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A Good Girl for Daddy

My group didn't mind when I announced my vacations. I don't dislike them, but never really fitted, really got close: I'm the quiet member, who makes no fuzz and does his part but rarely gets involved. So, I won't be missed too bad. They were even happy for me that, for once, I was the one leaving the others behind for a summer break rather than the other way around.

Barewa kindly helped me to pack, and I'm grateful because I would have needed twice the time and forgotten a ton of important things without his knowledge about traveling.

We enjoyed sharing a spiced tea, and everybody wished me relaxing holidays at Tapu beach, with a smile. If they knew the truth...

It was a pleasant moment with my pals. As the time for my hotel appointment arrives, I realize that I'm overdoing how distant we are, to try denying that I'll miss them all. On this trip, I'll have a friend, but no herd. Something I'm unused to.

--

"Ya late, Tom." Sweet old Umenzi: I didn't miss this painted dog, on the other hand. I already gave up on her calling me by my real name, but the nickname remains grating. Purposely so, too, guessing from how often she uses it.

"By two minutes, at most!"

"We gonna work together. Be professional." She pulls me in, places the "do not disturb" sign outside and closes the door. Charlotte rented a nice room, very cozy with the Sunny-Meadow's typical near-ceiling windows, green bed sheets, and cleanliness.

Well, it was clean until her arrival. "You spread dust all over the place!"

"Ya the one who cleans? Dust does that. Am clean now, and speaking of..." She points me toward the bathroom, "Ya go for a good scrubbing. Full body, want ya scent away. Bought you good bathing dust, is on sink."

I comply and lock myself in. I hear some ruffling outside while I strip and get into the shower, with the brown paper bag. That will not stop me from complaining through the closed door: "Good bathing dust? That's the cheapest brand in all Pastu!"

"Is good. All good things ain't pricey."

"Ah, then you're cheap too?"

"All good things ain't cheap either."

"Also, what's up with the maimed speak? I was with you when you talked to Charlotte, I know you can speak well."

"Ain't maimed, is northern bark. Speak plenty of tongues, is job. Lil Madame gets rich townspeak, is all."

"Can I have all the words as well?"

"Ya paying customer, Tom?"

I groan, finish rubbing my face in nice-scenting powder and start shaking and slapping my body to get rid of the dust in big clouds. At least this felt lovely, very refreshing!

"Ya done?"

"Yes, give me a sec to put my clothes back..."

"Don't! Ya scent all over them!" She knocks the door. "Crack open. Won't look. Present for ya."

--

I open just enough for her to slide a plastic pocket to me. It has a label with "Insa, 19, 4 days" and a heart handwritten on, and contains white panties. Which look used.

"Wow! What is that supposed to be?"

"Ya female scent."

"Oh..." Retrospectively, given the plan, I should have seen something like this coming. "Where did you find it?"

"Part of big towns' common goods. Could have it soaked in various body fluids on demand, if ya wanna know."

"I_really_didn't want to know."

"Ya welcome." Tiny pause. "Ya done?"

"One sec! Give me a break!"

I hurry and slip the frilly thing on. It's about the right size for me, but not tailored for "male equipment"; so I have to tuck myself sideways, and feel well too tight down there. Also my balls have a hard time to stay in if I don't keep my legs together. Once somewhat decent, I open the door: bargaining with her is a lost cause, so the faster I'm done with this all, the better.

She was waiting for me outside with a second pair of used panties. Before I even realize what's going on, she's shoving them into my face and hooks them behind my ears like a lewd mask. "Eeeep! The fuck?"

"No touching. Scent's needed there too."

"You are having your fun, aren't you?"

"Yep. A blast. But am only doing job's demands: ya guys have preorbital glands."

She's right: gazelleshave scent glands on the face. I let my hands, and shoulders, drop down in defeat. "Alright. How long must I keep them on?"

"'til I say so."

"I hate you."

"Ya welcome."

This is when I notice that she emptied my luggage on the bed and separated its contents in two piles. I sigh again. "And what is this?"

"Getting rid of useless weight."

"Great. Charlotte will love it when she finds out that she has to travel light."

