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Tales Of Morveria: An Unlikely Savior

A Story Of Salvation & Forbidden Love

By Mantrid Brizon

Part 1

Slowly opening her eyes, she lifts her head from the pillows. They're far softer than she was expecting, nothing like the straw-filled animal hide headrests she's accustomed to. Her head swivels as she looks around the room. Where has he gone? Has her new master left her?! A clawed hand brushes her long hair from her face as she blinks several times. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she glances down at the humble robes she'd worn to bed, a gift from the warrior who'd purchased her the night before. She's still not used to wearing the garments of the Yasheriit, the furless ones, especially when sleeping.

Climbing up from the padded cushions that line the floor of the stone-built house, she stretches her weary body. Though she hadn't fought alongside the men of her tribe or even the more vicious women, the ordeal took its toll nonetheless. Sniffing the air, her nostrils flare. She can smell the intriguing scent of the furless man who now claims ownership of her. Her ears perk as she listens. Is that the crackling of a fire? Why would he keep fire inside his own home?! Perhaps she should investigate?

Stepping out of the room, she finds herself in a modest hall at the furthest end of the dwelling. The walls are painted a soft ochre, with golden trim and strange symbols every few steps. Are these magical signs or do the furless ones simply enjoy decorating their dwellings? She passes by a storeroom, with clay pots full of preserved foods and a large sack of grain. She peeks into the room beside it, which appears to contain her master's bed. He'd spent the night with her, though he never touched her.

She thought that he might, and even prepared herself for the assault, but it never came. The unusually gentle warrior sat with her, speaking in his strange tongue until she could no longer remain awake. It seemed to comfort him greatly, though she wondered if he was merely trying to outlast her, to ensure that she did not run; for reasons unbeknownst to her, he refused to tie her down or chain her. He even removed the leash to her collar as soon as they'd entered his home, hanging it on a peg jutting from a wall.

Passing her master's empty bedchamber, she pokes her head through the archway before her, gazing into the main chamber. With an angular shape, somewhat like a foot and leg of a furless one, this large room runs the length of her master's house and curves around. In front of her are shelves with weapons and the hard, sturdy clothing her master had worn when doing battle. Why would he leave them there for her to touch?! As she ponders that very thought, she recalls that he's a warrior, born and bred for fighting.

If she tried to use these foreign tools, he'd likely disarm her with ease, and only the gods know how he'd punish her. She gulps, takes a breath and focuses on the sound of the fire. Stepping further into the chamber, she can see the fire illuminating the otherwise dark home. Daylight peeks through the cracks beneath the front door and around the wooden shutters, but the shutters and the door are all closed and latched. As she inches her way closer to the corner, she can hear the pouring of liquid, and then a stirring.

Peeking around the corner, she finds her new master. The Yasheriit, or “human", as they call themselves, sits atop a short seat made of stone and tending to the bubbling contents of a large, blackened pot. It appears to be made of the material her master called “metal", the same as his outer clothes and weapons. The pot sits over an earthen pit lined with rectangular rocks, and a little hole in the ceiling allows the smoke to escape. What a fascinating way to keep fire indoors! With a little smile on his face, he stirs the contents of the pot, sloshing the water about as it gives off steam.

He leans closer and smells the contents, sighing with delight, though to her nose it is quite foreign. It isn't bad, per se, but strange. There are so many ingredients in the concoction, it almost overwhelms her! He lifts a tiny bucket carved into the end of a long stick, blows away the steam and then takes a sip only to sigh once again. He leans back on his short chair and finally notices her peeking around the corner.

“Hello!" He turns to her, his smile widening. “I hope I didn't wake you. You appeared to be very tired last night."

She dips her head and looks a little closer, her eyes darting from the pot to his hand and back to his face. Lifting a clawed hand, she brushes her thick, auburn hair away from her eyes. Normally, she'd have brushed and then braided these loose strands, but given the strangeness of the past two days, she'd forgotten even the most basic steps in her morning routine.

“I'm making breakfast. I hope you enjoy beef stew. It's my own special recipe."

He motions toward her and points to a matching stone chair, adjacent to his own. She steps closer, apprehensive of the man who's purchased her. He takes no offense, and watches her movements, a warm and inviting expression on his face. After all, he was one of those who'd slaughtered her people, capturing the females and the weakling males, while exterminating the rest. He took no pleasure in it, but for what they'd done to his people, he knew it must be. Closer and closer, the girl steps forward and she moves around the stool.

Her canine features are striking. The wolf-like girl with white and ochre fur cocks her head as she examines the stool which sits just behind the ankles of her large, paw-like feet. She very slowly squats down and perches herself atop it, mimicking his position. The fire illuminates her dainty, even puny figure. The way her robes hang loosely over her form, her small breasts are hardly visible, nor is her relatively flat buttocks or her spindly arms and legs. About all he can see in detail are her beautiful sapphire eyes and her long auburn hair.

He'd seen all of her earlier, even before making the purchase, but it's remarkable how thoroughly the robes conceal her. It's unsurprising, as it's clothing which he'd hastily purchased for her at one of the booths at the market bazaar. Normally, these outfits are made at home, by the women, or purchased from those skilled in the trade. He softly chuckles when he wonders how affordable a custom garment would be, as she's rather short and has little meat on her bones.

“Better?"

She cocks her head the other way, furling her brow and watching his lips.

“Right... I doubt your tribe know any of my language. I'll go slow... Are you hungry? ... Hungry?"

Though she's unsure of what he's saying, she can tell from his inflection and his expression that it's some sort of question. When he rubs his belly, she begins to understand. She imitates his motions, and he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Is that a 'yes'?" He asks.

Suddenly, her stomach growls. Her lips contort with embarrassment and she bows her head quite humbly, turning her sapphire eyes upward to look at him.

“Heh... That sounds like a 'yes' to me. Here... Take a bowl. Bowl..." He says, presenting her with the clay tableware.

“Hrrmm?" She stares at the empty bowl in her clawed hands.

“Let me fill it for you."

She watches with curiosity as he takes the small bucket on a stick and scoops out the strange food. He pours it into her bowl, and it radiates heat. She rarely sees warm liquid! Her people often cook their food over open flame, in a large, communal fire, but their stone containers are too small for cooking anything but powerful medicines. At best, they can smoke food wrapped in leaves and buried with hot rocks, which is often how they prepare fish. Sniffing the liquid, she's amazed by the varying smells.

The act of cooking has released the flavors trapped in the herbs, spices and even the meat. What sorts of herbs has he placed in this? Is it a potion?! Perhaps it's something far more sinister... Growing suspicious, she turns to him and notes how he has yet to consume any more of the substance.

“What's wrong? I know you're hungry... You don't trust me, do you? ... I probably wouldn't trust a man who'd bought me at an auction, either..." He murmurs to himself.

Taking his own bowl, he scoops out an equal portion from the pot. After blowing on it to cool it down, he carefully drinks the broth. As he removes the bowl from his lips and chews on a few small strands of meat and potatoes, the girl looks to her own bowl. Sheepishly lifting the bowl, she briefly hesitates before consuming the liquid and floating mass within. Her big blue eyes bulge.

“Mmm!" She exclaims as she tastes the substance.

“Delicious?" He softly chuckles.

“Mmmmmmm!"

He sits quietly and watches as she slurps down the stew, chewing on the meat and potatoes while guzzling the broth. It's obvious that she was very hungry, and as he looks to the pot, he's thankful that he's prepared extra. He sips the broth as the wolf girl ingests hers like a ravenous beast, only to leave behind an empty bowl only moments later. She holds the bowl in her clawed hands and looks to him. It doesn't appear as though she's asking for anything. If he were to guess, she seems curious as to why he's taking his time.

“Here. I bet you could use some more." He says as he uses the ladle to refill her bowl.

Her bushy tail slowly sways. It's as if it wants to wag, but she's fighting it. She waits for a moment, merely staring at him. The fire crackles and the light bounces, dancing about the room. He leans a little closer, giving her pause. Does he want something?

“You have very pretty eyes. They're as blue as old river stones, and shimmer like polished gems." He suddenly remarks.

Once again, she cocks her head. After an awkward gaze, he returns his attention to his bowl and takes another drink.

“I wonder where you'd be right now if I hadn't bought you. Perhaps with some oafish pig who would paw at you like an animal... What if we'd never conquered your tribe? Would you be waking in your parent's hut or did you have a husband that we-? ... ... Perhaps it's best not to think of such things?"

“Hrrmm?"

Hearing her noise, he looks to her and smiles. She's taken aback by his expression. It's quite forced, and perhaps even pained. He's clearly unhappy about something, and feebly trying to hide it.

“I'm sorry... If I could take back what's happened, I would. You must be so scared, so confused."

He reaches out a hand and brings it toward her face, causing her to pull back and scan him with suspicion. He doesn't look intent on harming her, but can she be so sure? Realizing that he may be making her uncomfortable, the warrior coils his fingers and pulls his hand away, only to rest it on his lap as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“I was, too, for the longest time..." He speaks softly, staring at his bowl. “I could never understand why your kind were so hostile. Every settlement you encountered, you seemed to treat the same. Your men would kill our men, or capture them as slaves, then kill our children and elders and take the women for... Well... I'm sure you saw how your kind treated them... Why?"

She cocks her head in the opposite direction, perplexed by the furless male's mysterious tongue. As her anxiety grows, she drowns it by sipping on the delicious food he's provided.

“Good answer..." He sighs and bows his head. “Food solves all problems, don't you think? It's one of the few things that can, it seems... ... Did you know that our ancient tomes speak of your kin? “The beasts who walk as men", they say. You come in all shapes and sizes, and are even more vibrant than the common beasts, but you're all identical in your lack of concern for humanity, or so they say... My experience seems to verify this... We weren't always so powerful, you know. According to the tomes, we were once no smarter than you. We shaped knives from stones and hunted game in packs, but our lack of strength and weakened senses made us easy prey. But now? ... Now..." He lets out a heavy sigh.

Rising to his feet, she watches as he moves toward a shuttered window. Flipping the latch, he pushes it open and gazes outside.

“Now I just want peace..."

She looks toward the beam of light, which passes just beyond her short stool. She extends a hand and places it in the sunlight, feeling it warming her fur. It brings a little smile to her lips. Looking over her shoulder, her head turns quite far, and that's when she feels it. Her collar chafes, the fabric pulling on a few furs in a most uncomfortable fashion. Her smile quickly fades at the reminder. She is a slave, like the Yasheriit women her tribesmen would bring back. Instead of sharing them with the tribe, however, as her people would've done, the furless ones, these “humans", seem more territorial of their possessions.

“I wish I knew your name." He says, returning to her. “Do you even have names? We rarely hear you speak, and we never find writings. Dozens of tribes we've conquered, and all we see are simple pictures, carved in wood and painted with basic dyes."

Looking to him, she notes the change in his demeanor. He isn't hostile or threatening, but melancholy. Perhaps he's not as strong as he'd led her to believe? She cannot help but wonder just how weak her new master is. Perhaps a test is in order? Taking a thumb, she hooks it behind her collar, and with a soft whimper and an obvious grimace, runs her thumb along the length of her collar. He immediately catches on.

“I'm sorry, but I can't do that. If they saw you without that collar, bad things would happen... I don't want that, and you certainly don't. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm protecting you."

His voice is so soft and strangely soothing. Perhaps it's the combination of the sincere look in his eyes? Whatever it is, it disarms her, and though she cannot comprehend his speech, she senses that he doesn't want to harm nor own her; he's simply left with no choice. Perhaps he isn't as weak as she thought? Perhaps it would be best to follow his lead? After what she's seen of his massive village of stone and wood, what else could she possibly do? She wouldn't even know where to go if she ran.

He watches her for a moment, his eyes scanning her face. The light beams over her features as she leans closer to him. He glances between her hair and her eyes, then examines her body before peering into her eyes once more.

“By the gods, you look so much like her... ... Oh! How about Cassia?! That's a pretty name!" He suddenly chirps, his eyes lighting up.

“Hrrmm?!"

“I knew a girl named Cassia, long ago... She was... Never mind."

After a little sigh, the warrior walks toward one of the shelves, near the hall leading toward the back rooms.

“Just let me collect my armor and sword, and then we'll be ready to go. I'll be taking you with me throughout my day. You get to see the duties of a Captain. Aren't you lucky, Cassia?" He speaks to her.

“Ka-?"

The warrior swiftly turns to her, his eyes wide. As he stares in obvious shock, she nervously gulps. Was that a mistake?! Her people rarely have a need to speak, communicating with body language, pictures in earth, wood and paint, as well as growls, howls and other bestial vocalizations. The elders have a handful of words that their father's fathers taught them, but many have lost meaning. It is a skill rarely cultivated. Trembling with anxiety, her jaw hangs open as she tries again.

“K... Kass?" The wolfess furls her brow, pointing a finger toward herself.

“Cassia." He speaks again, annunciating very carefully.

Though she recognizes its significance in relation to her own language, she wonders what it means to her master. The warrior continues across his home, and once his hands reach out for his hard, golden clothes and the massive dagger, she hastily finishes her meal. She's relatively certain that he wouldn't trade valuable trinkets just to kill her, and he seems very kind, so perhaps they're about to travel? Setting her empty bowl aside, near his own, she rises to her paw-like feet and turns to face him.

He fastens the leather straps that hold his stiff clothing, his “armor" together, then puts on the golden hat, ensuring his “helm" is secure. Once his “sword" rests at his side, he turns to her and smiles, then extends a hand. With fingers coiling, she knows what he wants. It is a sign the tribal males would give to females, often when they wanted to enjoy their bodies. With a nervous gulp, she steps closer, slowly and cautiously approaching him. When she's within arm's reach, he turns toward the peg stuck into the stone wall of his home.

Her eyes follow his hand as her anxiety increases. Dangling from the peg is the thick rope leash with a strange clasp. Taking the leash, he turns to her and reaches for her throat. With a fretful gaze, she takes one step backward, trying to control her trembling.

“It's alright! I'm sorry, Cassia..." He begins, his tone as warm as ever. “But this is required. I don't like it, myself, but there are rules for your kind. Please... I won't hurt you. After all, you cost me nearly half a week's wages!" He chuckles.

Both seeing and sensing his positivity causes her to ease, and she remains still as he reaches for her neck. He grabs the fabric collar and hooks the clasp onto it, then presents her with a small, metal disc.

“You may never take this off. Never... I don't know if you can understand me, but this is yours. You must keep it on, Cassia."

She cocks her head and furls her brow. With a little sigh, he attaches the tag to her collar, then grabs hold of the leash.

“Alright, Cassia... Let's go."

He takes a few steps toward the door, the leash extending as she remains in place. He turns back, looks at the leash and then into her big, blue eyes.

“Cassia."

