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The great badger warrior fought. Her eyes and ears were covered, and still she fought. Her snout was muzzled and her arms were bound, but still she fought. Her legs were chained and her every muscle ached, but still she fought. Her mind was delirious and all she tasted was blood, and still she fought.

It took five strong to hold the warrior down, even after she had already been exhausted by the emptiness in her stomach, and the dryness of her throat, and the burn of overexertion that burrowed deep into every fiber of her being. Only after all that did she grow still. In the darkness, all she could see was the red haze of battle. She was half conscious and half asleep, half alive and half dead.

The hood that was covering the warrior's head was yanked away. Torchlights stabbed the red from her sight and replaced it with painful yellow-white. Voices, previously muffled, now felt like they were shouting in her ear. She could not understand their language. She did not care what they said. It was not battle. It was not blood. It was not her oath.

Then, one clear voice spoke to her, and she knew it was speaking to her because it spoke the language of the badger clans. "Why does the proud warrior fight after defeat?"

The words burned her like a brand. The warrior lashed out. She strained under the weight of the five who held her down. She could not see who had spoken, but she could tell where the words came from. She reached out with all her might, summoning every last vestige of strength within her, to put her hands to that throat and strangle the voice into silence, so she would not have to give it an answer.

But she was too weak. The days of hunger and thirst had taken their toll. The warrior managed to dislodge only one of those pinning her down, and then only for a moment, before she was restrained again.

"Why?" the voice asked. It was stern. It was patient. But still it demanded an answer from her. "Why does the proud warrior fight after defeat?"

She growled. It was all she could do. She lifted her muzzle and snarled in defiance around the leather straps they had gagged her with.

By now, she could begin to see what was around her. She was in an earthen room with rough-hewn walls and a smooth bare floor. People of all species surrounded her. Most of them were guards, not warriors. But the one who spoke was a coyote, looking concernedly at her from above. He was in charge. His bearing made that clear. King? Chieftain? Trade baron? She did not know. She did not care. She tried to spit at him around the gag.

The coyote reached down to the badger. She was prepared for a strike, or a blow, or a slap. She was even prepared for him to do what the ferret had done a week ago, and break one of her teeth to punish her insolence. She was not prepared for him to simply hold his hand against her cheek and run his thumb tenderly over the bridge of her muzzle.

The warrior was so tired. She had fought for so long. She had earned her rest.

The coyote spoke again. "Why does the proud warrior--"

But she did not let herself hear the end of the question. The badger strained out of his grasp. She ground the side of her skull against the floor, to distract her, to overwhelm her sense of sound so she could not hear the agonizing question again. She only stopped when she heard silence around her, nothing but the sound of her own weak breathing gasping in and out of overworked lungs.

She felt wetness down her muzzle and thought at first it was blood. She was shocked to find she was crying.

"Hylaja kol retweelo," he said in her tongue. "To those that wish to forget, the bloodrage sings a lullaby."

The warrior no longer fought. She turned her head away. She closed her eyes. She held her ears flat against her skull. She tried to expunge the memory of the question he had asked, and she tried to ignore the tears that streaked down her fur.

"I'm sorry," the coyote said. "I will not ask you why again."

She thanked him for this, even as she hated him for being witness to her humiliation.

"Hyla Brokenfang. That is what I will call you. The one who forgets." There was a pause and a ruffling noise as he stood. "Welcome to my home, Hyla Brokenfang. The House of Totukepsan will be your home too, for as long as you desire it to be."

* * *

The warrior accepted the new name. Many warriors before her had been called Hyla, and surely many who came after her would be as well.

She also accepted the hospitality of the coyote's household, such as it was. She was still a warrior, still dangerous. She was bound to the ground by a collar that was tied to no less than four spots with iron chains. She could barely move except to kneel or squat over the chamber pot they had provided her. Her arms were always kept tied behind her, and two guards watched the door to her room at all times.

Still, they fed her, and gave her sweet, cold water. They tended to the aches and treated her mouth around the broken tooth which had inspired her new name, as the gum had become infected. She grew strong.

But she did not heal.