"Lil Madame travels as heavy as likes: she paying customer. So, ya make room."

"I see. And all my clothes are in the discarded pile, right? So... where are all the slutty female clothing you chose for me?"

"Ain't slutty. Is coming."

--

As if on cue, someone knocks on the door, then enters without waiting for an answer. I have a good shiver, given my situation!

It's the one of his brothers with a non-lighted cigarillo. He's still chewing on it at the moment. "Yo."

"Yo," replies Umenzi.

"Hello!" cheerfully adds the gazelle I had not yet noticed behind him.

I freeze in shock. Not a witness from my home town! Not when I'm half-naked breathing through used panties! "It... it's not what you believe!"

The new guy smiles gently and nods: "It's for your marking glands' scent, right? Clever." He closes behind himself and raises a finger before his muzzle. "Don't be embarrassed, I see more compromising things every day and keep my mouth shut. I'm Paa, nice to meet you! Don't feel obligated to introduce yourself back if you'd rather not."

The brother explains: "Consultant. To do the thing right. We must not waste time, I promised to bring him back to his gay bar..."

"Cabaret.Drag queens' cabaret."

"Sorry, to his cabaret, by the end of this hour."

Paa happily raises the shopping bags he's carrying: "Let's make you pretty, girl! I'm impatient to see what the dogs bought for you, it will be a surprise for me as well!"

"Should be the right sizes," makes the canine, without offering any further details.

Paa first helps Umenzi make room on the bed. He's slim and nimble --more than the average for a gazelle, I mean--, but doesn't come out as effeminate. His voice, his movements, nothing betrays his profession.

He's soon done and first shakes the smallest bag, that softly clinks. "Aha, I smell jewelry! Let's start with this." It is indeed a high collar and a few bracelets, all in traditional, colorful, wooden beads on strings and little wires. Typical Pastu craft. I find them nice, but he makes a disappointed sneer. "Ah. So we go for a prostitute, then?"

"What? No!" The bitch almost barks and rushes closer.

"Alright, look: the lower rim is a right-angle zigzag on green thread. It's a derivation from the square, which represents pastures, good territories. The same color beads above must be read as arrows, they mean that the pasture expands, turning the symbol into richness, power, high status. Then yet above, you have pink half-oval beads: lovers' bells, it's a flower that blooms in what used to be the rut season in the old times. A highly sexual pattern. Notice how, if you imagine the zigzag expending, the bells would soon be inside. In bead language, this collar says, roughly: if you have the money, you can have my pussy."

"Fuck! Damn beads have meanings here?" She starts shouting in foreign tongue at her brother, who replies in kind, if somewhat less angrily.

Paa raises two hands. "Ola, no need to get stressed. This is why you were clever to hire a consultant. Would one of you have a knife?"

The male pulls a folding knife out of a back pocket, that is so ridiculously huge it's almost a machete.

"Woah... Mama didn't lie: you canines carry big weapons." After this little joke --or was it?--, the gazelle proceeds to use the knife's tip to untwist a few wires and free the offending pink beads. "Then, what character do you want, Miss?"

"Boring and proper. Serious, respectable, non-adventurous."

He checks the bracelets. "Let me see. If sacrificing this one, I can change the collar to: I want to grow a big family. Subtext: don't bother me if you're not serious about engagement. Sub-subtext: I'm proper, not into sex for fun, and very traditional. Will that do?"

"Perfect! Whatsabout the remaining bracelets?"

"Hum, basically: I like sport outside, and please, evil spirits of the angry displaced stones and broken rubble, don't make me break my leg."

"Okay. Good."

--

The clothes' part is less eventful, thankfully the dogs did a better job: simple but pretty, nothing too showy. I was fearing worse. Paa was very fast at sorting them into fashionable outfits and picking the most formal one for this evening.

At his request, Umenzi promised to do a bit of needlework to adjust them to me: he said just a couple of well-chosen seams would make a huge difference, and showed her where to sew. And, so, I was soon dressed up.

With my face panties still on, I'm far from having recovered my dignity. But it's better than being the only one almost naked in the room. Even if... it's super weird to wear a light and silky gray skirt. And equally light, loose and frilly at the collar, white shirt, with gray ribbons tightening the sleeves. The collar makes me want to scratch my throat, too.