Why does he keep using that word? Is that what they call her race or breed or sex? That doesn't make sense, as she's heard other words for such things. Is that, perhaps, what he chooses to call her? Has he named her?! She's left in shock at the thought of being arbitrarily dubbed by the man who is still a stranger to her, but is humbled and honored when he chooses the word her elders call the night disc. It is a symbol of their fertility goddess, the most powerful of all. The warrior's frustration mounts and he gives the leash a little tug.

“Come on, Cassia!"

On his hip, he wears a satchel, and the faint odor of the pungent powder radiates from it. His kind used it so effectively to overpower the senses of her kin and subdued many without fighting. His hand moves toward the satchel. Snapping herself out of her little trance, she focuses on his glare and then his hand. She realizes right away that he's serious. Rather than upset the man who, more often than not, has been kind to her, she swiftly darts toward him. The slack in the leash has it nearly touching the ground, and so her master begins to coil it around his hand.

“Good. Come." He smiles and motions with his head.

Opening the door, he steps outside and she's immediately bombarded by the sights, sounds and smells of the human's village. He lives near the corner of a large wall made of blue painted bricks. It protects the village from attacks, and stretches around the entirety of the human's tribal lands. She'd marveled at the massive gates as the cart she rode in on was pulled through by the beasts of burden. Still, with a modest farm and nice home to his name, he lives in the city proper, and upon leaving his house, her eyes adjust to the sunlight and dozens of figures appear before her.

More humans wander about the city, enjoying their daily lives. Women carry clay and metal pots, some hold bushels of wheat and weaved baskets with fruit and vegetables, which they take to the nearby market bazaar. She notices that the robes they wear are very similar to her own, though theirs cling much tighter to their forms, showing off their feminine beauty. In a way, her master's gift is flattering; he saw fit to dress her as a female of his own kind, rather than treat her as lesser. Her master latches and locks his front door, only to turn and greet a man working the modest garden of a nearby house.

They seem to be friends, or at the very least, friendly neighbors. The man points to the red wolf girl and seems to ask about her, but the only word that stands out to her is “Cassia", the name her new master appears to have given her.

“That's a pretty name. Isn't that the name of...?"

“Yes."

“I see... Well... Perhaps she'd be happy to know it didn't die with her." The farmer murmurs.

“... I have to begin my duties."

“Of course, Captain. I'll see you later." The farmer smiles.

They return to the city center on foot, walking about the streets which are paved with bricks made of dried mud. Buildings are painted many vibrant colors, seemingly to the owner's preferences. Some are golden, some blue, and still others are green or red. Humble citizens whitewash the bricks, while the poor leave them as they were made, a deep, earthy brown. She marvels at the many varieties of food, garments and containers that are for sale at the wooden booths lining the streets. The sunlight is dimmed by sheets of colorful fabric hanging over them, casting equally vibrant shadows.

It's such a strange and remarkable place she's found herself in. The only thing that draws her eyes more than the new world around her are the many others like her who walk with the humans. Some wear only their fur, as nature intended, though these seem to be recently purchased slaves. Still, their nudity doesn't seem to offend the humans in the least. Others wear varying garments to conceal their femininity and masculinity, as the humans prefer. Regardless of clothing or lack thereof, it's clear that the humans are the superiors, and they behave as such.

Her eyes scan the many slaves. Some share her form, while others have slender, feline tails and matching ears. Some have round ears and the fleshy tails, hands and feet of rodents, while still others have the tall, perky ears of rabbits and the small, bushy tails to match. One slave in particular, a very large and sturdy looking female, has the face of a bear. Walking among the slaves of her type are the Korutan, the hoofed ones. They share the tails, muzzles and the imposing stature of the beasts of burden, which the humans ride.

Other Korutan have thick wool covering their flesh or antlers crowning their heads, which are adorned as their humans see fit. Strangely, the Korutan seem to have a fondness for their human masters, and likewise, the humans' voices are warmer when addressing them. Had her tribe known that the Korutan and the humans were so close, perhaps they never would've bothered them? Though peaceful by nature, the Korutan were feared by her tribe for their sheer size and strength, and even those smaller breeds had dangers all their own.

What shocks her the most, however, is a particular handful of slaves. They have no fur at all, instead having the smooth hide of the amphibious tribes. These are the Sabaarii, the lizard-kin. She was warned to avoid them from a young age, as all younglings were. Their preserved skins and cracked skulls were kept as trophies by the older warriors of her tribe. Natural swimmers, strong jumpers and both fierce and dexterous combatants, the Sabaarii have long been feared as warriors of great skill and cunning. Their brutality is matched only by their guile.

It's long been painted on her tribe's sacred boulder that the Sabaarii once taught the other beast folk language and social norms before the others rebelled against them and they became enemies. Looking at them now, they don't seem all that imposing, but then again, neither did the Yasheriit. It's a breathtaking and heart wrenching scene. A majority of the slaves appear contented to share in their masters' world. They willfully walk amongst the unnatural stone homes and seem unafraid of the metal armor and weapons of the humans, who've subjugated such powerful and independent races.

A minority of the slaves, however, stare at the ground as they walk behind their masters, who tug at their leashes as they lag behind. It's clear that these do not share the joyous lives of the others. What do their masters forced them to do? Are they cruelly punished or abused? It makes her heart heavy to see their sorrow. Aside from these few obviously miserable slaves, only those who were sold the day earlier seem confused and uneasy about their place in this world, and therefore follow closely to the only people they know, their new masters.

It's at that moment that the red wolf girl begins to fear a life of servitude and misery. It certainly isn't outside the realm of possibility, and though he doesn't seem the sort, from what she'd seen before they left his home, her master could easily punish her. He could demand things of her, activities which she might not be skilled in or otherwise find very unpleasant, and if she disappoints or disobeys... She walks behind her new master, matching his pace and with her snout pointing toward the ground.

It's something of a chore to keep up, as her master is as tall as the tallest warriors of her tribe, while she is small, even for a healthy female. Eventually, they enter a fenced area and she finds herself surrounded by many more humans wearing armor and bearing swords. Some have helms with fancy plumes of white and black fur, while some have no helms at all. They look to her before speaking to her master with reverence, and though he is kind and reciprocates, she notes a sternness in his voice that she has yet to witness in action.

Clearly, he's a male of standing! It's surprising to her, then, that he would willingly choose her, even as a slave, when she wasn't very appealing even to her own tribesmen. She feels a strange warmth enveloping her heart.

“Look who bought himself a Vostii! I see you finally found yourself a proper woman." A soldier with a plumed helm chuckles.

“Yes. I could no longer stand to wake up beside your sister." Her master retorts.

“Hah! Well, she's certainly prettier." The soldier remarks, eying the wolf girl's rather meek form. “Have you given her a name?"

“Cassia."

“Cassia... That's..."

“Yes..." Her master sighs.

“Oh... Yes, I can see the resemblance, now... Flattering." The soldier murmurs, a discomfort in his voice.

“I have to begin my duties... Until we meet again, Jace."

“Until we meet again, Lysander."

She cocks her head as she listens to their words. As she suspected, Cassia seems to be her new name, if not a title. As it seems to appear at the end of a sentence, could, then, her master's name be Lysander? Up until this point, people have called him “Captain". Does he have two names, or is that a mark of respect? Perhaps “Lysander" is a name for close friends and family to use? The man he spoke too certainly seemed familiar with her master. Her curiosity piques when she's taken into a large structure filled with men wearing similar armor. Upon seeing her master, they immediately stand at attention and turn toward him.

“Greetings, Captain Lysander!" They exclaim in unison.

“At ease."

The men relax, and some continue to speak amongst themselves. Her master gives her leash a gentle tug and leads her past the men.

“So, Captain, you finally bought a Vostii, and she's of the wolf-kin!" A soldier remarks as they pass by, looking over Cassia.

“Yes, I did." Lysander replies.

“As if he didn't have enough dogs to come home to." A soldier snickers, elbowing a man beside him.

Several guards chuckle, but Lysander stops in his tracks and narrows his eyes. He steps closer to the soldier who spoke out of turn and growls, his eyes fiery and his lips curled into a bestial snarl. Cassia has never seen this side of him before! It's very familiar.

“Perhaps I needed someone who can actually follow orders!" Lysander begins.

The soldier's amused expression quickly fades and his body becomes rigid.

“Perhaps I was tired of jesters in my barracks and needed a real warrior! At least she comes with claws, yet you forgot your sword once!"

“That was a chance event and-"

“Silence!" Lysander roars.

“Yes, Captain!"

“I don't want excuses! ... How quickly do you think you will die when our enemies or worse, untamed Vostii or Sabaarii appear? Do you think your jokes will save you then?! HMM?!?!" He leans closer, his eyes wild as he presses his nose into the other man's nose.

“N-no, Captain!"

“... Good! You aren't as dumb as you look."

Several men chuckle.

“I want you on the south gate, today, Kyril..." Lysander speaks in a low growl.

“Yes, Captain!"

“And no games. If you want entertainment, visit the theater."

“Yes, Captain..."

“Or just take her home." Another guard murmurs under his breath.

Cassia turns toward the guard to her left, swiftly singling him out as the man who spoke out of turn. The look on his face as Lysander whirls around and glares both shocks and impresses Cassia. Storming up to the guard, Lysander grabs him by the armor and throws him to the ground! His armor clanks as he lets out a pained groan.

“Do you know my rank, Timon?!"

“Y-y-yes, Captain!"

“Then you know how I came to be here!"

“Yes, Captain!"

“So, if you undermine my authority again, I'll cut your tongue out and polish my boots with it!"

“Yes, Captain!"

“Now get up off of that floor and stand on the northeast tower!"

“Yes, Captain!" The terrified Timon exclaims before dashing away.

Cassia's body subtly jolts and she stiffens as she suddenly feels a hand upon her shoulder. Turning her head toward him, she gazes up at Lysander as he gently squeezes her and then rubs her upper back.

“Thank you, Cassia." He speaks with incredible warmth.

She cannot help but smile. His display of power and masculinity has proven to her the status of her master, and yet he is nothing but warm and kind to her. Perhaps she was not so unlucky after all? Lysander takes her to a room that houses several chairs and a strangely shaped table. It wraps around a chair. He sits at the table while she occupies the seat nearest him, only a short distance away. For the next few hours, he listens to people speak. Some have armor and weapons and serve him, while others seem to be citizens coming to him for help.

From what little she can gather Captain Lysander seems to be a fair and just man. As soon as her stomach growls, he takes notice and excuses them from the barracks. They wander the market bazaar for a while, and Lysander purchases food for a few copper coins, cooked meat and vegetables skewered on a stick. He gives one to Cassia and walks with her. Suddenly, Lysander begins to talk, but not to any humans. He looks to her from time to time, so she knows that these words are meant for her ears.

They sit upon a large rock at the far end of the city, near the farm houses of their neighborhood. As they eat their meal, Lysander rambles on. She wishes she understood more of his mysterious language. At least she knows their names.

“I knew people were going to point out your name, but I never thought it would cause me so much reflection... Now that I look back, I believe I understand why I felt such pity for you. I couldn't place it at the time..." He speaks, his eyes scanning her form.

Cassia watches him with her head bowed slightly, in reverence to her high-status master. With big, sapphire eyes locked onto his emerald orbs, she nibbles on the charred beef on a stick and listens to the sounds of his voice. With a little smile, he twists his upper body, turning toward her as he reaches out a hand, brushing her thick, auburn hair away from her face.

“It wasn't just that you looked so afraid, so helpless, cowering in that burning hut... Your race aside, you have her look. You have her eyes and her hair, and even her build... Cassia was a good woman. Meek but good. I often wake at night, alone, wondering if I'd still be with her, had she not been slain. We were to be married, and often she'd visit me when her parents weren't around. Oh, the fun we'd have in the darkness of my bedchamber." Lysander softly chuckles. “It wasn't always making love, either... We'd talk, I would tell jokes to make her laugh, and sometimes I would tickle her. 'Subduing the goddess' is what I called it, because she was so beautiful to me. She thought it embarrassing... Oh, Cassia..."

With a heavy sigh, he turns his eyes toward the sky and a tear runs down his cheek. Cassia is taken aback. Sheepishly reaching out a hand, she touches it with a fingertip, being careful not to poke him with her claw. Though she only meant to confirm its existence, he quickly grabs her hand and tenderly strokes it.

“Aren't you sweet... Just like Cassia. I miss her... ... She died in a raid, slashed by a Sabaarii's claws as she ran from the outer farms, where her family lived and worked. She died fleeing toward the gates. The wall was barely finished back then. I watched her die, and something inside of me broke, like a brittle blade striking armor. It was a piece of my soul, which died with her. I didn't know it was so fragile until that day... You always think you're stronger, until you see the only thing you love being burned on a pyre."

As if possessed by an unseen force, the wolf girl finds herself scooting closer to the human. She cannot place her reasoning, and yet she still rests a hand on his forearm.

“I took to my work with diligence and fought hard. The truth is, I was hoping one day to fall, so that I might see Cassia on the other side, but it never happened. So many lives I've claimed with that arm..." He continues, glancing at her clawed hand stroking him. “Every battle I entered I expected to be my last, and every battle I survived. Time passed and then I became a Captain, but it wasn't until I saw you in that hut, cowering, that I felt something... It was as if I could see her in you. Not just her hair or her eyes or her modest form, but her spirit as well... You have a gentleness about you, Cassia."

He speaks so softly and with such warmth, but she can see the look in his eyes. Cassia knows that he must be in pain. She slides even closer to him, until their legs brush. Though he is her master and she owes the destruction of her past life to him, at least in part, she still hopes to alleviate whatever troubles him. To her elation, it works. Captain Lysander's lips curl into a faint smile, and she returns the gesture. However, he does far more than that. His arm slithers around her slender frame and her eyes grow wide as he drapes it over her shoulder.

Pulling her a little closer, he nuzzles her ear with his strangely shaped nose. She cannot help but tremble, though not from fear. It's clear to her that this man doesn't intend to harm her, nor does she believe that someone from a race so modest as to cover their natural forms with hides and linens would indulge in her womanhood on a whim, least of all in a public setting. These humans are nothing like her kin. She trembles because he gives her the attention that her own tribesmen rarely ever did.

While breeding is considered a sacred act, taking place in ritual huts by unpaired females and males, or in the homes of bonded pairs, sexual intercourse in and of itself can often be quite casual. Bonded affection, as that between a male and a female who've chosen exclusivity, is something else entirely. In her tribe it was somewhat rare. Her master, Captain Lysander, seems to have chosen her. If he's not claiming her as a permanent partner, he certainly seeks to enjoy the comforts of one, as noted by how he nuzzles her head.