The yawning void festered in her memories, like an inky black hole of rot. If she ever forgot about her shame and guilt, it was only for a moment, and then the darkness would rush back and threaten to smother her. Beside it, the bloodrage was always whispering to her, cajoling her to let loose and indulge. If she was fighting, then she wasn't remembering. The sweet pain of battle could cover the aching pain of loss.

Now knowing how weak she had been to give in to the lust for fighting, the whispers of the bloodrage only served as another source of shame, adding to the inky blackness at the back of her mind.

She struggled to keep the feelings down as best she could, but there were times when it overwhelmed her, and she cried, silently, in her chains.

On occasion, others, whom she presumed where part of this "House of Totukepsan," would stop by the room where she was kept. Some gawked at her. Some gossiped. But all kept their distance. She never did anything worth their interest and slowly the number of visitors dwindled.

The coyote did not return.

Then, almost a fortnight after she arrived, a rabbit appeared at the doorstep. He was dressed far finer than any of the others had been. His robes were long and quite expensive. He nonetheless introduced himself with a formal bow. "I am Colfor, majordomo of this estate," he said with a flourish of an arm that made his ornate robes sweep through the air. He spoke her language, though not with the skill the coyote had. He spoke it like a child with a runny nose, nasal and sniffing. "I serve the master and the House of Totukepsan. You were recently purchased as a slave to work for this estate. Badgers, such as yourself, have been seen in our markets, although rarely. It is my understanding that among your people, in certain battles, a defeated warrior may be taken as a slave by the ones who defeated them. All other badgers we have seen have come to our markets in that way. However, with you, there were discrepancies in the story we were told: your seller could not verify who it was who had defeated you."

The badger hid the shudder that ran along her spine. She looked away from Colfor and his extravagant robes, preferring instead to look at the plain earthwork wall.

"Please, this really is quite important," he said, tapping a quill against the parchment he had brought with him. His voice now sounded like that of a child with a runny nose, begging his parents to let him stay up and not go to bed, whiny on top of nasal. "It would be improper for us to own a legally free person. Can you tell us how you were taken as a slave?"

"I forget," Hyla said, the first words she uttered in weeks. They felt wrong on her tongue, smooth as silk instead of the coppery tang of battle. She shouldn't need to speak.

"You forget?" the rabbit said with a laugh.

But Hyla had let herself curl up on the ground, back to the over-dressed rabbit, and even he understood that the conversation was over. He left.

* * *

In the darkness that night, as Hyla struggled to sleep, one question kept replaying itself: why had the rabbit come? She had been there for many days, and had been considered important enough for the coyote, the leader of this House of Totukepsan, to be there when she first arrived, but Hyla could not shake the feeling that he had been avoiding her ever since. For all the guests to have appeared at her door, the coyote was never among them.

She stretched her memory back to the time when she had arrived and tried to remember him better. There was something about him she had missed at the time. Something strange about the way he held himself.

Something about his eyes.

And then she fell asleep.

* * *

One of the guards watched her far more closely than any others. She had seen the look in his eyes before, and in times almost forgotten now, she would have returned that look. It was the look of desire. He wanted to bed her--there was no mistake about that--and he wanted it badly. The lynx, for that was what he was, would run his tongue over his lips as he watched her. And when he turned away, he would pause a moment to readjust the clothes over his groin.

What Hyla did not understand was why he simply did not take her.

There was nothing that would have prevented him. Her arms were still bound and she was, as the majordomo had pointed out, a slave. She was available to him both physically and legally. Some men who had looked at her the way he was currently had only been turned away by a dagger held against their stomachs. Here she was defenseless.

So why had he not taken her?

Hyla received her answer in an unexpected way. About an hour into the guard's next shift, he was visited by a vixen. And she was a sight to behold. As she walked, she seemed to shimmer and sparkle. Her fur was a lustrous gray, verging on silver, tipped by black on her hands, feet, tail, and snout. She wore very little: a collar, a pair of cuffs, and a loose twirl of silk wrapped around her waist. She was provocative and confident, and when she approached the lynx guard, her desire was as evident as his own, spelled out by the cant of her hips and the stiffness of her nipples.

The badger watched, silent in her room and chains, as the two kissed, and the vixen's hands explored the spots of his fur not covered by armor. With the practiced skill of a master artisan, she undid the cord of his pants and pulled them down in a movement so subtle that it didn't even interrupt her kiss.