The "consultant" finishes applying something on my eyelashes. "There, you don't want too much of it, if not subtle it's vulgar."

"Neat," comments the brother, who has been following the demonstration with interest. "I almost can't see it, and yet he looks a lot more feminine. You don't do his lips?"

"No. No lipstick if you want her proper and boring. This is just enough."

"Noted."

"Good, stand from the bed, please, so I can check you one last time." He walks all around me and smiles. "Once the Miss adjusts the lower back of your shirt, you'll be perfect. For the look. You have beautiful, delicate, horns, you know? I envy you! Anyway, now, there's the little 'bulging issue' down there... excited about the role, or is it the pheromones on your nose?"

He's right. I tried playing it cool hoping that nobody would notice, but my penis escaped from its too tiny prison and is pushing under my skirt. I blush so hard my face and ears burn. I'm not even in that mood, it's just that I'm a bachelor male with... little outlets for my needs, and each of my breathing is currently carrying the scent of some female's intimacy... "The... the pheromones."

"Good, don't worry too much about it, then: seeing how embarrassed you are, it'll pass fast as soon as you remove these panties."

"Cool. Thanks."

"Alright, almost there! Now, I am granted _very_little time to coach you. So we'll stick to the essentials, and I need you to be attentive. Ready?"

"Ready."

"First, and it is the most important lesson: never overdo it! Females are not a completely different species; if you do nothing, it will actually look more convincing than a caricature. For a start, only use the tricks I'm about to give you. Or else, at your current level, you'll look fake and ridiculous."

"Understood."

"Second, the posture. You're a Pastu Fringe lady who desires to reach the Inner town for a better life. Which means that you must be humble: the rich innersfolks like to be Masters in their castles. Even the wild girls with a fierce character know that, and pretend until they got in."

"Humble?"

He plucks my hands and draws them closer together in my front. "Try to keep your hands narrower than your hips. As if you wanted to take up less space. Don't overdo it: just, every time you can think of it, check where they are."

I watch where he guided them and try to find the most comfortable and natural way to keep them around there.

"Then the muzzle. Easy." A hand comes under my chin and guides it through the fabric. "Imagine there's a coin on your nose. And it must not fall. That's proper posture --you can do it for real when training--, when no male is involved. If a male gets close to you, or if one looks at you and you wish to acknowledge him, then the coin shall drop. Don't bow or look contrite, it has to be subtle: just enough for the coin to slip. They won't _see_it, but they will feel it. Try it: no male... male... no male..."

I play with the imaginary coin at the pace he gives me. His hand, still under my chin, will correct me when needed and I catch it fast.

Arms crossed, Umenzi shakes her head. "And I thought ya boys had it rough, here... Girls do that even for bachelors?"

"Yes, but it's not that they submit to us: they advertise their humility to the ones who count."

"Ah, makes sense. Ya small fries real good ad, then."

"Exactly." My teacher refocuses on me. "Next, the motions. That art is too complex for a beginner, so just move as normal... except that I'll give you a magic accessory that will automatically raise your level."

"Seriously? That exists?"

Smiling wide, he rummages in his pockets. "Behold..." He pauses for suspense, then: "The rubber band!" And he presents a _wide_rubber band to me. "Alright, step in it."

I obey and he guides it up along my legs. Under the skirt, he adjusts it so it holds me snug, without really pinching, at the upper third of the thighs.

"Feel where it is? This is where you'll put it when installing it on your own."

"And what do I do with it?"

"Nothing. I told you, it's magic: it will be the one doing things to you. On the day you stop noticing it, you can stop using it: then the magic will be in you."

"Oh, okay..."

"And last but not least, the voice." When saying this one, he changes his own, that immediately becomes a deep and beautiful, very sexy, female voice.

Umenzi chimes in: "Hey! Way too sensual for the boring gall."

"Oh, do not worry, Miss: a boy doesn't get Paa's special sugar in one day. I'll keep her proper."

"Okay, then."