He strokes her arm as he rests his head against hers, even going so far as to remove his helm and set it aside. Upon giving her a soft kiss on the top of her head, she quivers with nervousness. She likely could've accepted being taken, ravaged by the warrior as though she were merely the spoils of victory, but to endure his affections is so new an experience as to be almost as frightening as her initial capture. It's not as though she hadn't hoped a male would see her as worthy of such affection, but she was thoroughly unprepared for it.

Still, her body begins to relax and though she's unsure of his intentions, she continues to comfort him. What else can she do? Cassia leans into his side, nuzzling the air as she shifts her head, trying to become comfortable against his hard, metal armor.

“You're trembling... Are you cold or is it that you aren't used to basking in the radiance of a handsome Captain?" He softly chuckles.

“Hrrmm?" She turns her eyes up to him and blinks.

“That's what I thought." He smiles, brushing her hair from her eyes with his fingertips.

Captain Lysander seems to recover from whatever was ailing his heart, and the pair soon finish their meals and continue with their day. After quite a while of walking with him, seeing the village and encountering more people than she ever knew existed, they return to his home. The sun is about to set, and a cool breeze blows through the fields. It shifts her fur and hair and tickles her nose. She can smell the rain on the horizon. She's never liked the rain. It always brought bad omens, usually attacks by the closest Vostii or Sabaarii tribes.

Upon entering their home, Lysander removes her leash and ensures that her collar and tag aren't snagging by running his fingers beneath it. It's a nice sensation, having him stroking her neck. He then returns his armor and weapons to the shelves and prepares their dinner. She watches intently, curious about the process. This time, he mixes fresh pork with berries and dried leaves, which have a faint floral smell. The finished product is even more delectable than what he'd made in the morning, and they finish their meals just as the rain begins to pour. Thunder rumbles in the distance and Cassia trembles.

Using the fire pit in the center of the main chamber, he lights a simple wick doused in fat and attached to a special handle made of golden metal. The surprisingly bright light makes it hard for her to use her natural night vision, but the layout of his home is simple, so when he motions toward the back rooms, she takes the lead. She returns to the room she'd previously slept in, followed closely by her master. Before he has a chance to speak a word, she pulls off her robes, revealing her entirety to him. Sitting atop the cushions that are her mattress, she makes herself comfortable.

“So, you prefer that, then?"

The nude wolf girl stretches out, lying back in bed. Lysander sits with her. He places the glowing wick to one side, away from the bed, only to turn back, stretch out and lay beside her. Cassia slowly opens her legs, bending one at the knee and letting it fall toward her side. Her mind races. Could this be the moment? Does he intend to explore her body, to enjoy her as a man should? Will this become their new routine? She tries to relax, but Cassia is virginal. She's yet to know a man, and the thought of experiencing him makes her tremble. What will it feel like? Will he be gentle or rough? She'd seen the men of her tribe through uncovered hut entrances; they were aggressive, brutish.

Though she's afraid, a portion of her mind eagerly awaits his next move, hoping he'll take it, and why wouldn't she? After all, he's kind and gentle with her, but stern and strong and commands respect. He can provide and protect, which is everything she needs. More than that, he's a high-status male, and she's yearned for such a partner! So far, being captured and sold to him is the best thing to ever happen to her. Lysander pets her head and speaks in his mysterious tongue. She pulls up the thin covers, looking to him with innocent eyes. Perhaps her innocence is what entices him? She leans a little closer and briefly lifts her bent leg, ensuring that he sees her invitation.

“I see you've made your peace with this, but... ... By the gods, why must you tempt me? ... Good night, Cassia. I hope you sleep well. If you need me, I'll be in my bedchamber, just down there." He says, glancing back at the hallway.

To Cassia's surprise, Lysander begins to rise. Just as he turns away from her, lightning strikes and she jolts, almost immediately followed by a thunderclap. It's always so loud! He glances back to see her shivering, curled into a ball and covering her ears. Opening her eyes, she swiftly reaches out, grabs the soft flesh of his forearm and squeezes.

“You poor thing! There's nothing to be afraid of, Cassia. This is a strong home."

Another thunderclap causes her to jolt and then wriggle closer to him.

“Oh, Cassia... Perhaps I'm being heartless? This is all so new to you... Alright. I'll stay with you, again."

He gingerly wrenches his arm from her grasp. Is he leaving?! Her eyes widen as Lysander abruptly removes his garments and drops them to the floor. Her eyes scan his form, and with the notable exceptions of his lack of fur and tail, and the unusual shape of his face, feet and genitals, he's every bit the male her tribesmen were. In some ways, he's greater. Her wide eyes remain focused on his groin, her jaw hanging open. He slithers into bed, pulling the covers over them. She rolls onto her back and turns her head to watch him, preparing herself for whatever he has in mind.

A particular part of her begins to burn. Desire rushes in. Will he finally claim her, indulging in her womanhood? What a thought! She nibbles on her bottom lip to keep from smiling. It's to her great surprise and disappointment, however, when he rolls her over, wraps his arms around her and merely holds her.

“There, there, Cassia. It'll be okay." He speaks softly, almost whispering.

Another bright flash and a loud thunderclap cause her to jolt, but with her body pressed against his, she doesn't move much at all.

“Mmrrmm!" She whimpers, trembling in his arms.

“It's alright." He coos, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. “You're safe with me... Perhaps a song will sooth you?"

As he clears his throat, she shifts her eyes but doesn't turn her head. Suddenly, her master's voice takes on a strange tone.

“You are like the verdant fields, so radiant and vast. With curves like the mountain ranges and a smile as wide as ocean blue. Every time I awake alone, I miss you. I never knew a joy like this, until you came to me. I drink the nectar of your kindness and return it as often as I can. I swear to love and protect you, for that is the role of a man... Do you like this song? It was always one of my favorites." He remarks, before continuing the tune. “I have never known a pain you could not heal. I turned away from drink and fighting to honor your virtue. All of my sins I recant for you. Touching the softness of your hair gives me the strength to move boulders. How can I surrender my strength so willingly to one so frail? It is a power that to any other would be beyond the pale. Ask me how and I'll tell you, for I keep no secrets from you. Ask me why and I will share. Call my name, and I will be there..."

What lovely sounds he makes! His strange words have no meaning to her, but his voice is so sweet and the soft, swaying pitch causes her body to relax. Her mind becomes hazy as she listens, and for a moment she wonders if he's casting a spell on her. It's obviously a very good spell, as she no longer fears or even notices the storm raging outside. Lysander holds her petite body, petting her head and stroking her furry cheek as he sings to her. He never pins her down or ravages her or even enjoys a simple touch of her modest breasts. It's a strangely tender and passionate moment they share.

After a time, she closes her eyes and falls asleep. Once she's succumbed to him, he smiles, kisses her cheek and cuddles up to her, only to join her in slumber shortly thereafter. The next morning, she awakens still wrapped in the warmth of her master's embrace. Looking over her shoulder, she cannot help but smile. Though the night didn't unfold as she was expecting, and perhaps even hoping, the comfort of his song and his embrace was startling. The strong male comforts her in more ways than she knew possible, and when he awakens, he's still as warm and as gentle as he was during the storm.

The day unfolds much like the one before it, with the exception of a few minor differences. Lysander needs no comforting during their mid-day meal, nor does it rain at night, and yet she still clings to him when he tries to leave. For some inexplicable reason, she cannot fathom being alone in her room. Even if he won't take her body, claiming her virginity for himself and giving her the carnal pleasures of a woman, she cannot let him leave. She wants him to stay. She needs him to stay. Why? Why does she enjoy her master's company so much?!

Thankfully, he shows no frustration over her clinginess. Lysander seems pleased to be able to lie beside her and this soon becomes routine. He removes his possessions and bedding from his own room and brings it into hers. One morning, after living with Lysander for a fortnight and a few days, Cassia awakens and notices something peculiar. The fear and unease she'd felt from the very beginning has slowly waned, but now, as abruptly as it arrived, it's gone! Her life as it is now is how she always wants it to be, with Lysander.

Upon awakening one morning to find Lysander gone, she looks for her master, genuinely eager to see him. Upon finding him in the main chamber, cooking their breakfast, a task that she had learned and taken upon herself, she smiles and embraces him. He turns to her, wrapping his strong arms around her body as he holds her for a moment, then he kisses her cheek. This is a greeting she's become very accustomed to. After having their morning meal, she dresses in her new robes, which Lysander had tailored for her.

Perhaps she can learn how to make them for herself? Then she could make pretty things for her master! She slips on her jewelry, more gifts from her master, who seems to enjoy doting on his Vostii slave. She knows that the other humans mention it, sometimes with looks of confusion or apprehension, but her master doesn't care. He treats her the way that she has always hoped to be treated, like a woman of value. It's earned far more than her loyalty. Meanwhile, Lysander collects his armor and sword.

“Are you dressed, Cassia?" He asks, reaching for her leash, which hangs on the peg on the wall. “It's about time we left. I'm sure I'll have many more lovely complaints, today, and you always make it so much easier to endure their incessant... What's this?!"

Feeling for the leash, it isn't there! He glances over only to find it missing! Turning around, he's surprised to find that Cassia is standing directly behind him. She's already hooked her leash to her collar and presents him with the other end. With a warm smile on her face, she bows her head and lifts her hand, urging him to take it.

“Cassia..."

She looks so eager to be there, so pleased to be in his company, even given her circumstances. Unable to help himself, he reaches out a hand and takes the leash, then extends another and strokes her cheek. He'd often fought his natural, masculine urges when lying beside her in bed, but only because he couldn't endure having sex without love. What would be the point in that? As his thumb caresses her furry cheek, he ponders the will of his heart and weighs it against his carnal desires, only to discover something shocking.

Though Cassia is surprised by the sudden affection, she's flabbergasted when he leans in and softly kisses the side of her wolf-like snout, his lips brushing her own. Turning her sapphire eyes up to meet his, they gaze at each other for a moment. Lysander looks both confused and uneasy, and yet he doesn't seem to regret what he's just done. Extending her tongue, she licks the spot he'd just kissed and smiles, then leans closer. As the female, she presents him the opportunity but it is he who must act.

Lysander doesn't disappoint, and with his hand still resting upon her cheek, he leans in again and steals a long and passionate kiss. As their lips part ways, Cassia's eyes scan his face. He looks down at her with his emerald orbs, smiling with a warmth that underpins his growing fondness for her. Shifting her ankles, she stands on the tips of her toes to steal another kiss. She cannot help herself; the floodgates have opened, and this is what she's wanted ever since the night of the storm.

To her delight, Lysander reciprocates, wrapping his arms around her as he basks in the splendor of the Vostii slave whom he's come to love. Their passion builds, and though she feels herself burning for him, eager to take her human master inside of her, to have him rid her of her virginity, the Captain of the guard eases back.

“Okay..." He gulps, softly panting.

It's obvious to both of them that he wasn't fully prepared for what's just occurred, and struggles to maintain control of himself. Cassia steps closer, pressing her modest chest against his armor as she gazes into his eyes. She bats her eyelashes and pouts, sticking out her bottom lip and whimpering as she pleads for him to keep going. It's a ploy that nearly succeeds. He can feel the powerful hold she has over him. In many ways, she is now the master and he the slave.

“We need to go. I have my duties." He speaks through subdued pants.

“Mmrrmm!" She whimpers.

Since the day she first spoke a word to him, she's been pondering the lost language that only the elders seemed to remember. If she can recall enough words, perhaps she can convey proper messages to her master? It would be more expedient than attempting to learn his language, though she's made a concerted effort to do that as well.

“Kro ka'mer." She suddenly speaks, pointing toward their bedchamber. “Zhu'sa. Kass'ya kro ka'mer so'vo."

“Are you asking me to take you to bed and make love to you?"

Hearing the word “bed", she points again, then takes hold of his hand and pulls it toward her groin. Lysander's face flushes and he gulps.

“I understand... I-I have my duties, Cassia... And besides, we aren't supposed to do that with... It's supposed to be forbidden..."

She doesn't fully comprehend his language, as that will take many moons, if not seasons, but she understands enough to comprehend rejection. Her ears droop and her brow softens as her lips curl into an obvious frown. She recalls the various times when the males of her tribe refused her admittedly meek offerings. They were far more eager to enjoy the loins of the busty females with larger builds and plump buttocks. Looking down at the dainty Vostii, Lysander's heart breaks at the sight of her sorrow, as well as from his own stubbornness.

What point are the rules when he knows many others break them with frequency? Why is he denying her? Why does he deny them both? Why is he so afraid to admit what he wants, and take the woman who offers herself to him?! After wrestling with his own thoughts for a moment, he closes his eyes and sighs. Gazing down at her, he flashes a warm smile, rests a hand on her cheek and strokes her face with his thumb.

“Tonight, Cassia..." He leans in and kisses her lips once again. “Tonight, we shall see what happens, after we lay in our bed."

“To'night, so'vo?!"

“... Yes."

Her eyes light up and her gaping maw forms the happiest of smiles.

“MMMMM!!!" She coos, clinging to her master's armor.

She can tell from his tone and his body language that this wasn't rejection at all! It's only then that she remembers their daily routine. How could she have forgotten? They simply don't have time for mating, and with a vigorous nod of her head, she agrees to wait. Hopefully “tonight" isn't far away. With her leash in-hand, they leave their home and make their way to his office at the barracks, but as they near their destination, they're stopped by a crowd gathered outside. Pushing their way through, Lysander and Cassia find themselves surrounded by guards, who keep the mob at bay.

Swiftly taking command, Lysander demands to know what's going on. One warrior, Timon, tells his Captain to follow. Lysander isn't one to receive orders from his underlings, but given the situation, he has little options. He follows Timon inside the barracks, away from the shouts of the mob. Timon then retrieves the executioner's axe from the nearby armory and makes his way to the jail cells. The few remaining guards stand by, opting to let Timon do the deed himself. Lysander and Cassia follow him down the hall as Timon explains everything.

“It's Orrin, Captain. His Vostii, Circe, has just given birth... To a Polovin."

“What?! She had a half-breed?!"

“Yes, Captain. It's his. Orrin has claimed it."

Cassia turns to Lysander, who stops in his tracks, closes his eyes and sighs. After taking a few more steps, Timon realizes that his superior has fallen behind. He also stops and turns toward Lysander. It's clear from the look on Timon's face that this isn't a pleasant situation.

“Captain, you and I both know that many often take comfort in the beast folk. Comfort. That's very different from breeding, and the King's orders are clear. His Regent, who runs our fair city, has already been told. Egan spoke on it this morning. They must be put to death. That mob outside, they want to do it themselves. Orrin is not a bad man, which is why I'll use the axe... It's better than the pyre." Timon calmly and somewhat sorrowfully explains.

“It doesn't have to be that way..." Lysander murmurs.

“Yes, it does."

“No, it doesn't!"