Hyla watched the lynx's shaft spring into the air, already hard and slick. The vixen gave it a caress from tip to base, and then fondled his sac.

At last, the kiss broke, but only so that the lynx could throw his head back and moan. The vixen, wearing a satisfied smirk of a job done well, slipped down to her knees. She adopted a pose, knees spread wide, chest out, hands held behind her neck, mouth open wide with tongue lolling slightly: the position had her head level with the lynx's shaft. She looked up at the lynx with a twinkle in her eyes and an anticipatory wiggle of her tail.

He put both hands on the back of her head and shoved her forward, forcing his entire length within her mouth in one go. For a moment he held still, biting his lip and lifting himself up on tip-toes as he tried to push his already completely enveloped shaft ever deeper. When that naturally failed he pulled back and began to thrust, steady but quick.

It was only then that the vixen noticed her silent observer. Her eyes had slid off to the side for a moment and caught the chained badger staring at her intently. Both women were frozen in place, regarding the other, even as the lynx obliviously pounded away.

The badger's gaze was not inquisitive. It couldn't be. She had not yet enough understanding of the situation to formulate a question about it. But she was, at least, curious. She was interested, and that showed in her expression.

This unspoken communication the vixen understood. She smiled and turned her gaze up to the lynx, but her actions were now all for the badger. She lavished attention on the shaft in front of her. She pulled off of it and kissed along its length. Her tongue trailed across it and she made the sort of noises one made when enjoying the finest of meals. She held the lynx's sac in one hand, one finger massaging a spot just behind them. The badger realized this was to keep him still so the vixen could show off more of her skill.

The vixen placed her black-tipped muzzle at the head of the lynx's cock and pushed her way down it, twisting her head first one way then the other as she went. As she pulled off, she opened her muzzle wide and churred with delight as sticky pre dripped onto her waiting tongue. She sat there, letting the twitching length dribble some more fluids until she had enough for a decent mouthful, which she eagerly swallowed and then ran her tongue over her lips, eager for more.

She slipped her lips around the head of the shaft before glancing once more back at the badger. She lifted one knee, showing Hyla under the silk she wore at her hips, revealing her own excitement forming dew on her labia. With one finger she caressed along herself slowly, then pulled one fold to the side to spread herself for the badger's gaze. She resumed sucking more eagerly on the lynx's shaft, bobbing up and down with a fervor matched only by the speed at which she fingered herself. And she managed, in a way the badger did not understand, to time her climax to match his.

The lynx moaned and clutched harder at his polearm as the vixen trailed her tongue along the shaft to catch the last vestiges of his seed. She shifted her piece of silk back into place, for the tiny bit of modesty that it offered, and, having received a happy pat on the head from the lynx, met the badger's eyes one last time before leaving.

* * *

The vixen returned often after that, and Hyla was both happy and distressed by the visits. She was happy, because unlike the others who had come primarily to stare at her, the vixen seemed to like the badger's quiet companionship. She was distressed because at the back of her mind, she still felt the looming urge to give in to the bloodlust, to bite and claw. When the vixen tried to offer her some of the food she had brought, the warrior turned her head away, teeth digging into her own tongue.

It was one thing to lose control and lash out at people she did not know; it was another to harm someone who seemed to trust her and whom she wanted to trust in return.

Hyla had expected the vixen to treat her as a sexual curiosity. Everyone else since her arrival at the House of Totukepsan had reacted to her only within the contours of their own role. The guards guarded her. The majordomo oversaw her. The servants gossiped at her. The doctors tended to her health. The coyote... well, she was not sure quite what the coyote did.

But the vixen, simply by her friendliness, reminded Hyla that she was also a person. And when the vixen was napping in the badger's room, or sharing bits of her meals, the blackness at the back of Hyla's mind disappeared for a while.

The vixen did not return just for Hyla's sake. She also plied her skills on the guards as well. She seemed to enjoy the badger's inquisitive looks and took delight in showing off all the different things she could do. One day she would use her hands, the next her muzzle, the next her breasts, then her sex, then her tailhole, then nothing more than the most delicate touches of her tail itself. The guards realized that Hyla was watching, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves too much to care.