He returns his attention to me. "Most males trying to sound female will raise their pitch. You should not do that, yours is fine, and it makes beginners 'sing' in a very characteristic way. So, again, I can't teach you all the dark arts before this evening: we'll go with something crude, but that you can manage and that will trick an untrained ear. Say: aaaah."

I start. He motions me to continue while giving the next instructions.

"Not so loud. Now a little louder. There: hold it. Feel it. Got it? Then you can stop."

"...aaaaah."

"From now on, this quiet loudness is the only one you're allowed. You cannot use loudness for stress, dynamism or to show emotion, you'll have to modulate your pitch and texture instead. You will need to work on your articulation to compensate what clarity you lost. And when someone else will try talking over you... they'll win."

"Understood," I make, very cautious to my loudness.

"Until it becomes natural, you'll probably sound fairly shy as well. But it's an acceptable side effect for what you're aiming, I believe. Alright, let's test you! Rule number one?"

"D-don't overdo it!"

"Shush, girl!"

"Sorry, don't overdo it," I retry more softly.

"Posture?"

"Hands like I want to take up less space. Coin on the nose, that falls for the males."

"Motion?"

"The magic rubber band shall do it for me."

"And voice?"

"No higher pitch, controlled loudness, careful with my articulation."

"Atta girl! And don't be afraid to slow down when you need to, rather than stammer or struggle." He gives me a wink and a thumbs up, then turns back to the male dog. "Tick, tock, the time of my show is getting near and I still have to do all my makeup and dress-up. Are you satisfied with my consulting, Mister Suyo?"

He nods. "Very satisfied, you earned each buck. Come, I'll drive you back fast."

The two go toward the door. Paa stops briefly before leaving. "You're beautiful, girl! Good luck!"

"Uh... Thank you!"

Meet the Parents

Umenzi kept her, now clean, safari outfit; only she dropped the hat and added a khaki tie to look more formal. She mercifully provided me with a "mop umbrella" for the walk: it's a stick with a bunch of long and wide dropping bands of fabric, spread by a metal circle, that is very covering against the harsh sun, lets our horns pass through, and can be wetted so it is more refreshing. While I'm sure her only concern is avoiding the return of my scent if I sweat too much, this allows me to conceal my face.

I now understand the "magic" rubber band. The thing tugs and rubs at my thighs when I walk and, while it's not terribly uncomfortable, it makes me narrow my steps and perk on my hooves in reflex. I can't see the result, but I have no doubt that my gait has changed. Nobody seems to be paying attention to me, from what I can see despite hiding under my mop, and yet it's a rush to be cross-dressed in the open. I must still be blushing, because my ears are achingly hot and they are hidden from the sun.

We soon reach the Inner town's P2 entrance. With a P for predators. Access is regulated differently depending on who you are: predators are subject to a quota, there must be less than one tenth of them in the population at all times. As long as this condition is met, they can circulate freely.

We male gazelles would have been considered as competition for the innersfolks in the old times: things changed but the instincts remained, so we can only enter their territory if and where we have a job to do. According to the paper I was given today, I'm pretty much an escort girl for Charlotte.

Everyone else can visit as they please.

There's one last thing, that I guess a painted dog foreigner doesn't know: because most good restaurants and clubs are inside, often with a queue, the quota makes it near impossible for a predator to enter at this time of the day.

Despite my predicament, I'm pleased that the town is about to give me a petty little revenge!

--

There's a big queue today! Lions, various breeds of dog travelers, black-backed jackals, ... All the waiting benches under the awnings are overcrowded so the last ones have to stand under the sun. Sweet!

When the painted dog walks straight to the guards with my pass in her hand, everybody looks at her suspiciously. I bet they are all ready to jump on her should she try anything funny to enter! They are already sending envious glances to the few non-predators who walk in without formality.

Crossdressersare apparently not that uncommon, and my papers are good: the guards' boss, a humongous hippo that can technically qualify as a barricade if he wants to, checks and stamps my pass with a bored look and just nods at me pointing in.

She returns and I give her a broad smile: "Well, being on time is important for a professional, so I guess I'll go first and you'll follow... when you can. I'll tell them why you are late: it's common here, so they _probably_won't hold it against you."