“Captain, you know the dangers of the half-breeds. The Polovin are forbidden. It's one thing to bed the beast women, but to spill your seed inside of them and bring forth a child?! I'm sorry, Captain." Timon retorts, shaking his head. “We do what must be done."

“Wait!"

“Captain?"

“... Banishment... If we banish them now, we can claim they escaped, and we won't have to kill Orrin, Circe or their child. There's a door to the rear of the barracks and an original, smaller gate just down the alley. It isn't guarded because most believe it's sealed. No one will know."

“Captain..." Timon seems very reluctant.

“Why are you so eager to do this?!"

“I'm not. I like Orrin, but we have our orders."

“Haven't you seen enough blood?!"

“... It's Cassia, isn't it?" Timon furls his brow.

Upon hearing her name, she turns her head toward the guard.

“What?!" Lysander gasps.

“Have you bed her? ... Have you... Given her a child?" Timon speaks softly, worried that the others might hear.

Without hesitation, Lysander drops Cassia's leash, lunges forward, grabs Timon by his armor and then spins and slams him against the wall, causing him to drop his axe.

“What I do or do not do with my Vostii is my business, and you are my subordinate..." Lysander growls, his fists subtly shaking from the force of his grasp. “I say that Orrin and Circe need not die for simply having a child, half-breed or not. Now, will you help me, or will Orrin overpower and kill you as he makes his escape?"

“... I promise I will diligently search for the missing prisoners, Captain." Timon sheepishly replies.

“Good... Now get moving." Lysander sternly instructs, pushing Timon toward the jail cells.

“Yes, Captain..."

Picking up the fallen axe, Cassia presents it to Lysander, only to then hold up her leash. He smiles and strokes her cheek before taking the axe in one hand and her leash in the other. With a motion of his head and the axe, he leads Timon from behind.

“Remember, Timon, I won't hesitate to bury this axe in the back of your skull, and as Captain, whatever story I tell will likely be believed."

“Yes, Captain..."

“Try not to resent me for this. I'll consider it a favor. I always return favors, and I know how badly you want a promotion."

Glancing back, Timon cracks the faintest of smiles.

“Yes, Captain!"

Cassia watches Lysander as he walks beside her and just behind Timon. Whatever tension was between the two men has since passed. Now, her mind wanders to the events that have unfolded this past hour, reflecting on her feelings and her desires. Even if Lysander had done nothing, had he walked down the hall without her, without holding her leash, she would still have followed him. Though he may be her master, he has more than earned her loyalty, her admiration, and even her love, and she hopes that when the day is done and they return home, they will consummate their bond...

Part 2

Panting for air, Cassia clings to her lover's back. They've been in the throes of passion for some time, and he's yet to release his seed. Does it always last this long, or is Lysander as gifted as he is endowed?! Their combined sweat dampens her fur and soaks into the silken sheets covering the cushions of their bed. She rakes her claws against his flesh, leaving red trails that lead every which way. Suddenly, Lysander grunts in a manner she hasn't heard from him before. It's familiar to her, however, as she's heard these noises from the men of her tribe as they mated with the other females.

Lysander is a human but he's still a man. Perhaps this is it? Eager to feel his seed, she pulls in her legs and wraps them around his thighs. Though he attempts to back away, she doesn't allow him to remove himself. He holds himself up by his hands and knees, looming over her. It's a very strange position, indeed, but a pleasurable one. He looks down at his Vostii lover, his brow softened and eyelids barely open. She gazes into his eyes and pulls at him, her hands on his buttocks and her ankles behind his thighs. She refuses to let him leave her loins, if that's even what he's trying to do.

“Cassia." He moans out.

She reaches up and strokes his face quite tenderly before clinging to his shoulders. He winces as if in pain, but his quivering voice and unsteady breaths reveal the truth. Within moments, he unleashes his torrential flow and Cassia gasps as her eyes bulge. She arches her back as she cries out in pleasure, her legs trembling but still holding him inside of her. She'd always wondered what mating was like, how it felt when receiving a man's seed. She was routinely passed over by the males of her tribe for her inferior size an unimpressive body, but now she knows; it's a pleasure greater than anything she could've possibly imagined.

As their pleasure gradually fades, Cassia narrows her big, blue eyes as she gazes into Lysander's green orbs. He leans closer and holds her, then they share a kiss. What strange kisses these humans give, though she greatly enjoys it. Still, she cannot help but sweetly lick the nape of his neck. His soft groan reveals his fondness for the gesture. They remain entwined for a moment, only to slowly separate and spend the rest of the night cuddling. Cassia, though exhausted, cannot help but spend some time quietly reflecting.

Her master, who is now her first and hopefully only sexual partner, holds her from behind and sleeps peacefully, his nose buried in the soft fur of her neck. She strokes his forearms with her claws, basking in the warmth of his embrace. It's interesting how things have changed for her. It wasn't all that long ago, she was merely a low-status female of her humble tribe, then she was made a slave when the humans conquered her people, who had made the grievous mistake of raiding human settlements.

As she was taken to the stone walls of the human city, riding in a wagon cage made of gleaming metal, she was certain that her life would hold nothing but fear, misery and suffering. It very well could have, but she had no idea how wrong, and lucky, she was. Purchased by Lysander, the Captain of the town guards, a man she'd briefly encountered during the skirmish that saw the subjugation of her tribe, he's proven to be a kind and thoughtful warrior. Though strong and dominating over his subordinates, he treats her well and genuinely cares for her, showering her with gifts as well as affection.

Her fear succumbed to curiosity, which preceded interest, and admiration followed shortly thereafter. Now the Vostii girl of the wolf-kin feels a deep respect and affection for her master, who has yet to treat her like the slave that she is. Perhaps, in his heart, she is not a slave, but his partner? Perhaps she only wears the collar and leash because that's how it must be? Perhaps he loves her as much as she loves him? The thought makes her lips curl upward and causes her heart to flutter.

She's never known love before, not until she met Lysander. She'd seen it described in the pictograms painted onto the sacred boulder, but seeing and feeling are very different. So strong are her feelings for the Yasheriit lying behind her, that she can honestly say she would surrender her life for his if the need arose. Will he do the same for her? He certain seems to love her, the way he touches her, holds her and gives her “kisses", a sign of affection common amongst the humans. He's also taken the necessary steps to claim her as a bonded partner.

Before the sun had set, she was still a virgin, but now she's not only become a true woman, her partner, a high-status male of the human village they reside in, may have also made her a mother. It's more than she could've hoped for, especially when considering the superior offspring the human's seed will grant her. What a lovely thought, her belly swollen as she grows their firstborn. She's longed to feel the squirms and kicks. These pleasant thoughts, along with her exhaustion from the splendor of sex, whisk her into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Awakening the following morning, Lysander finds himself alone in bed. He swiftly rolls over and calls out to Cassia, who doesn't respond. Making his way through the hall and past the storeroom and his former bedchamber, now merely an empty space, he finds Cassia in the main chamber, naked and seated near the small cauldron, where she cooks a meal. Beside her are bowls and a ladle, which she clearly intends to fill, once the meal is ready. She'd watched him cook and learned how to prepare dishes of his preference, which she also greatly enjoys.

She'd heard him as soon as he first awoke, but hoped to have their meal ready before then, intent on bringing it to him. She turns to her master and smiles, only to lift a bowl and point a clawed finger toward their bedchamber.

“Were you going to bring our morning meal into our bedchamber?" He asks, cocking his head.

Cassia, who's since learned the meaning of many words, understands “bring", “meal" and “bedchamber". She nods her head.

“Kass'ya. Serve." She bows her head rather playfully.

“Oh, Cassia." He smiles and softly chuckles.

Suddenly, his smile fades.

“Oh, Cassia!" He whimpers, running his fingers through his wavy, brown hair. “Last night, we... Oh, no..."

“Hrrmm?!"

She's thoroughly perplexed by his sudden change in demeanor. Hastily approaching her, Lysander sits beside her. He slips an arm around her scrawny waist and pulls her a little closer, her furry body pressing against his warm and soft flesh. She rests her chin on his shoulder, enjoying his scent as she nuzzles him.

“Mmm!" She coos, sniffing him.

“Do you remember what we did yesterday? Do you remember Orrin and Circe?"

Hearing the familiar names, she nods her head.

“They had to be banished because of their child. Half-breeds, the Polovin, they're forbidden. Had I not sent them away, they would be dead, burned alive. Do you understand?"

Cassia lifts a clawed hand and runs a finger beneath her bottom lip, trying to decipher his complex and mysterious language. While some words now have meaning, the others might as well be a magic spell. Realizing that she isn't comprehending him, he finds some dust, blown in from the outside. Smoothing it out with the blade of his hand, he uses his finger to draw in it. He appears quite worried. Cassia watches as he draws two simple figures, one with a tail and ears like her. He then draws a basket and a tiny head with ears like hers poking out.

“Oh!" She points, smiling at the depiction of a baby.

“Good. This is a 'baby'... Baby." He says, pointing at the image. “Lysander. Cassia." He continues, pointing at the other figures.

“Mmm!" She leans into him, nuzzling his neck.

“Orrin. Circe. Baby." He says, pointing at the figures again.

“Hrrmm?"

Suddenly, Lysander draws mourning stones above their heads.

“Orrin. Circe. Baby."

Cassia quickly comprehends him. She now realizes that the reason they banished the human, his rabbit-kin lover and their newborn baby was because they would be killed. Is there a rule forbidding the Vostii, the Sabaarii or the Korutan from mating with humans?! Cassia begins to fear that their night together might spell the end of them, and nervously nibbles on her claws. Realizing that she comprehends, and that he's frightened her, Lysander takes Cassia into his arms and kisses her cheek and neck, his hands lovingly rubbing her back.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to scare you. I just love you so much, and I need you to understand; what we've done is dangerous... Maybe once wasn't enough, but from now on, I cannot spill my seed within you."

Her ears suddenly perk and she lifts her head from his chest. She recalls the potion, a powerful tea brewed by the shaman. It prevents those yet unwilling females and those who were assaulted and bred against their will from reproducing! Undesirable females such as herself had little need for it, but with few prospects to attain a family of her own, Cassia had been chosen by the tribe's shaman to learn the trade and serve as a tribal healer. Her pure, virginal energy would've improved the strength of her potions.

She immediately recalls the ingredients, but does not know how to convey her message to her master. The language barrier is a frustrating obstacle. He does not possess intuitive body language or know the hand gestures or the ancient tribal language of her people. Looking at the figures drawn in the dust, she wipes them away, only to use her claw to carefully draw a simplified depiction of herself with a swollen belly. She then draws a bowl with a wispy smoke coming from inside, then crosses out her swollen belly.

“Hmm... No baby?" He asks, pointing at the potion.

Cassia nods her head.

“What do you need?"

Rising to her paw-like feet, she moves toward his pantry and rummages through it, her bushy tail swaying behind her small buttocks as she stretches to reach the higher shelves. She whimpers at her failure and motions to him. With a little smile and a soft chuckle, he comes to her aid. She collects many of the ingredients, but one is missing! Where is the bruised mushroom?! She looks high and low for the mushrooms needed for the tea, but Lysander doesn't have any. Beginning to panic, she turns to him and whimpers.

“What is it? What's wrong?"

“Greeb." She speaks with a trilled 'r'.

She feels quite proud of herself for remember the word, one she'd only heard a handful of times and many moons ago. He furls his brow and cocks his head, and for a brief moment she feels quite foolish for thinking they would share the same word for the bruised mushroom. She sighs and rests a hand upon her forehead, taking a moment to think. Returning to her master, Cassia drops to her knees and uses her claws to draw in the soft sand. She forms the outline of the mushroom, and looks up at him.

“Greeb."

“Oh, I see! You're missing an ingredient! Alright, well... I guess we'd better find it. Perhaps a merchant sells it?" He thinks aloud, rubbing his chin. “Get dressed, Cassia."

She'd learned these words early on, and promptly races off to retrieve her tailored robes. Once she's dressed, she attaches her leash for him, as he's busy putting on his armor and sword. He rarely leaves their home without them. Once they're ready, they leave their house and head directly for the market bazaar. She turns to her master, who motions with his head. Is he allowing her to lead?! With a little smile and a wave of his hand, he insists that Cassia begin her search. She walks just in front of her master, scanning the merchants' wares very carefully.

Eventually, she finds an apothecary, whose stand holds many herbs, spices and dried mushrooms, some of which hang from strings draped over sticks that hold up her red fabric roof. Lysander steps up to the booth and looks around, only to glance at Cassia who points to what she needs. It's a peculiar mushroom at the rear of the booth, one which he's rarely seen, but as he's never cared for anyone from the beast races before, why would he? For whatever reason, it and several other herbs are kept away from prying hands, dangling behind the elderly proprietor, who hums to herself as she collects more herbs to sell.

The mushroom cap is about the size of his fist, thick and relatively flat, with an unusual combination of colors. The cap is a deep purple, with little veins of green throughout, while the fins and stem beneath the cap are as black as the night sky, and quite glossy, even when desiccated. After a moment of failing to notice her customers, Lysander clears his throat.

“Oh, hello! How may I help you?!" The shopkeeper chirps, whirling around to face the Captain of the guards.

“Yes, I need some of those funny looking mushrooms over there." Lysander begins.

“Which?"

“The purple ones."

“Those?!" She gasps.

“Yes, those." Lysander nods.

“But that's neberum. What do you need neberum for?" The shopkeeper asks, quite perplexed.

“Oh, she just likes to use them in her uhm... Cooking?"

“Is that a question?" The shopkeeper appears rather amused.

“No." Lysander slowly shakes his head.

“Neberum are toxic, and have only a handful of specific medicinal uses..."

“She, uh, uses them in her cooking." He insists, his face turning red.

“I see..." The shopkeeper narrows her eyes.

Scanning Cassia's form very slowly and methodically, the aging human seems suspicious of the Captain and his Vostii slave. Cassia smiles quite innocently and raises a clawed hand, waving to the shopkeeper, whose wrinkled lips curl into a little smirk.

“Yes..." Lysander murmurs, his eyes darting to and fro. “So, may we purchase this 'neberum'?"

“Of course! I recommend buying by the pound!" She chirps.

The shopkeeper retrieves a basket full of the strange mushrooms from beneath the counter and Lysander promptly purchases two pounds, which she places into a small, linen sack. The shopkeeper is careful not to touch them with her bare hands, instead using a glove made of leather.

“Here you go. Just make sure she 'cooks' immediately after 'preparing', if you know what I mean..."

“Preparing the neberum?" He furls his brow and cocks his head.

“No. How should I put this? ... ... When she has the necessary ingredients..." The shopkeeper rests a hand over her belly and taps her fingers individually. “She should 'cook' with neberum..."