One day, while the vixen was eating lunch in the badger's room, she said, "My name is Azair," catching Hyla by surprise. The coyote spoke her tongue eloquently, like a native speaker; the majordomo spoke her tongue stiffly, like one who had learned the language through lessons; but the fox spoke her tongue roughly, as if she had only picked up a fragment here or there. Words mixed and mingled on her tongue, coming out in the wrong order and with the wrong emphasis. Hyla had to stop and think about the words to discern what she meant.

"I'm Hyla."

The vixen giggled. "I know you. You're..." She had to pause and think of the word. "You're famous."

That made Hyla flinch. She then snorted to try and cover it up, although she did not think she covered it well. "I do not want to be famous."

"What do you want?"

The question was asked earnestly and innocently, but it tore at Hyla all the same. Part of her felt lost and sought answers, and part of her knew exactly what she wanted, but refused to admit it. "I want... to be able to answer your question honestly."

Hyla felt Azair's hands suddenly on her head, caressing a spot just behind her ears. No one else had dared come so close unless they were feeding her or tending her injuries. After so long fighting and resisting, the touch was like cool water after a long day's march. Hadn't she earned a rest?

The vixen was on her knees before the badger, eye to eye and so close that Hyla could feel the vixen's breath on her whiskers.

Hyla found herself trembling lightly. "I don't trust myself to not hurt you."

The vixen tilted her head, as if needing time to understand the words of the unfamiliar language. And when she finally parsed the meaning she smiled. "I trust you," she said, and moved in for a kiss.

When the fox's lips met hers, Hyla steeled herself. She turned her long-trained discipline inward and beat back the bloodrage that called to her, feeling the heat of another so close. Her muzzle stayed clamped shut, sealed even as the fox pressed closer. Azair's tongue darted out, canine-like, in little licks against the warrior.

The badger took a deep breath and steeled the desire for battle down in the core of her chest, wrapped tight under muscles and bone and the faintest sense of hope. Secure there, the rest of her could relax. Her lips parted.

The vixen pushed in gently with her tongue and Hyla responded in kind, barely conscious of the action as she focused on the knot in her chest. It was, she admitted to herself, the worst kiss she had ever given. But Azair did not seem to mind. She caressed over the badger's head while doing most of the work of the kiss herself. And when she finally pulled away, she smiled warmly, as if she had just received a gift from a dear friend.

It made Hyla blush.

It made her feel. And she was not sure, if she were completely honest with herself, if she wanted to feel again, if she deserved to feel again.

Azair tip-toed into a corner, away from the eyes of the guards, and there slipped out of the little strap of silk she wore. She flattened herself against the wall and lifted her arms high over head.

Hyla knew that this was meant to be a performance, like the times she had performed with the guards, but this one was meant for her and only for her. A gift of hers to give back to the badger.

Azair closed her eyes, and in the shadows her tail began to undulate rhythmically. When straight, it reached down nearly to the floor, but now it was curling and swaying, wrapping all the way around her hips or lifting up over her shoulder like a sash. Dexterously it caressed along her torso, like the arm of an unseen lover. The tip of black stroked around the curve of her breasts in a lazy figure eight that made the vixen sigh in delight, and then it sunk down to play over her sex with a delicate touch. It would caress back and forth and then pull away to give Hyla a view. And with each stroke, the vixen's sex was more and more aroused, until it was beginning to drip with excitement that coated the black fur of her tail with sparkling essence.

Azair was moaning, and cooing under her breath, so soft and quiet that no one but Hyla could hear. Her hands dropped to her side and then ran up the curve of her hips, dancing across her flank on clawtips until they could grip and tease her own breasts.

But whatever Azair had planned next, she never got to demonstrate. Because at that moment the coyote walked back in, accompanied by a retinue of servants.

The moment she saw him, the fox stopped what she was doing, dropped to her knees, and bowed her head.

He seemed mildly surprised to see her there, but only smiled and tipped his head briefly back in acknowledgement.