To my surprise --I was expecting anger, and was only so bold because I had an escape route she couldn't enter--, she smirks back. "Not so fast. Watch and learn, Tom." Next, she walks to the front of the line, switch to her pleasant persona and bows her head politely. "Gentlemen. The three of you, firsts on the line, shall I interest you with a deal?"

"Forget about it," groans the number one.

She doesn't insist and looks at the second: "How much would you like, in order to go back to the queue's beginning and let me take your place, Sir?"

"Ha! Two hundred!"

"Sheesh, please, do not be ridiculous."

The third, a dog, is tempted: "How about ten. That sounds honest to me, I'd happily do a favor to such a beautiful lady for that price."

Number two frowns. "Fine: nine."

Three: "Five! I won't go below!"

Umenzi checks the second, who just shakes his head, and reward the dog with her cutest smile. "Deal! Thank you, Sir, you are really helpful." She pays him and claimshisspot. Since the guy returns to the queue's beginning, nobody can complain despite more than a few looking annoyed.

I'm frowning a little as well, but she's still far from in: if I'm lucky, even as number one she would wait for an hour or two.

She's not done, she's waving to the first guy again. "Excuse me?"

"Get lost! I am not giving you my spot, no way! I've been there for ages and have important business to do there: be happy with what you just got, and wait like the others!"

"Oh, I understood that, Sir. I'm not after your place. Do you like gambling?"

"Uh? I'm not gambling my place."

"I got that. Not your place: I'm betting ten bucks that I can get you in right now."

"What?"

"Ten bucks that you don't have to wait one more minute. It's a good bet, isn't it? I'm sure you won't be too sad even if you lose. Are you in?"

"I'm in for fifteen! I'd like to see that!"

The hippo guard, face stern and arms crossed, watches closely.

Number two is intrigued as well. "Can I get in for ten?"

"Ya in!" Back to her normal self, she pulls two fingers in her mouth and whistles a few loud notes.

From side streets inside, three of her brothers then arrive to exit the Inner town... freeing their places in. The hippo loses his stern face and has a good laugh.

The two guys pay their dues, somewhat hesitant between being grateful to get in or resentful of the trick played on them.

She's winking in my direction when she concludes: "Never bet logisticians. Are prepared."

--

This is my first visit to that part of the residential area. I knew that Charlotte's family was rich, and how they could settle in the Inner town speaks loud about their influence --considering that they're foreigners--, but seeing the majestic mansion for the first time is something else.

In sharp contrast with the surrounding squarish buildings and their many vivid colors, maybe in a style from their home country, the house is a small castle all in gray stones, with columns and symmetrical dormer roofs. It strongly evokes the way the Pomeranian describes her family: stern, traditional and intimidating.

Speaking of her, Charlotte bolts out of the door on our arrival, followed by a poor poodle butler who is having a hard time keeping both her pace and the level of dignity his job demands. "Oh my goodness, you're so pretty like this!" Her crazy wagging tail is raising a cloud of dust, that keeps the butler away.

"I... am glad you like it." Despite my blushing, I really am. Unlike Umenzi, my friend has a gentle and playful way with bullying that is enjoyable to endure.

"Oh, and I'm happy you could get in as well, Miss: no problem with the quotas?"

"Nothing that would stop professional trip organizers, Madame."

"I'm going to fetch Father. Please come in, make yourself home... Lewis!"

"Yes, Mada..." By the time the poodle said this much, Charlotte zoomed back home and disappeared. As if nothing happened, he bows to us. "I bid you welcome at the Tresford house, Misses. If you would please follow me... May I rid you of your umbrella?"

--

Soon, we are both sitting on a comfy sofa that looks like it's from another century, in a small salon with whiteand gold wallpaper. Thanks to my magic band, I am neatly straight with my legs tight together: a lot more feminine than the painted dog at my left, if you ask me!

She's better than me at staying calm, on the other hand. The place is unnerving, and so are all Charlotte's tales about her father. She never gave me details, only general complains about how overprotective he is... maybe she's exaggerating and I'll meet a nice and welcoming dog?