“... Oh! I see!"

“Yes..."

“Come on, Cassia. We'd better return home so you can 'cook'!"

As they turn to head for home, Lysander bumps into a man in a cloak, who suddenly emerges from a nearby street. It's a common mishap, as the streets near the bazaar are often quite crowded. The man stumbles and turns, just as Lysander is about to ask if he's alright. It's Jace, his friend and one of his subordinates! He's not patrolling today, and is out perusing the marketplace. Jace bows his head and apologizes to Lysander, who is quick to forgive him. However, it's then that Jace notices the sack, and the shop from which they're leaving. With a furled brow, he lifts his head and looks into Lysander's eyes.

“Captain?"

“Yes?"

“Is that neberum in that sack?"

“..."

Lysander is at a loss for words! How did he know?! After a brief moment of ponderance, however, it becomes clear to him.

“Are you... Are you bedding Cassia, Captain?"

“What?! Why would I do that?! Ahem... And if I was, that's none of your business!" He growls.

“Captain... Are you certain that's wise?"

“I don't know what you're talking about." Lysander retorts.

“I'm not a fool, despite what you may think... We've known each other since we were barely men. What are you doing? Please, Lysander, I'm speaking not just as your loyal soldier but also as a friend. I've always trusted you, and I hope you trust me in kind, so please hear my words..."

“Go on..."

“We'd all met her before the raid, so many years ago. Some of us thought your relationship was quite touching, and several were envious of what you had." Jace begins, glancing at Cassia who stands in blissful ignorance, directly beside her master. “You've found a Vostii with her body and hair and eyes, and you even gave her the same name, but Cassia is dead."

“I'm aware of that..."

“That woman is of the wolf-kin. She's not a human; she's not capable of being a human. She will never sit up all night and talk with you, nor will she comprehend every word you say. She will not relate to your feelings in a way that can be articulated beyond the drawing of pictures. She lives through instinct and intuition, and what humanity you think you see is nothing more than a combination of her similar form and desires, and a series of skillful imitations."

“I'm aware of that as well." Lysander grumbles, turning his eyes away.

“She's not a replacement. You cannot fill the void by sleeping with a woman of the beast races who just so happens to resemble her."

“And what of your proclivities, Jace?!" Lysander suddenly snaps. “What of your Sabaarii and Korutan?! We've all known about them, and how they serve you..."

“That's different. Lyra and Theodora are my servants, whom I purchased. I don't confuse my enjoyment of their bodies with the love of a woman who has long since turned to dust."

“..."

“Think about what you're doing for just a moment. This isn't healthy. It's merely a sick game you're playing, and she's your toy." Jace pleads.

“I know what I'm doing, now I suggest you mind your own business, and return home. Tomorrow, I expect to see you attending to your duties. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do." Lysander snarls, thoroughly irritated by his underling.

“Yes, Captain." Jace sighs.

“And Jace?"

“Yes, Captain?"

“You are in no position to pass judgement on me..." Lysander glares at his soldier.

“What I do in my home is nothing like what you're doing, Captain..." Jace retorts.

Lysander deeply desires to give a witty retort, but the truth is that Jace is completely correct. Left speechless, the Captain of the guards merely pushes past his subordinate. Forcibly moving him aside, he pulls Cassia's leash as he calls out to her, and the Vostii of the wolf-kin dutifully and even gleefully follows behind her master. Jace watches them walking away, slowly shaking his head, before returning to his own errands. With the discomforting confrontation now behind them, Lysander and Cassia dash home.

She wonders what was said by his underling that has affected Lysander so, and if she could figure out a way to ask him, she would. Instead, when they stop in front of their home, she reaches out a hand and gently caresses Lysander's forearm. He turns to her, smiles and then embraces her. Her eyes grow wide as he gives her a modest display of affection in public, though no one appears to be around. He opens his home and waves Cassia inside, and immediately upon entering her master's house, she makes her way toward the ingredients she'd left out and hastily prepares the tea.

She works as fast as she can, as she knows the tea will no longer be effective if she's already pregnant. Unfortunately, the tea has a very narrow window of effectiveness; it would've been better had he already possessed some neberum, and better still had she brewed the tea immediately after they'd mated. With everything else he had, she would've assumed he would've had some, but perhaps she's his first slave? She takes out the mushrooms, touching them with only the tips of her claws, which she then quickly dips into the boiling water, sanitizing them.

Lysander watches her as she prepares this tea and finds the concoction quite beautiful. When combined with the other ingredients, her tea bubbles into a greenish-blue liquid with a faint, purple hue, depending on which way the light strikes it. Using a ladle, she pours herself a cup of the tea and blows on it until the steam has begun to fade, then takes a deep breath and guzzles down the substance as quickly as she can. Pulling the clay goblet from her lips, she grits her teeth, winces and shudders.

“Good?" He asks, matching her grimace.

“Bleh..." She sticks out her tongue, still wincing.

“I'm sorry." He says, draping an arm over her shoulders before kissing her head.

“Mmm!" She smiles and coos, leaning into his side.

She's learned the word for an apology, and the fact that he cares enough to say it makes her happy.

“But... No baby?"

Lifting up her head, she rests a hand over her flat belly and shakes her head 'no'. He sighs with relief. It's not just that he was unprepared to become a father, but it's clear to her now that this could be very dangerous. Lysander embraces Cassia and kisses the side of her head, his fingers weaving through her thick, auburn hair as he nuzzles one of her ears.

“Thank the gods for that tea."

Leaning into him, she nuzzles his cheek before giving him a lick. When he laughs and turns his head toward her, she steals a kiss. She likes kissing! Though she shows her affection for her master, now also her lover, she cannot help but feel a tinge of sorrow. One day, she hopes to have a family of her own. It was something she'd always believed would be denied to her, due to her uninteresting form and her low status. Perhaps in the future, his people will learn to accept the half-breeds, and as superior as they are to her own kind, Cassia is eager to birth one, if not several.

Lysander notices her melancholy, his hand caressing her furry cheek as he kisses her lips so softly and lovingly. His brow softens as he gazes into her big, blue orbs. She stares back at him, only breaking it when she blinks. With a little sniffle, she bows her head and rests it against the armor that covers his chest.

“Are you alright, Cassia?"

After a moment of hesitation, she nods her head. He quickly realizes the truth. As a Captain of the guards, he's spent years dealing with criminals, and he knows when someone is lying to him, even when they're one of the beast folk. It's clear, however, that Cassia only lies because she doesn't wish to upset him. Lifting her head by her chin, he leans in and kisses her lips one more time, only to make her look into his eyes as he speaks.

“I know you must want babies. What woman doesn't? I vow that someday we will have children."

“Hrrmm?" She cocks her head and furls her brow.

Using the sand and his fingertip, he draws them together, then adds tiny stick figures surrounding them. Her eyes light up. Does he want children now?!

“Baby. Soon." He speaks slowly and concisely, resting a hand over her belly.

“Mmrrmm!" She whimpers.

She knows those words. Waiting is very hard to do, especially for her kind. Still, he's agreed to give her what she so desperate craves, so she smiles and holds up three fingers, innocently batting her eyelashes. With a little chuckle, Lysander nods and Cassia becomes much happier. She kisses him and wags her bushy tail as they sit on the floor and snuggle. Time passes, and Cassia and Lysander continue with their lives. It's a pleasant existence, and she enjoys being known to his people, who see her daily as she accompanies her master, and secret lover, throughout his routine.

She's drunk the tea after every mating, even when he's removed himself and spilled his seed on her fur. It's quite a chore to wash it all out, as he always has so much, and it's always so very thick. The moon has cycled once already, and though she has yet to have her monthly bleed after losing her virginity to Lysander, she's certain that she isn't with child. Sometimes, it's a tad late. In the month since their first mating, Lysander has become more protective, and has taken Cassia's safety seriously. He's not only fitted her for thick cloth armor, but bought her leather bracers and begun training her in combat.

Though it isn't commonplace, it isn't exactly unusual. The most loyal of the slaves, so devoted to their human masters, often carry weapons to protect them. On several occasions, Cassia had watched Lysander mediate arguments between two humans, which led to their Vostii, Korutan or even Sabaarii slaves preparing for a fight, sometimes with the slaves of the other human. It's a flattering gesture on the part of her master, who has gone above and beyond to prove his love for her, even if the rest of his people would condemn it.

Stills, she always feels so silly wearing the armor, and regrets not being a better warrior for him. He's tried various weapons, like his sword and several daggers, but she's not good with any of these. The sword is far too heavy, and the daggers seem inferior to her own claws, which she prefers. She can throw a javelin a short distance, but isn't that strong, due to her small stature and sleek body. Even her bow has been modified, giving it a lighter draw weight. So far, she's adept at using a sling, and with her small bow, she can often hit targets with precision, though it's not very powerful.

She knows that he worries for her safety, as they live in a village close to the savage tribes who often raid his people for their food and for breeding women. Thankfully, he's never lost his temper because of her failings. She knows in the back of her mind that he will always fight to protect her, though she'd prefer being able to at least help him in kind. What else is a bonded mate to do? Or “wife", as she's heard the humans call their chosen females. In the meantime, she's become an excellent cook and seamstress, and her garments often draw the attention of even the human women.

It's a pleasant existence, with few worries. Then, one day, as they often do, things changed. Lysander sat in his office, hearing the complaints of the citizens and taking the reports of the guards, while Cassia sat in her own chair, a few feet away from his desk. As he finished hearing a report from a group of guards whom he'd ordered to patrol on horseback, a runner burst into the room. It startled Cassia, who jumped from her chair and moved toward her master, while a guard drew his sword, nearly cutting down the intruding runner.

He bowed his head and apologized for his rudeness, only to hastily explain himself. He'd been a member of a settlement to the east, near the deserts of Horabii. These lands are home to many Sabaarii tribes of the sand-kin, a form of Sabaarii whose lizard-like bodies have dense and tough hides adapted for the scorching sun. The humans had settled there after gold, silver and lapis lazuli was discovered in quantities. A prosperous city sprang up around an oasis, and so the Sabaarii nearest them probed for weaknesses. They found one.

Invading by dead of night, the battle was swift and decisive. The human guards, with strong armor and weapons of bronze, beat back the primitive Sabaarii, handily defeating the small raiding party. They had assumed it was over, but the few Sabaarii who'd escaped must have traveled back home and to other tribal villages. Communicating in their primitive tongue and drawing simple script in the dirt, the sand-kin banded together to destroy the humans, and destroy them they did.

At dusk, several days later, a large shipment had been sent to the shore villages, located near the jungles of the Mogashen region. That's when the Sabaarii attacked en masse. Likely believing the convoy to be a detachment of soldiers, they swarmed the city's meager walls. During the skirmish, a dozen Sabaarii scurried through the waste tunnels, enduring the muck and mire so that they may unlock the gates. After killing several guards who fired bows and ballistas, the Sabaarii who'd snuck inside allowed their sand-kin brethren to enter the now vulnerable city.

Guards sounded the alarm, blowing loud horns, but it was too late. Men were killed, children were thrown screaming into the fires and off of balconies, and women were raped in the streets, often taken by several Sabaarii warriors at one time. Once the warriors had released their seed inside of these poor women, they were dragged off, screaming and crying. They were so brutal, so carnal. Some bit the throats of guards and seemed to drink the blood spurting from their arteries!

Even the elderly and infirmed failed to escape the Sabaarii invasion. Those females who were older or weak, incapable of bearing children or serving the tribes as slaves, had their throats slashed. They ripped them open with teeth and claws when they were no longer entertaining to their new masters, alongside the aging men. Small children, sobbing and calling out for their slain fathers and violated mothers, we rounded up and clubbed as the Sabaarii laughed. They played a strange game with their severed heads, balancing them on their long and tapering tails before tossing them into the air and batting them down streets and alleys.

The runner had somehow managed to witness all of this before fleeing on horseback, only to make it to the nearest port city. He'd caught up with the convoy, flush with precious metals, silks, spices and other things collected by the various colonies. All of it was to be sent by the ships back to their kingdom, where it would fill the coffers of the empire. Upon hearing of the attack, the soldiers aided the convoy in boarding the ships. Then, to the horror of everyone, they sailed away!

They abandoned the frightened and defenseless citizens, holding them at bay with shields and swords and javelins. Those few who had fishing boats took their chances and tried to traverse the inland sea, to reach the kingdom on the other side. Whether or not they'll survive the journey, only the gods know. The runner was welcomed aboard, as he is a scout for the King's army, but he was unwilling to accompany his traitorous compatriots. Instead, he traded horse after horse and raced from village to village, delivering a warning.

The soldiers of these villages were far less cowardly and made haste to the port city, while their citizens were evacuated. The runner, being the only man they could spare, was given a potion to boost his strength and another horse, then told to reach the next largest city. He rode until his horse dropped dead from exhaustion, leaving many a poor soul behind; they pleaded for his mercy as he passed them by. Once his horse was gone, he sprinted until he could hardly see, and now he stands before Lysander, shaking and panting.

As soon as the runner had finished delivering his harrowing monologue, he collapsed onto the floor and died of exhaustion. Did the other soldiers succeed in stopping the Sabaarii?! It's true that the humans' intelligence, technology and exceptional communication skills have made them a force to be feared, but in hand-to-hand combat, a human is no match for even the average Vostii or Sabaarii. If the Korutan weren't so willing to follow the humans, they could conquer the world with only their fists.

While a coordinated defense will succeed, it all depends on how many are coming, and that is a detail that the runner failed to elaborate. Without any further information, Lysander had only gut instinct to rely on, and what an excellent instinct it was. He sent a man to warn the city's Regent, Egan of Chosh, a man of esteem and chosen by their King for the role. Once this man was sent, Lysander assumed command and began preparing their defenses. A man who'd ridden his horse to death must have covered many miles, too many for even the beast folk to traverse in several days' time.

He issued orders to all of his men: Be vigilant, and be ready. By the time Egan of Chosh knew what had happened, most of the citizens were already being warned, and those who lived outside of the city, the farmers and ranchers, where brought behind the walls to hide. The city had never been besieged before. Luckily, Lysander, who'd seen one siege in his lifetime, in his early years as a soldier, bolstered the defenses upon becoming Captain of the guards. He requested stronger and taller walls, more guard towers and better doors, with reinforced gates, more machicolations and murder holes.

Egan of Chosh, a wise man who trusted a soldier's instinct, allowed these expensive modifications. Their being close to the hostile and indigenous tribes made it easy to accept the costs. Within two days of the runner's ill-fated visit, the city was packed, the soldiers were ready and even the outlying settlements were prepared to be evacuated at a moment's notice. That's when it happened. On the third day, a runner arrived. He raced through the farms and ranches, urging the citizens who had yet to flee to retreat behind the walls.