For as many days as the badger had been here, this was only the second time she had ever seen the coyote. The first, she had been lost to the bloodrage, and only now, with her head clearer, could she finally appreciate both the poise and gravitas he had, as well as the (to her) silly nature of his outfit. He seemed to be wearing pieces of three different clothing types at once. His legs were covered in simple cloth trousers, a laborer's garb. Over his chest he wore a much more ornate harness of leather and metal that ended in a vicious-looking pauldron on one shoulder, part of the armor of a warrior. And then, from the other shoulder down across his chest was a finely detailed sash of royal blue and purple, woven with strands of golden thread that seemed to form a tapestry along it, the marker of a leader. There was one more feature, but the badger was unsure if it was another adornment: the coyote's left arm was completely bare except for a cruel brand on the back of his hand, cutting through his fur, of a type she had seen before used to mark dangerous criminals, except that it was far more ornate.

And there was something else about him. Her half-dreamed remembrance from the other day was right. There was something about his eyes. It wasn't there all the time, only when the coyote was a bit distracted or not focused: but he seemed to have more than the usual number of eyes and in more than the usual places. She caught fleeting glimpses of eyes on his arms, over the bare spots on his chest, and across his neck. It was as though there were a second presence to him, watching her from within the coyote's body.

All the calmness that Hyla had been feeling left in an instant. The coyote was if not an adversary then at least someone to be treated very, very carefully.

The coyote seemed to notice her wariness. "Do you feel comfortable speaking now?"

The words were said magnanimously, and Hyla knew that if she said no, he would accept that. He wished to speak with her, but she was under no obligation to speak back, even though he was clearly a man of importance and she was... she was nothing really. A slave, the majordomo had said. A slave like Azair?

"I will speak," she said.

"How is your health? Do you feel better?"

"I do." She considered that this was an insufficient answer. "Your healers are skilled. They honor your home."

The coyote accepted this compliment with a bow of his head. "As do you."

The badger felt her stomach clench. "No," she said, feeling an acid eat at her words as she said them. She would accept such foolishness from Azair, but not from him. He was a leader. He should know better.

His ears turned forward, attentive. He clearly wanted to know more, but did not say anything. And then Hyla remembered the promise he had made when they first had met: he would not ask about the rage and hurt inside of her.

But he deserved to know at least a piece of the truth. He was a leader and could not lead without knowledge. "I'm an oathbreaker," she said, her voice low and hoping that Azair would not hear. She stared at the ground so she wouldn't have to see their reaction. "I have done the unforgivable. I cannot honor you because my name is a curse. When I have died, my name will be forgotten and my story will be rejected by the wind. I will be nothing but bones and that is right."

A very different voice from the one she had been expecting responded. "Your name has already been forgotten."

The warrior looked up. The coyote's distinguished bearing had fallen away. He was loose and relaxed, resting his muzzle on his fist as he regarded her. When he smiled at her, his muzzle had far, far too many fangs. And the glimpses of eyes she had seen under his fur were no longer just glimpses: a dozen eyes looked out from the coyote, only five of which were on his face, and all of them stared at her.

And he was floating a foot off the floor.

The coyote was... a god?

The warrior took a deep breath, but before she could do anything with it, the coyote had clamped his hands around her muzzle, stifling the roar she was about to make. "Wait, wait, wait," he was saying. "There's no need to shout and holler. I already know you're big and intimidating, and if you yell, you'll just scare the guards and cute little Azair here. Let's just skip past the part where you do the big war bellow and past the part where the gods quake and tremble before the strength of a warrior and get right down to it, shall we?" He spoke too fast. It was hard to process all his words. They just seemed to tumble one after the other, one into the other.

The badger snorted and shook her head to free her muzzle from the god's grasp. Surprisingly, he let go. She regarded him and considered. With a quick glance she took stock of the rest of the room. Azair and the servants were prostrate, but watching. They seemed surprised by the god's presence, but not scared. If the coyote was a god, he did not seem to be a dangerous one. So Hyla Brokenfang exhaled. Quietly.

"Good, good," the god clapped his hands in joy. His tail wagged behind him like a pup's. Or his tails? He seemed suddenly to have more than one. "I knew you were a smart one. I knew it."

"What do you want, god?" she asked, spitting out the last word like it disgusted her.

"Only to tell you what I just did. Your name has truly been forgotten. Already happened. Your story will not be carried on the wind, and your victories and defeats alike will become naught but dust."

"Gods lie."

"Gods can lie," he corrected. "And I'm not. If you don't believe me, just ask yourself, what was the name you were born with? The one before Hyla Brokenfang."