I readjust my hands closer on my lap and remember the coin trick. Paa told me not to look down... but what should I do when speaking to a mini-dog barely reaching my belt level? How do I look humble to the guy, from above?

All these questions become meaningless when the two parents arrive. Umenzi stands up with a warm smile. I follow a lot more gingerly and struggle to avoid flattening my ears too much: towering tall before us, all black in their dark suits and both as cold and classically elegant as promised, the two Great Danes are scrutinizing me.

I feel stupid when I realize the hints I was given: how Charlotte had no brothers or sisters --a rarity for dogs--, and how, this very morning, she told us that she had an orphan, awaiting for adoption, as a childhood friend.

She looks more minuscule than even compared to her relatives, and is unusually restrained: "Mother, Father, let me introduce you to my good friend Swara and my new traveling guide, uhm..."

"Umenzi, from the Gwinyai pack. Pleased to meet you, Madame, Sir."

I swallow and memorize my new name. "Pleased to meet you, Madame and Sir."

The Pomeranian continues as they just nod: "Swara and Umenzi, my beloved parents: Lady Victoria and Lord Edward of Tresford." Damn, and they have _titles_too?

To my great relief, the Lord first gives a closer look to the painted dog. "New traveling guide? Why not the usual, from Tapu's tourism office? They were very professional, from what I remember. No offense meant, Miss."

She keeps her ease despite him instantly getting suspicious, and doesn't even hesitate. "None taken, Sir. They are good indeed, but I'm far better if you wish your daughter to win the frisbee competition."

"Ah, yes, she taught us in length about that competition. What does it have to do with you?"

She pulls out and unfolds a map, then taps a finger at some spot: "Here is Tapu beach. And, nearby along the coast, Baku, Walulu, and Piha beaches, all lesser touristic locations. All four host their own separate frisbee competitions, and all fours have their own champions; some of which will end in Tapu. Playing everywhere will not only grant you precious in-situation training, but also the unique chance of studying the styles and weaknesses of your top ten opponents for Tapu's King or Queen of the Frisbee title."

"I see."

"Now, the four towns being in a fierce commercial competition, their tourism offices will reluctantly carry you between them. Which is where an independent ride becomes convenient."

The Lady smiles and shakes her head. "So, our Charlotte wishes to cheat at the competition to gain an unfair advantage. Why am I not surprised?"

Her husband smirks back. "Well, technically, I do not believe this would break any written rule."

"We already had this discussion many times, darling. But not before our visitors." There's a fondness in her eyes suggesting it's a common topic of playful quarrel in the couple.

"That's my tricky little business girl! Always an ace in her sleeve, even I have to stay on my toes." He nods down to her. "I'm glad to find that I'm not the target of your machination, this time. Get us that Tapu's title, honey!"

"But most importantly, have fun trying," continues her mother. "Don't stress too much if bigger and faster dogs have an edge, we'll be proud or your cleverness and enthusiasm anyway."

"Moooother! I'm not small and slow! Don't give me that loser-comforting talk before my friend!"

"I didn't mean to imply that, darling."

The two parents are more relaxed: that cunning painted dog brilliantly passed her test.

--

They recover the serious faces, and both turn their eyes to me. My throat gets all tight and my tail tucks down under the skirt.

He fires first. "So, you are a Fringe doe. No engagement yet, then, Miss?"

"N-no, Sir. I... I think it's important to take my time and to find a good husband who will be a serious father for my future family." It was all improv, but Paa's comments during the collar incident turned out to be a great inspiration.

He seems to approve.

The Lady nods faintly, keeping her eyes on my neck: I bet she knows some bead codes and barely refrains a shiver at what could have happened without the consultant.

He resumes. "It is wise of you. And what do you do for a living?"

This one is easier because I can tell the truth: "A few various odd jobs, Sir, but my main one is stroll-matching."

"Stroll-matching? I'm not familiar with this profession."

"Oh, that's probably because it's a very gazelle thing. In the old times, we were following larger grazers to eat the short grass after they cleared up the tall ones. Some of that instinct remains, and we still feel safer around a big one. And they feel safer followed by some crowd. So I match fellow gazelles with giraffes, zebras, and buffaloes --mainly-- for evening strolls, running, or trips to their jobs."