He made haste to the city's palace, and upon reaching Egan of Chosh, he bore awful news. While the soldiers of the port city fought valiantly, they were outmatched. Only a few hundred strong, these men fought many thousands of Sabaarii, and though they bought time for Lysander to prepare, they could not stop the horde. At their pace, they would be there by the morrow. The runner was not incorrect, and when the sun had reached its zenith, a wave of humanoid bodies appeared in the distant fields.

The men were horrified. The Sabaarii numbered at least four-thousand strong, while they were only six-hundred. With the citizens and their loyal beast folk slaves, they were five times that. Still, an untrained human is no match for a skilled tribal warrior, least of all one of the beast folk, whose senses and strength is often only matched by their bestial brutality. It is so well known amongst the human kingdoms, that phrases such as “ravage like a Vostii", “punch like a Korutan", and “bite like a Sabarii" are routinely heard. Even being aided by their more loyal slaves only marginally boosted their chances.

As the horde marched closer, Lysander and his men readied themselves for war. He had planned with more experienced veterans, many of whom had since left the service of His Majesty. They were understandably eager to offer battle strategies. Based on their lack of numbers and superior weapons and tactics, they'd decided it would be best to man the wall, place obstructions around the city and kill as many Sabaarii at range as they could. Hopefully, that would be enough.

Upon seeing the city, the Sabaarii shrieked in their high-pitched hissing caw, which they often make when excited or enraged. The closer they came to the walls the men could hear their distant shouts. As the most intelligent of the beast folk, the Sabaarii spoke amongst each other, working themselves into a psychotic frenzy.

“Rohd'ven, uh'va sya Yasheriit!" They shrieked.

The Sabaarii rushed the walls without order or leadership, moving as a solid mass, as though their combined numbers made them a single body, each part moving cohesively to aid the other. The caltrops and hidden spike pits took care of scores of Sabaarii, but there were so many! They leapt over the bodies of the wounded and continued their charge. Though they cannot scale walls like the common lizards, who are often hunted for food, their leap and their menacing claws could potentially aid them in this endeavor.

Lysander turned to Cassia, whom he placed in her armor. She looked to him and flashed an anxious smile, glancing at the pile of arrows he'd given her and nodding her head. Like the other beast folk who've since embraced their status, she was eager to serve and protect her master and clandestine lover. So long as she could help it, no harm would come to him, and she knew that he would protect her in kind. When the Sabaarii horde was within range, Lysander gave the order, and wave after wave of arrows were fired.

Cassia was forced to wait, as her bow, half the strength of the other archers' bows, could not reach them. It wouldn't be long, however, as the Sabaarii were soon close enough to trip over the thin ropes the humans had strung from short poles shoved into the ground. This was their cue to throw their javelins, and it was also when Cassia could begin shooting her arrows. Many a javelin impaled the shrieking Sabaarii, while most of her arrows found marks. Some struck legs and others torsos, while she noted an arrow sticking into something at head level, though she never saw who it was or where exactly she'd shot them.

They fell moments later, and so it did not matter. With the horde leaping at the walls, they managed to nearly reach the humans at the top! Now was the time. Stones and hot oil were thrown and poured over the sides of the walls, while javelins, arrows and rocks came flying out of the machicolations that ran along the guard towers and over the outer gates. The Sabaarii bashed against the metal gates, bending them with raw force. They did not have any siege weaponry that Lysander saw, until a shadow passed over him.

Looking into the sky, a large boulder flew toward the wall! It smashed into the bricks of the outer wall, chipping them and giving the Sabaarii a place to leap off of. Looking into the distance, he noticed a pair of catapult, several ballistae and one trebuchet, still disassembled. How did they acquire such weaponry, when the beast folk have never been seen to manufacture anything beyond stone and bone tools? It's then that he recalled the soldiers who'd sacrificed their lives to give them time to prepare, and to warn the kingdom.

These must have been their own siege weaponry, and as the Sabaarii attempted to use it, their inexperience showed. They used the ballistae to fire a few bolts, but they are too far away to reach the walls when aiming directly, and they do not have the knowledge to adjust for the sloping trajectory. The trebuchet remained disassembled. They moved around it, scratching their heads while yelling and hissing at each other as they tried to figure out how to take the pieces off of the cart.

Only the two catapults served them, but that was more than enough. A large rock smashed another portion of the wall, and several soldiers fell into the horde below. Rather than abandon them to die, the other soldiers raised their shields and slid down the crumbling wall! Those other men would not die alone! Touched by their courage, Lysander ordered a charge and the men swarmed the startled Sabaarii, who gasped and gazed upon them with wide eyes. They curled their bodies and leapt from the walls, moving back and forming a new line.

It's the most organization the horde had yet shown. With their remaining javelins, the humans threw a volley, then readied their swords, raised their shields and charged the Sabaarii horde! Cassia's heart raced and she kept her eyes trained on Lysander, who remained in the fray. She shot arrow after arrow, trying to ward off those who came too close to him. She would not be denied her bonded partner, not when there's hope for a future, for breeding. She was not alone in her fight.

Seeing their beloved masters surrounded by the enemy, the other slaves, some Vostii, some Korutan and even some Sabaarii, took their places beside her and donned bows, slings and javelins. Though vastly outnumbered, the soldiers' superior weapons, armor and skill in combat proved more than adequate to turn the tide. Leading from the front, as any true warrior would, Lysander rallied the men and pushed back the horde. As he stood behind the very first column of men, rocks and primitive arrows flew by.

His heart raced, beating so hard that it felt as though it might escape from his chest. He'd fought many a battle, but glancing at the wall, where Cassia stood, this was the first he could recall since the death of her namesake where he hadn't wished to fall in combat. He must survive, for his Vostii as much as for himself. As he looked to Cassia, a shadow of a rock passed overhead. Thrown from the mighty arm of a catapult, the large stone, easily the weight of five men, smashed into the wall right beneath Cassia's paw-like feet!

It crumbled and she shrieked, losing her balance and tumbling down. With her animal-like reflexes, she managed to land quite gracefully on the bloodstained ground, however, as she did, the line began to falter. The Sabaarii made a valiant attempt to crush their opponents by moving on the flanks, and with their lines quite thin at either side, forming a crescent around the city gates, they just might succeed. Lysander screamed for his love, calling Cassia's name as she rose to her feet, only to leap away from a Sabarii bent on cleaving her head from her shoulders with a stolen sword.

She turned to face her attacker, only for another to appear, just as the flank she'd landed near began to falter. With the strength of the gods themselves, Lysander shoved his way through his own soldiers, cutting down every Sabaarii warrior he came across. He ordered his men to regroup near the gates, just as he impaled one of the lizard-kin on his sword. His men obeyed, though it took some time for his orders to pass, traveling over the sound of the screaming and the clanking of wood and metal.

As they regrouped, they Sabaarii bolstered their flanks, bringing fresh troops into the range of their archers and slingers. Meanwhile, Lysander continued to batter his way toward Cassia, his Vostii slave and his only true companion. She leapt away from another attack, only to be tackled mid-air by a Sabaarii warrior. They landed on the ground and rolled, and she found herself pinned onto her back. With a clawed hand raised, she shrieked and shielded herself, just as the warrior hissed loudly and raises an axe made from the leg bone of one of the human's beasts of burden.

Just as he was about to strike, a dagger flew through the air and stuck into his side, throwing the warrior off-balance and causing him to screech in pain. Lysander charged, having used his secondary weapon just in time to save Cassia. She sat up and tried to take aim with her bow, drawing one of the few remaining arrows she still possessed, only to watch as Lysander jumped over her legs, swinging his sword and cleaving the beast man's arm from his body, in only one swing!

As the Sabaarii fell, writhing in agony, he jammed his sword into its throat, ending his suffering. As quickly as the Sabaarii fell, two more leapt over the corpses of their fallen brethren, eager to take their revenge on the bronze-clad human! He pulled his sword from the neck of his deceased foe, hoping to survive the assault, when an arrow suddenly struck one of the Sabaarii in the face. Gurgling as blood spewed from near his eye socket, the Sabaarii landed and rolled, mortally wounded.

Raising his sword, the other Sabaarii impaled himself, the long, tapering tail of the lizard man flailing as he tried to grab hold of Lysander's throat. His sharp claws would be as useful as the human's dagger.

“Uh'va meh'kii Yasheriit!" He shrieked, blood oozing from the wound and dripping from his lips.

Before the fierce Sabaarii warrior could grab him, however, another arrow appeared, striking the warrior through the ear and killing him instantly. Lysander dropped the Sabaarii's corpse onto the ground and pulled his sword from the body, then turned to face his savior. He felt a warmth in his chest as he gazed upon Cassia, readying her bow. Racing up to her, Lysander passed a fallen and battered shield. He claimed it, protecting his Vostii to the best of his ability, while she recycled arrows from the battlefield.

Fighting side-by-side, and in some cases back-to-back, the pair were seen by the warriors and the slaves alike, filling the denizens of the city with hope and resolve. They carried on with the battle, their spirits lifted, and after a long and bloody assault, the Sabaarii were finally defeated, killed to a man. The few who'd remained behind to operate the catapults were swiftly captured, and of them, all but two were killed. The cowardly warriors who'd surrendered and the wounded who could recover would be sold into slavery.

They would serve their human masters or die. Submission is the only guarantee of survival, and the only hope to continue their bloodlines. Standing amidst the grime and the gore, Lysander turned to Cassia, dropped his weapons and embraced her. She held her master close, feeling how he shivered. Luckily, it was not visible to his men or the slaves atop the wall, who all cheered for their victory, and the man who helped ensure it. She could not help but smile as he whispered a simple phrase into her ear, a phrase she'd heard many times before.

“I love you."

It's a powerful and touching phrase, and her arms clung even tighter to her master. Once the elation had waned, it was time to clean up the remnants, and the citizens of the city learned just how close they came to total annihilation. They counted the bodies as they pillaged them for valuables before setting them in piles to be burned. It was a brutal battle, and while lives were lost, the Sabaarii, so uncouth and unprepared, were slain nearly 100 to 1, for as they lost 4,000 lives, the denizens of the city burned only 40 of their own atop the funeral pyre.

Egan of Chosh, the Regent of their fine city, praised Lysander as a hero, and treasures were bestowed upon him. As he was seen killing no less than 213 Sabaarii with his own sword, all considered it a proper reward. Just as Lysander's skill in battle became legend overnight, so too did Cassia's marksmanship. Though not the strongest or the bravest, of the slaves who partook in the battle, she claimed the most Sabaarii lives, with scores of arrows and several dozen bodies lying beyond her bow.

The human and his Vostii slave girl claimed the highest honors, and were instantly revered by all. Nothing could possibly ruin their standing in the community. Waking up early one morning, however, Cassia felt strange. Her breasts were unusually tender, and as she sat up, she suddenly became gravely ill. The Vostii scurried out of bed and raced toward a chamber pot, where she promptly vomited. This startled Lysander. He raced to join her, holding back her flowing hair and comforting her.

Her eyes widened in horror as she realized the implications of her symptoms. It had been another moon since the grand battle and she still hadn't felt the annual pains or expelled her monthly blood. Now, with the sickness and the tenderness of her breasts, which seemed somewhat larger than usual, she began to panic. Lysander tried to comfort her only to share in her fears, as when Cassia gave one of her breasts a squeeze, she lactated...

Part 3-

Walking along the city streets, Jace glances at Lysander, who leads them toward the barracks. Jace will begin his duties, patrolling the city, while his companion will occupy his office and listen to reports and citizen's complaints. They'd crossed paths along the main thoroughfare, as Jace had overslept and left his home later than usual. Upon seeing Lysander, he took it upon himself to walk with his Captain and friend. He was glad to see him, as Lysander has seemed rather distant these past few days, perhaps even sullen.

For the first time since anyone can remember, Lysander has begun keeping Cassia at home when he attends his duties as Captain of the guards. For nearly two weeks now, she's been decidedly absent. It did not escape the other guards, who'd grown accustomed to seeing the attentive Vostii by their Captain's side. Few, however, would dare intrude on his personal life, though his aloofness disturbs them. Walking side-by-side, Jace cannot force down the overwhelming urge to know. What troubles him? Did he receive bad news? Is Cassia unwell?

It claws at his mind, and as their leather boots thump on the mud brick streets, Jace continues to watch his Captain. The sun reflects off of Lysander's bronze armor and helm, but his eyes are so dull and so distant. He doesn't look like the chipper young man that Jace had once known. It reminds him more of the time before Cassia, when Lysander was still recovering from the death of her namesake. Jace takes a breath and leans a little closer to Lysander.

“Are you feeling unwell?" Jace quietly asks.

“What?" Lysander appears to snap out of a trance.

“Are you ill?"

“No. I'm fine."

“Is Cassia ill?"

Lysander slows his pace, only to turn his head, look Jace in the eyes and then hesitantly shake his head.

“Is that a 'no, she's not ill' or a 'please stop prying'?"

“Which one will cause you to cease?" Lysander quips.

“... Neither." Jace flashes a little smirk.

“How did I know you would say that." Lysander sighs.

“We've known each a long time. You and I, we've grown up together. We've been through battles together. When you gave yourself to the human Cassia, I was the first to know. When I gave myself to my first love, Acacia, you were the first one I told."

“And you insisted upon telling me when you lay with her sister, her cousin, and the girl who lived next door."

“What can I say? I was a precocious young man." Jace chuckles.

“What's the point of this little speech?" Lysander asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“That if there's anything you'd like to share, anyone you'd like to confide in, you can turn to me. I'll hear anything you wish to say, and it will be safer than a jeweler's lock-box."

Lysander turns to Jace and looks him in the eyes. Though he appears interested in talking, opening his mouth and glancing at the ground as if pondering his response, it all stops when they turn a corner. Near the square, the very center of the city, they find themselves surrounded by a horde of people. This, however, is not what's caused Lysander's reluctance to speak. He turns his attention toward a particular structure, a smoldering pyre sits atop a large, rectangular stone platform. Often, this platform is used for public displays, such as the funerary cremations of the wealthy, or masses of slain soldiers.

After the grand battle with the coalition of Sabaarii tribes, the 40 lost souls were burned here. The last time it was used was the night before, to punish criminals. Tied to charred tree trunks are three horribly disfigured bodies. They'd been burned alive for committing a forbidden act. A young, human woman, once so beautiful and vivacious, is now a charred husk. Beside her is the desiccated body of a Vostii male, a slave of the feline breed. He'd been purchased by her father only several seasons ago, for use in the fields. Hanging upside down, with ropes tied around the ankles, is their newborn baby, who'd died alongside them.

