion return to his tent with a smile, and fall straight asleep.
***
The next day, Oslo was indeed better able to focus, despite feeling a strange mixture of satisfaction and regret. But Kindel did not appear, which allowed him -- at least, superficially -- to return to his former demeanor.
He worked well with the other tribe, walking among those who could vote and giving his very candid, simple, clear opinion of what should happen. His presence of mind and ability to argue down his opponents seemed to impress mainly the youths, but since a large number of them could vote, he hoped it would be enough.
At the end of that day, Kindel finally appeared outside his tent. "The vote has been taken, Chieftain," he stated with the sunset, voice somewhat more on edge than usual, "you have won."
"I'm glad to hear it!" exclaimed Oslo, jumping out of his tent. But rather than patting Kindel on the back, he kept his distance without thinking. "Don't you mean 'we have won?'" he asked, thinking of the way Kindel normally spoke.
"You have also won," stated Kindel in a much more quiet voice, "someone who misses your tongue and will trade his body for it."
The way he said it, however, did not make Oslo excited about the prospect. He heard strain in the hyena's voice indicating some sort of mental duress. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to," he repeated, "we can forget it ever happened."
"Perhaps you can," replied Kindel quietly, "but I can't. No one has ever become smitten enough with me to touch my body. Now that you have, I can't forget it."
But Oslo still felt mildly unethical. "Perhaps I could teach you my technique, so you wouldn't hurt?"
He contemplated a moment, and thoughtfully replied, "that depends on how bad it tastes."
After the impromptu celebration, which Oslo gathered shortly thereafter with his ringing proclaimation, Oslo decided to have him find out. An entire day of dancing, laughing, spending time with each other, and some of the best prepared food Oslo had eating in a while made him quite receptive as dusk turned to twilight.
He pulled Kindel aside, and took him to his tent. After having the hyena practice only once on his index finger -- for he knew that even bad technique was quite wonderful -- he made him try the real thing. Oslo closed his eyes when he began pumping his seed, so didn't see Kindel's face; but he could feel the hyena pooling as much as he could before he was forced to swallow.
The teeth scraped the cat's sensitive member when Kindel's jaw reflexively closed, making him react, but no damage was done. Oslo made sure Kindel kept his muzzle wrapped on it when he withdrew to clean up the last few drips of the sticky fluid, and after swallowing these, Kindel gave his verdict.
He was squinting quite visibly, but he concluded with a sudden smile despite his contortions, "it's better than the other way."
Oslo, whose afterglow filled him with affection, was glad they could come to an agreement. "I'm glad to hear that," he purred, "could I read to you?"
Never again did he call upon the female to listen to him read, but always his most trusted advisor. The advice he gave, in fact, seemed to improve; how to deal with the new, young chief; and more importantly, how to deal with the now-angry father who still had a sizable minority behind him.
It was unclear to Oslow how many others figured out the extent of their relationship, but no one seemed to care, and that was all he asked. All he knew was that, within a few weeks, several females were married to the elders of the other tribe.
Kindel was right: both in this and their own relational matters, patience was the key.
The End.
(version 1.0)