"Interesting, mostly scheduling, so?"

"Not quite, Sir: to be a good one, it's important to learn the customers' characters and to help them feel at ease together. I will provide the gazelles with conversation topics tailored to their stroll leader's interest, for example; and regularly come with them and actively take part in breaking the ice and keeping their chat smooth."

"Basically, you're a professional pleasant trip companion. That would explain why Charlotte chose you for her holidays, despite your... politer and quieter attitude than her typical friends." He frowns at some idea. "This may come out as odd, but tell me... my stormy girl is not bullying you, is she? You can speak freely and safely."

"Oh, no, Sir! She teases me sometimes, but always in good humor. I love her, she's not forcing me to come, if that's what you are afraid of."

"Good, good."

Charlotte can't take this any longer: "Father! You are very rude to my friend, that was uncalled for!"

"Well, I know you and..." He stops and shakes his head. "No, you are right. I present you my sincere apologies, Miss Swara. Just because I'm a caringfather does not entitle me any right to interrogate you this roughly."

"Oh, it's... It's no problem at all, Sir. I understand."

The Lady further comes to my rescue. "Poor thing, you look so intimidated. I'm sure Charlotte told you terrifying tales about us, and we are probably fitting that portrait all too well, right now." She pats her husband's arm. "She doesn't look as if she'll be a bad influence."

"I... I assure you that, if anything, I'll be a restraining influence on Lady Charlotte, Miss."

"I like you. Darling?"

He nods. "Likewise." And he looks down to Charlotte. "You have my permission to bring her with you. And I wish you both great vacations."

"Hiiiiii! Thank you Father! Do you hear this, Swara? It will be the awesomest vacations eeeever!"

Both parents sigh when she breaks out of her polite character, but can't help smiling from her happiness.

Bye-bye, Pastu!

The Gwinyai pack is frighteningly efficient: once Mister and Madame Tresford greenlighted our depart, it took us less than ten minutes to embark. We pretty much walked out with Charlotte and found theSUVparked as close as a vehicle could come.

Somehow, they had already loaded the Pomeranian's _huge_luggage. Likely working earlier, when predator movement was still easy, which means that they had to do so without anyone in the mansion noticing.

Thecaris now spotlessly clean and shiny, smelling fresh, and two questions pop in my mind: one, how impossibly dusty was that thing before, for me not to have seen the brown logo on its sides this morning? Two, how will we fit in there, now that half of the back is taken by bags, suitcases and chests --all neatly strapped--, given that we are fifteen and a half canines and one gazelle?

The dogs arranged a "dent" in the luggage, in the backseats, and added cushions. We are guided in that super comfy "sofa", with plenty enough space for both: the others start climbing in the front. It's as full as an egg after seven of them, at which point the remaining dogs climb to the sides of the vehicle.

They'll remain outside, standing on the carsteps and holding at ceiling handles through half-open windows. While we ride like hell for hours: it's scary to watch them bounced by the many bumps on the dirt road, knowing that a fall at this speed might kill them! They do this casually and don't even seem uncomfortable at all!

--

The first part of the trip lasts a little under five hours. Surprisingly, it doesn't feel that long: first, we are very comfortable, especially as our strategically placed seats don't rock much compared to what's before or behind us. We have air conditioning and cold tea in thermic bottles.

Second, the pack provides plenty of distractions: they sing us tribal songs in various tongues; Umenzi is a guide with historical, geologic, or botanic knowledge about pretty much anything that stands in the desertic land surrounding us; and Suyo tells traditional legends, assisted by his brothers who will voice various characters and evil spirits.

Every hour and a half, roughly, we stop for a pause to stretch our legs, urinate if needed, and have a brief but funactivity: we tasted a sweet and spicy cactus; we dug scorpions and watched Mbawa --a brother with a row of white spike piercings along the nose-- hold them on his face and in his clothes, goofily pretending terror, before releasingthem, and Charlotte laughed a lot; we learned some knife throwing on a dead tree. We are pretty bad, me especially, while Suyo can rip playing cards from Mbawa's muzzle and hands at five meters. I suspectMbawa is the pack's lowest ranking one, but he seems to take genuine pleasure in these crazy antics anyway.