Lysander stands and stares, gazing upon the remains of what was once a lively young woman and a healthy Vostii man. Their Polotan child, a half-breed, is so small. They burned the innocent beside the fornicating woman and her lover, without hesitation or remorse. His mind wanders for a moment, as he ponders what their lives were like. What did her friends and family think of her crime? She was the daughter of the wealthiest landowner in the region, and so she would've been quite popular, her exploits well-known. Were they initially excited to learn that she was with child?

Perhaps they were hoping it was a youthful indiscretion, and that she would marry the father? Unwed mothers are rare in the kingdom, mostly a result of fathers who've died in battle. 'War widows' and 'brides of the sword', as they're often called. He recalls how some viewed a particular man in the city as being responsible for her state. Who doesn't enjoy gossip now and again? Her friendship with the city's wealthiest merchant certainly caught the eye of many, further fueling the inferno of rumor. Whispers told of nightly rendezvous with said merchant, a young, unmarried and good-looking man who'd inherited his father's riches.

They'd spent much time together at the merchant's villa, so it was a tale told by many lips, though some found it odd that the rich merchant didn't seek to claim her or her child, in spite of these rumors. As time wore on and the birth drew closer, the young mother attempted to flee. During the chaos of the cleanup of the grand battle with the Sabaarii tribals, she was caught by the town guards. She'd attempted to sneak past the men and failed, as they were on high alert, fearful of another attack by the savage beast folk. Upon being stopped, she first lied about who she was and why she was out so late. Her father's reputation betrayed her.

Disbelieving her lies, they demanded she dismount. Instead of complying, however, she raced past them, taking her fine blooded horse into the night. She was not a skilled rider and was swiftly captured. Brought before Lysander, he returned the pregnant woman to her family. At that time, she was over six months pregnant, and it showed. Her wealthy father marched to the barracks in the dead of night to fetch her, hired swordsmen by his side. They took the trembling woman home, though she protested. After that, she wasn't seen again for two moons, until her own father exposed her crimes.

Under questioning by her irate family, she admitted to fornicating with a man of the beast folk, having relations with him first in the barn, and later, in her own bed. She'd enjoyed her lover many times since he'd claimed her virginity atop a bale of hay. Her parents were horrified to learn the truth, yet it is not necessarily an uncommon occurrence. The young woman's error was failure to take precautions, allowing the Vostii of the cat-kin to spill his seed inside of her. If she'd only known what would become of her, she'd have certainly made different choices.

Perhaps she would've forced him to remove himself from her loins before he finished? Perhaps that wouldn't have worked, as Vostii males can be very dominating lovers; she may have asked and he simply refused, caught in the throes of carnal passion. There was little else she could do. Due to their toxic nature, many humans avoid neberum. The mushroom is considered such a danger that only a handful are even aware of their contraceptive properties; aside from the unconquered tribals, it's a secret held by the owners of Vostii, Korutan and Sabaarii slaves, and even then, only those who actively indulge in carnal relations with the beast folk.

How then was the daughter of the wealthiest landowner to cover up the child's parentage? Having failed to escape, to give birth to her child in secret, she was forced to point out the Vostii whom she'd lain with. To her credit, she did not fornicate with multitudes of beast folk, as some are known to do. She pointed to her lover, and they were brought before Egan of Chosh. There was no torture and no public beatings, though many in the growing crowd of spectators demanded it. They were so bloodthirsty, so vicious. They reminded Lysander of the Sabaarii warriors he'd fought, just outside of the city's walls.

Due to his position, he was forced to stand near Egan of Chosh and listen to their collective sentencing. What happened next was the daughter of the wealthiest landowner became a prisoner. The Vostii whom she'd named occupied the cell across from her, so that neither could comfort the other. Several weeks later, she endured the pain of child birth, bring forth her Polotan child in the jail. It was proven beyond a doubt that the Vostii she'd named was the father. The fur coloration on the child's feline ears and tail did not lie. With that, all three were taken to the stone platform, tied to the trunks of freshly felled trees, doused with oil and set alight.

There were no speeches, no last words given. They were gagged with thick rags, which had their outer layer caked in tar, so they wouldn't burn too quickly; their screams would disturb the crowd, otherwise. Though none spoke it aloud, many hoped that the child suffocated on her rags before the flames touched her little body. Forced to witness the execution, Lysander could only think of Cassia, who's increasingly obvious pregnancy has forced him to hide her in his home. He isn't sure why the neberum tea failed. Perhaps they waited too long before the first use? Perhaps it only works on those not already pregnant? Perhaps it was never a guarantee at all?

Whatever the case may be, his beloved Cassia now carries the fruit of their loins, and it's a death sentence. He's had a heavy heart ever since they found out, and though they tried to ignore it at first, hoping that it might somehow go away of its own volition, her gradually swelling belly has eliminated this option. The death of the landowner's daughter, her Vostii lover and their child has reinforced the danger in Lysander's mind, as well as Cassia's, as she'd watched from their rooftop. What are they to do?

“Captain? ... Are you sure you aren't ill?" Jace leans very close and places a hand on Lysander's shoulder. “Captain? ... ... Lysander? What's wrong?" He speaks very softly, gently shaking him.

“Remember the battle, Jace? Remember those Sabaarii?"

“How could I forget. Is that what's bothering you?"

“I sometimes wonder..." Lysander lets out a heavy sigh. “What makes us different?"

“Aside from our softer skin, our lack of tails and claws and our stronger minds?" Jace raises an eyebrow.

“Those are the obvious differences, but what about the hidden ones? What do our souls look like?" He asks, glancing at the charred corpse of the newborn.

“I don't think I understand you." Jace replies.

“Yes, you do." Lysander glares at him. “How can we proclaim to be superior when we do things like that?" He points to the dead infant. “What makes us so special? We've seen the Sabaarii commit sacrifices, slashing the throats of their own children to appease their savage gods. We've heard of the breeding huts where Vostii rape their human captives in waves. There are even stories about the Korutan, as passive as they are. Stories about the ancient times, before we'd tamed them, how they'd intimidate other tribes into fleeing their ancestral homes, and how they'd hold down fertile females so that the strongest of their tribes could breed them. Here we are, burning infants for their parentage. How is this different?"

“It's different because the Polotan are different. They're as strong and as capable as their bestial mothers and fathers and yet as intelligent as we. They're a threat to all that we have, all that we've built." Jace swiftly replies.

“But if that's the case, wouldn't Polotan be necessary? If they're so superior, wouldn't it be better if they were the dominant race?"

“Shh! Be mindful of your surroundings." Jace whispers, looking to and fro, to see if any in the crowd overheard them. “Listen... I understand what troubles you."

“Do you?"

“I believe so."

“Then tell me, if we're as barbaric as they, why not give the Polotan a chance to be better? Perhaps we could learn from them?"

“We already have the Hitrosii to contend with. They've been our rivals since time immemorial... Filthy elves..." Jace cannot help but scowl. “Should we allow Polotan to inhabit our cities, we may very well see the end of all that we have, and given the blood we've shed to tame the beast folk and avoid those elven demons, why would we endanger it?"

“Then why fornicate with the beast folk at all? Why do people shrug when a man lies with his Korutan and Sabaarii slaves? Why does no one speak out when a young woman has her first sexual experience with a Vostii owned by her father? Why would we risk it at all if that is what happens when you breed?" Lysander points to the smoldering bodies.

“Because we do... Where is all of this coming from?!" Jace furls his brow, thoroughly perplexed.

“I'm just... I'm tired of all of this bloodshed." Lysander sighs.

“I understand." Jace assures him.

“Do you?"

“Yes, but this thinking... It's dangerous and borders on the criminal."

“Since when have thoughts become crimes? Explain this to the Captain of the guard, who can traverse the law with greater ease than his own house."

“I'm simply stating a fact; if you share this with anyone else, it might raise questions..." Jace carefully replies, his eyes still scanning the crowd.

“Such as?"

“Cassia... She's been using the neberum, right?"

“... Of course." Lysander murmurs, turning his eyes away.

“Then let's forget about this and carry on with our lives... For our own good."

With a subtle nod of his head, Lysander continues to lead an unnerved Jace toward the barracks. Upon reaching the barracks, at the other end of the city, Jace prepares to begin his patrol. As Captain of the guards, Lysander keeps his armor with him at all times, even taking it home, but the others, even high tier guards like Jace and the recently promoted Tomin, must leave theirs behind when their shift ends. As he collects his armor from the rack, beneath a wooden board bearing his name, Jace watches Lysander disappear into his office. Having also been watching their Captain, Tomin glances at Jace, who fastens the leather straps of his bronze breastplate.

“What's troubling Lysander? For the past several days he hasn't been himself." Tomin asks.

“I'm unsure." Jace murmurs.

“What?! But you're his closest friend!" The shocked Tomin retorts.

“I know. I'm trying to understand it, myself."

“Surely, he must've said something to you."

“He did, but..." Jace sighs.

“You believe he was lying?" Tomin prods.

“Yes, which is why I'm going to find out the truth..." Jace remarks, attaching his sheath to his belt before reaching for his sword.

“I could care less. That horse's ass is always giving me trouble." Kyril grumbles.

“Shut your mouth!" Jace snarls, placing his plumed helmet on his head.

“Perhaps he wouldn't give you trouble if you stopped giving him reason to." Tomin casually remarks.

“What did I do?!" Kyril exclaims, raising his hands in the air.

“Well, the last time he reprimanded you, he caught you with dice and a toy figurine in your satchel."

“I'd forgotten to remove them before I left my house!" Kyril retorts.

“Be silent and go play with your dolls." Jace snickers, eliciting chuckles from the other guards. “I'll get to the bottom of Lysander's sorrow, Tomin, but first we must attend to our duties. I'll see you on patrol." He says, patting him on the shoulder.

“Of course." Tomin bows his head in reverence.

“You wear the white and black fur, now. Stop bowing." Jace chuckles.

“Sorry. Old habits do not die easily."

The men begin their shifts and carry out their duties as good and loyal guards, breaking up fights, catching thieves and otherwise making the law-abiding public feel safe. Lysander does his part, taking oral reports and hearing complaints from the citizenry for the better part of the morning and early afternoon. Jace and the others cannot help but notice that he's decidedly absent for their mid-day meal, so when it's time to return to their duties, Jace lags behind. After wandering the yard in front of the barracks for a little while, he returns inside, to search for Lysander.

He finds him sitting alone, in the dining hall. Was he waiting for the others to leave before eating his meal? With his head in his hands, a small plate of food sits before him, untouched. Lysander looks quite melancholy. Clearing his throat, Jace gains his attention, though only briefly. Shaking his head, Jace makes his way across the dining hall and approaches Lysander's table.

“Alright..." Jace begins, letting out a frustrated sigh as he takes a seat at the table, across from his friend and Captain. “This is growing tiresome. Stop acting like a woman who is suffering her monthly cycle and tell me what's troubling you."

“You simply will not leave me alone, will you?" Lysander asks, briefly lifting his head from his hands.

“No, and if you'd like a moments peace, you'll confide in your oldest and closest friend." Jace casually replies, flashing a little grin.

“Fine... ... Cassia is pregnant."

“Oh... So, you've decided to breed her? Wait... It's beginning to make sense now... I think I know what troubles you! That strange speech in the square... Listen, Lysander, many owners of the beast folk breed their slaves. It's not hypocritical of you to find her a beast man for breeding. Allowing her to have a child may make her happier, given her circumstances. If anything, you're doing her a favor!"

“That's not it..." Lysander murmurs.

“Then what is it? I know you're very attached to her. I know you care for her. Are you jealous that it's not your child?" Jace teases, gently bumping his forearm.

Lysander, his head in his hands, slowly shakes it from side to side.

“Hmm... Then perhaps you're worried about her dying in childbirth."

“I wasn't until you said that!" Lysander snaps, lifting his head from his hands once again.

“Oh... Then are you afraid for the baby's health? Was the Vostii or Korutan you paired her with unhealthy?" Jace asks, cocking his head and furling his brow.

“That's not it, either..." Lysander sighs, glancing away.

“Then I'm greatly confused. What exactly is troubling you?" Jace asks, scratching his head.

Turning his eyes toward Jace, the men share a gaze. The brief stare transmits Lysander's message better than words ever could, and Jace finally begins to realize the awful truth. His eyes grow wide and his jaw drops, only for him to glance from side to side before leaning over the table.

“You?! You're the father?!" He whispers quite loudly.

“Shh! ... Yes." Lysander whispers back, looking around the otherwise empty room.

“By the gods..." Jace slumps back on his bench seat, resting a hand on his forehead. “Why would you?! ... I never thought! ... By the gods! ... I suspected when you chose her and then named her after your dead lover that it would only be a matter of time before you partook in her flesh. When I saw you buying neberum from the apothecary, I knew that you were enjoying her, as I enjoy my own slaves, Lyra and Theodora, but I never imagined you would plant your seed inside of her! What would make you do such a thing?!"

“I wasn't planning on it." Lysander grumbles.

“I hope not! ... I hate to ask this of you, but... When I saw you buying that sack of neberum, was it before or after you'd first spilled your seed inside of Cassia?"

“It was... After."

“That's why..." Jace hangs his head and sighs.

“I don't understand."

“I can see that... You're a great warrior, Lysander, and a skilled and cunning leader, but in this regard, you're inexperienced and naïve. You've never owned any of the beast folk before, and in all your years, you've only ever claimed to have bed one woman... Did you ever visit the brothels after Cassia died, as I recommended?"

“Well... No." Lysander cannot help but flush with embarrassment.

“I should've known you wouldn't have." Jace softly chuckles. “You were always so sentimental about sex. I never understood it. As for the neberum, I learned about it quickly, after I bought my first slave, Lyra, several years ago. She presented herself to me very early - it wasn't even a fortnight, now that I recall - and upon seeing her loins, so moist and so inviting, I couldn't resist. I was preparing myself to take her before she could reach down and spread her nether lips. I dove into her pool, so to speak, as though she had always been mine."

“Yes, you told me about it the very next day..." Lysander grumbles.

“Oh! So I did! Heh... Well, I'd had enough experience with my human lovers to know better than to spill my seed inside of her, but as I regaled a few of the other guards about my Lyra's magnificent body and her skills in our bedchamber, one confided in me. He also owns one of the beast folk, a Vostii woman of the mouse-kin. He told me about neberum, and the apothecary confirmed it. The beast folk use neberum to prevent pregnancy, especially when they're young and experimenting with sex. The problem is that neberum only works if the woman is not yet pregnant. Once a man's seed has taken and she grows a child in her womb, it's nothing more than a foul-tasting tea." Jace explains.

Realizing that the situation could've been prevented, Lysander hangs his head once more, burying his face in his hands. If only he'd known of neberum earlier. Jace watches him, his little grin swiftly fading.

“I had suspected that you were one day going to bed her when you named her Cassia... I should've known better; I regret not sharing the secret with you on that first day."