She opened her mouth, but she couldn't remember.

"What sett are you from?"

She couldn't remember.

"In what battle were you first victorious?"

She couldn't remember.

The coyote grinned wider than she thought it possible for anyone to grin, exposing endless rows of wickedly gleaming fangs. "You see? Nothing left. That warrior is dead, cursed, forgotten, and gone, and yet, you're still here. A curious existential conundrum, but I don't think you'll dwell on the philosophical implications much. It does present you, however, with an opportunity. You can now be something new and different. You can be Hyla Brokenfang, and bring honor with that name." The coyote god's eyes all blinked in patterns, first from left to right, then from right to left, hypnotic and disorienting; but always they stared at her.

The badger snorted. His tricks did not impress her. "You do not seem like the type of god to give out boons."

He laughed, rolling through the air in front of her, as sinuous as a snake. "Of course I don't. Gifts? Pah! I am Totukepsan, god of fair trades. I seek always an equitable exchange that benefits both parties."

"You offer me a new name--"

"Ah, ah," the coyote god interrupted. "He already did that," he said, gesturing down at his form.

"You offer me... a chance to honor that name. And in exchange what must I do?"

"You are a slave, are you not? Serve the House of Totukepsan with diligence. That is all."

She stared into the coyote's two main eyes. "The... other coyote," she gestured to his body.

"Ah, you mean my channeler?"

"Your channeler then. He said this place would be my home for only as long as I want it to be."

"Indeed he did. And so you do have the option to leave, a slave resold to another master. But I want you here. That is the price of reclaiming a chance for honor and a name worth being remembered. If you leave, you will never be anything more than an oathbreaker."

Hyla said nothing. The coyote god had spoken faster even than he normally did. "You are not telling me everything." She herself was speaking faster. Being called oathbreaker made the blackness in her memories rise up and threaten to drown her again.

"A terrible trader I would make if I divulged all my secrets to each prospective buyer!" The coyote gave a quick, mocking laugh. "What will it be? Stay here and earn your honor, or leave and be forever forgotten? Hurry now. I am a busy god."

Despite the god's urging, Hyla Brokenfang paused. She took a deep breath and tried to visualize her life as it would lead on from here. She could sink back into the bloodrage. She could leave, nobody and nothing, a forgotten warrior-turned-slave. Or she could stay. When it was put that way, there was hardly a choice, was there? Perhaps that was the mark of an excellent trader: to make the deal they wanted all along seem like a bargain to the buyer.

"I have one condition," she said.

"A haggler! I knew I liked you." He leaned in, ears (All four? No, all six of them) perked.

"I will serve the House of Totukepsan. I will serve your channeler. But I will not serve you. I am not and never will be the slave of a god."

He grinned wide. All his eyes were wide and shining. "There is metaphysically less difference between me and my channeler than you might imagine, but you are probably uninterested in that. So be it. You will serve him. Not me. And I will guarantee he will be a gracious and hospitable master. Under that condition, do you agree to the bargain?"

"I do."

"It's a deal." He grinned wider still, and then, all of a sudden, the god was gone, and the coyote (two-eyed, two-eared, one-tailed) was back. He started as he fell unceremoniously out of the air a few inches, but managed to land with some amount of dignity.

Badger and coyote regarded one another for a moment in silence.

"You... are strange," the warrior said at last.

The coyote laughed briefly at that. "Yes, I suppose I would look that way to you. I am also your master now, since you have agreed to join us."

The badger tipped her muzzle down slightly at that. "As you say, Master."

The coyote held a hand to his chin and considered. "Do you have any thought as to what kind of job you might like to have?"

"Slaves do not have that kind of choice."

"They do here, at least to an extent. I am not cruel. This is your home now. I want it to be a place you enjoy being at." When the badger did not respond, he continued. "I thought you might do well as a bodyguard."

"No," Hyla interjected quickly, and then, more slowly, she said, "I do not think that is wise. It might be too tempting to fall back into... bad habits."

"I see. Do you have any other preferences?"

Hyla did not give her answer in words. She did not know how to voice it properly. But the coyote followed her gaze to where she looked at Azair, still kneeling on the ground.

The coyote suppressed another laugh. "Well, now, that will be truly interesting."

To be continued...