Which dogs ride outside is also switched each time. Neither Umenzi nor Suyo ever get a turn there, confirming my guess that they are the top-ranked pair.

At one point, we pass by a tourist car driven by other painted dogs. Both vehicles horn at each other and then their crews start what looks like a contest at who will bark and howl the loudest! Charlotte jumps on her seat shouting on the top of her lungs and, for the short time it lasts, I feel completely cast aside.

--

Charlotte fell asleep and is snoring and drooling on my side.

It is getting dark and there is no road anymore, just endless, flat, dusty, tan nothingness. And in the middle of that nothingness, there's a motel. It's our stop for the night, the "Valhalla's Door". Which, except for the ominous name, looks banal but welcoming from afar, with its clean white facade and the many yellow lights around the entrance.

The parking lot is, oddly, way too big and too full for the building's size. Most vehicles are under tarpaulins. And it displays a "no vacancy" sign. I won't even doubt the fact we have room reserved already. On the other hand: "How comes they get so many patrons here? We are... far from everything..."

Our guide explains: "We're at the border of the Seven Daggers' land,oneday away from the Grand Brawl Cup's opening, and they offer well-guarded parking."

"Speaking of this, what about the parking lot? The motel can't contain that many people."

"Most cars'owners left on foot: before the clans'pacification, there was a time when the Daggers' region had a seriously dieselpunk vibe. The strongest clans eventually agreed to rule out all motorized vehicles in order to make the chaos more manageable: on foot, raiders became easier to track and wars slowed to a 'quieter' tempo."

"But there are no raiders nor wars anymore, right?"

"I told you: they love their traditions. Don't worry about it: it'll be an enjoyable hike."

"Today wasn't bad. You're good, when you don't play mean."

We are welcomed by crocodiles with riffles and bullet vests, but otherwise polite and friendly, who guide us to our place. I have to wake the Pomeranian up, and we walk to the entrance. The silence is striking after hours in the SUV, and while the ground is still burning hot, the air is getting fresh. It's like in another world already: it's unreal to realize how close the hyenas' territory is. The calm before the storm, so to speak.

--

Mob rugby is popular inside: they have collectible cards, sports magazines, caps from all teams... and a huge framed photo right above the reception desk. One that catches my eyes to the point I stop seeing any other detail of the place the moment I spot it:

It's a black and white picture from the "Grand Brawl Cup #7". The background is blurry and the captured subjects are frozen is such a fiery action that only one of them has one foot touching the ground. She's a massively muscled female hyena, dense and rugged, all fangs out as she screams in rage or ecstasy --likely both, guessing from her expression--. She's adorning crude head and joints protections, with many straps that look, shockingly, like genuine leather, and a dark, short and messy, mohauk. Her chest is bare and painted with a broad X. Her lower lip is cut and bleeding. In a pose close of a superhero's flight, she's leaning forward in her wild run to lend all her weight into a punch.

The receiving hyena is out of focus but one can guess the circle on her chest and how she's bent back under the impact. Her feet slipped and her head is tilted away, a long trail of spit and blood flying forward: it looks like she has been hit by a train!

Her other hand, behind, is dragging a male gazelle by the root of his horn. His horns have been sawed, leaving only a short length that look like handles. His fur is matted by what looks like paint, and sweat, giving him a striped and masked, impish, look. He's athletic. He has a few protections, them using fabric bands, yet his left eye is puffy and half closed. Helplessly lifted from the ground, he's still struggling fiercely, grabbing at her wrist with his muscles bulging in his effort to free himself. The cloud of dust behind his feet hints of how brutally he was caught, and how fast she's running despite his weight.

That scene feels like the rawest, most old-school wild, craziest thing I ever saw; and I can only imagine the 23 other players rushing closer and the crowd screaming!

"Oh my goodness! This is _so_cool!" Charlotte is fully awake again.

--

Now that things are more real than vague stories, an oppressing sensation crushes my chest as the realization sinks in: I may have bitten into way more than I can chew.

To be continued...