“So do I." Lysander lets out a heavy sigh.

“I just didn't think... ... Is it safe to assume that no one else knows of this?"

“Of course. You're the only one, Jace. You're the only one I trust."

“As well you should... I'll keep your secret, Lysander. You're my dearest friend, after all." Jace says as he rests a hand on Lysander's forearm.

“Thank you."

“What are you going to do?"

“I don't know... I've been trying to decide the best strategy. So far, none are very pleasant. I won't surrender or abandon Cassia. I'd rather die."

“I see... Perhaps you should leave, before anyone questions it?"

“Perhaps. I only fear for her safety. The world beyond those walls is vast and treacherous, and leaving presents as many dangers as staying."

“I understand... Lysander?"

“Yes?"

“If you decide to leave, can I have your cloak?"

“Heh... Be silent, Jace." Lysander chuckles, lifting his head and looking at his friend.

“I thought it couldn't hurt to ask." Jace grins. “You're a hero. Any favor you ask and you will likely have it. Ask Egan to return to Travan, just across the great sea. Perhaps you could tell him that you plan to move to Chosh. He could never resist you being the hero of the city of his birth."

“And then what? Hide a half-breed child for the rest of my life?"

“It's a very long journey... Along the way you could become 'lost'. So long as no one else finds out, I think you stand a chance."

“... That's... A very good idea, Jace!"

“This is what I'm here for." Jace flashes a confident smirk.

Keeping his back against the wall, Kyril stands just beyond the corner of the dining hall. He'd hoped to eat alone, to avoid the increasingly frequent taunts of the other guards, but stopped as soon as he heard Lysander's voice. He was just as eager to avoid the Captain, who's often berated him for his jokes and propensity for games. It often feels as though Lysander has it out for him, and now, as he stands near the corner, Kyril's lips curl into a twisted grin. In an instant, he devises a new and sinister joke, one that will not only bring him great amusement but rid him of the stern Captain for good.

Without alerting Jace or Lysander, Kyril slips away. He moves quietly down the hall and promptly leaves the barracks, only to head straight for Egan's palace. After their meeting in the dining hall, Jace returns to his duties and Lysander excuses himself. He's eager to return home, and during the long walk, he ponders Jace's advice. Why did he not think of becoming 'lost' sooner? It fills him with new hope for the future, for himself as well as Cassia, and their unborn child. He makes up his mind then and there to prepare her for this plan and to speak to Egan the very next morning. Why delay the inevitable?

No sooner than he enters the front door of his home, he's barely able to speak her name before Cassia descends upon him. Gripping his shoulders, she nuzzles his neck and nose before he can remove his helm. She licks his flesh and then kisses him, over and over again. After several passionate and tongue-filled kisses, she seems to calm down, though her bushy tail still whips through the air, swishing from side to side with obvious glee. Lysander embraces his lover, whom in the privacy of their home he enjoys calling his wife.

He's careful not to squeeze her, as her clawed hands cradle her swollen belly. With each day, it seems to grow a little bigger. It will be several moons before she'll be ready to give birth, but as new parents, they're both quite cautious about harming their first baby. They gaze into each other's eyes, sharing silent expressions of love and longing, as they do every day he returns home from his duties.

“Hello, Cassia, my beautiful wife. How are you today?"

Recognizing the words “beautiful" and “wife", Cassia's heart jumps in her chest. How lucky she is to have a Yasheriit for a bonded partner. She'd have settled for him fathering a child or two and keeping other slaves or even a human wife, but when she looks into his eyes, she knows that his heart belongs to her, just as hers belongs to him. With a soft coo, she nuzzles his face in response.

“Lu'bu, Zahn'duhr."

“I love you, too, Cassia, my darling wife."

Pulling back from her, Lysander gazes into her eyes for a moment, and Cassia can see that something is amiss. Her smile fades and she cocks her head. She always knows when something disturbs him, sometimes even before he does. Taking his hands in hers, she interlocks their fingers and leans closer. She wants him to know that she's there for him.

“Cassia, we leave." He begins, speaking very simply for her.

“Nazhii stahl'yat?" She furls her brow.

“You, me, go away."

Though she understands the simple words, she isn't sure if she understands him correctly. Why does he wish to leave their home?! To make his message clear to her, he pulls his hands from hers and makes his way toward the board. With a small pile of sand atop an old cutting board, Lysander uses a thin stick to draw in the soft earth. He draws their house and an effigy of a wall around it, then two figures, one of them with a large belly. A line with an arrow starts at the figure's feet and points away from the home, toward their front door.

“We need to go, before the baby comes." He says, turning to her and gently resting his hands on her belly. “We go."

“Do'vat." She says, resting her hands over his.

Lysander has spent many moons trying to document the few dozen words that his lover has been able to speak, a simplified version of Hitrosii, the world's first language. “So'vo" means “sex", “lu'bu" means “love", “ye'da" means “food" and “na'pok" means “drink"; those are her most spoken words. While he cannot be certain, he believes that she's telling him that she trusts him. He wishes she could speak his language, but after a great deal of effort, it seems that this may be her limit. Such is the intellect of the beast folk. Still, he loves her with all of his heart. With a warm smile, he leans in and kisses her lips so tenderly.

“Soon, we leave."

With wide eyes and a softened brow, she juts out her bottom lip as she silently pouts.

“Ye'da?" She asks, pointing toward the chicken roasting over the open fire.

“Ye'da." He smiles and nods his head.

“MMM!" She coos, giving him a big hug.

Cassia loves feeding him, and he would hate to disappoint her. Considering her rapidly developing culinary skills, he'd never dream of rejecting one of her meals. After a fine dinner, they spend the evening together as most couples would. Once they're finished and thoroughly exhausted, they resume their cuddling and hold each other as they drift off to sleep. However, sometime during the night, Lysander feels a stirring. He opens his eyes just as Cassia turns toward the archway that leads to the hall.

Something worries her, but before he can ask her what's wrong, he can see the light from a torch. Someone has entered their home! Without hesitation, he collects a dagger from their bedside and scrambles out of bed. He readies to strike when he can hear the intruders speaking amongst themselves.

“Check that room, while I search-"

“I know how to search a house!" Another man interrupts the first.

“Tomin?!" Lysander gasps.

Emerging from his room without a stitch of clothing, he finds himself looking at three of his own men, one of them being Tomin. All three are high ranking soldiers, with plumed helms.

“Hello, Captain. I apologize for the intrusion but Egan has requested your presence." Tomin begins.

“He has?!" Lysander raises a brow.

“Yes. It sounded urgent. He asked us to bring you right away. We tried not to break your door." Tomin assures him.

“It sounds like you did." Lysander chuckles.

“Perhaps a minor repair." Tomin grins.

Returning to his room, Lysander sets the dagger aside, just as Cassia has draped her robes loosely over her body. From the angle of her body and a lifted leg, the covers help to hide the modest bulge of her pregnant belly from the three guards. The fact that she's still quite slender, despite her worsening condition, further aids them. Lysander hastily dresses and pulls on his boots as the three guards wait for him.

“I'll be right back, Cassia. Wait here, and I'll-"

“She comes, too." Tomin interjects.

“... What?"

“Egan asked to see both of you. He was very specific."

Realizing that they cannot hide her pregnancy if she rises from the bed, and that his men may inquire as to her state, Lysander glances at the dagger. Seeing this, Tomin becomes visibly concerned. He sidesteps toward the blade, blocking Lysander from the weapon. As the tension in the room builds, Cassia sits up, her eyes nervously glancing between her lover and the three men. She doesn't even notice when the covers fall away.

“Captain, is she pregnant?!" One of the men gasps.

“Cassia, run!" Lysander shouts, lunging for Tomin.

“By the gods!" Tomin exclaims in shock.

Though she leaps to her feet, her condition makes it difficult for her to assist her lover, who is overpowered by his own sword-wielding underlings.

“What's going on?!" Tomin demands, as he and the others subdue Lysander.

“Don't pretend to be ignorant." Lysander scoffs, shaking his head.

“All we're trying to do is take you to see Egan! He didn't tell us why he wanted to see you, he merely gave the order, and here you are attacking us! Don't force us to hurt either of you!" Tomin declares.

Looking into his eyes, Lysander realizes that his men are speaking the truth. They have no idea what awaits them, but they will use force to carry out their orders, if necessary. Defeated, Lysander hangs his head, lets out a heavy sigh and nods a silent agreement to cooperate. The three men release him from their clutches. With their swords drawn and keeping a safe distance, Tomin and the other men escort their Captain and his pregnant Vostii slave girl through the city streets and toward Egan's palace. As they walk, they share silent glances, exchanging gestures of guilt and shame, as it's becoming clearer what's really going on.

Upon arriving at the palace, swordsmen who work for Egan, men who wear blackened armor and do not serve as city guards, take custody of Lysander and Cassia. Though Tomin and his men wish to leave, eager to extricate themselves from the increasingly awkward situation, the men in black armor don't allow it. Instead, they're brought before Egan to give a report. Egan sits on his throne and listens, his face red with anger as they describe the scene in Lysander's bedchamber. Once their report is finished, they're made to stand aside and serve as witnesses as Egan rises from his throne and plants himself before a defeated Lysander and a frightened Cassia.

“You know why you're here... Don't you?" Egan begins.

“What do you wish for me to say?"

“YOU KNOW!!!" Egan screams.

“Do I?" Lysander calmly, even dryly asks, his eyes staring straight ahead.

“Was this your doing?" Egan asks, pointing a finger toward Cassia's belly.

Lysander remains silent. Egan growls in frustration, his eyes wild with rage.

“Be honest. We can always keep her here until she gives birth, and then we'll know for certain."

“Yes..." Lysander hangs his head in defeat. “Her child is mine."

Tomin and the others are shocked. They had no idea that Cassia was pregnant until they'd seen her sitting atop her bed. As they escorted her and Lysander toward the palace, they'd hoped that he wasn't the father. To hear him admit it and accept his death sentence leaves them reeling, albeit silently.

“One of your own soldiers discovered your treachery. It's one thing to bed the beast folk for pleasure - who here hasn't done it at least once? - but you should've known better than to spill your seed inside of her." Egan continues.

Lysander's mind races. Did Jace betray him after all of their time together?! He knew that Jace doesn't see the beast folk the way he does, but could he really betray him? They have been friends for so long.

“I will admit, had you actually left for Travan and disappeared, you could've lived a long life with your beast whore and that cursed hybrid growing within her womb. If it wasn't for Kyril, a man loyal to humanity and not his own perversions, you may have gotten away with it!"

Lysander breathes a little sigh of relief, grateful that it was not Jace who betrayed him.

“Couldn't I still?" He quietly asks.

“What's that?!" Egan looks surprised by Lysander's question.

“You don't want to do this. You gloat because you have to, because my men are watching, but I know you don't hate me. We've known each other for far too long. No one will know about this if we take our leave, and you won't have to live every day remembering how you condemned us to death." Lysander explains.

“You don't know me as well as you think you do... There's nothing more dangerous and foul than a hybrid! Except, perhaps, for those damned Hitrosii... Take them to the jails! I'd like to interrogate him properly before they're executed later tonight..." Egan flashes a sinister smile. “You three guards may return to your homes."

The look of horror on the faces of Tomin and his companions proves their innocence in Lysander's eyes. He looks back, smiles and gives them a single nod, simultaneously forgiving and dismissing them.

“But Egan!" Tomin steps forward.

“I said dismissed!!!" Their Regent snarls, a fire in his eyes.

Unable to act in the room filled with swordsmen in black armor, Tomin and his two companions watch helplessly as Lysander and Cassia are shackled and lead away, toward the prisons. It's clear to them that Egan didn't want the public seeing their hero and his Vostii companion being treated like this. It could upset the citizens, who love them both so dearly. How will they react to their smoldering corpses in the morning? Suddenly, Tomin's eyes widen. Perhaps there's a way to save them? He turns and darts away, only for his two companions to share a shocked glance and chase after him.

“In a strange way, I'm looking forward to this. I'd love to understand your twisted mind before having it cleaved from your shoulders. You know, if I make an example of you, my name will be remembered for centuries! Everyone will know that Egan of Chosh showed no mercy to a defiler of human sanctity. I may be made a Lord for this. Perhaps one day I could even become King!"

“I'm happy for you." Lysander grumbles.

“Do you have to be so compliant? It's making this awkward."

“You'd rather I beg and plead? You wish me to grovel for mercy?"

“It would certainly align with how I'd imagined this, as I sat and waited for you to be brought before me."

“You were right... I didn't know you at all..."

Surrounded by black-clad guards, Lysander and Cassia are led, in chains, through the darkened streets and toward the barracks. Suddenly, however, people begin to take notice. They open their shutters and rub the sleep from their eyes, only to stare in shock and gasp in horror. Why has Egan imprisoned their Lysander?! Why is Cassia in chains?! The further along on their short journey, the more Egan begins to worry. He'd hoped that only a few street urchins would be awake at this time of night, that the darkness would mask this event from the public, but more and more citizens watch the sinister procession. As they turn a corner, they discover why.

Standing before a series of doors, Tomin and his companions use the pummels of their swords to awaken the sleeping citizens. They speak to them for a moment, only to head to the next set of doors and bang loudly on the wooden beams. Egan grits his teeth and growls, furious at their betrayal. By the time they've arrived at the jails, nearly a fifth of the city is aware of Lysander's and Cassia's arrest. Egan is forced to send a runner to retrieve more of his private security, awakening them from their own, small barracks, hidden in the cellar of his palace. Meanwhile, Tomin sends for Jace.

Many of the city guards were awoken by the commotion outside of their homes, and make their way toward the barracks. Seated on a wooden bed in a jail cell at the rear of the barracks, Lysander holds Cassia's clawed hand. They'd been placed in the same cell, as Egan already shows more concern with the shouts of the citizens outside. Cassia trembles with fear, but leaning into her lover eases her frazzled nerves. Pacing before their cell, Egan listens to the voices of the crowd. Chants of “set them free" begin to echo throughout the streets.

“This is all your fault..." He repeatedly grumbles, glaring at the couple. “I could've lived without this, now I have riot brewing outside. Night is the worst time to fight; too many mistakes are made."

He takes a seat on a stool, resting his forearms on his knees, one of which bounces over and over again as he nervously fidgets. It's clear to Lysander that the tension is building within Egan, who has never dealt with such dramatic conflict. During the grand battle with the Sabaarii tribes, Lysander had taken charge, leaving Egan to do almost nothing but sit back and wait. He was nervous then, but now he's the only one in charge. He must give the orders, rather than pass the duties onto someone more experienced.

“WHY?!" Egan erupts in anger, leaping up from the stool and tipping it over. “Why would you do something so foolish?! You know it's forbidden! More than that, it's dangerous! The Polotan are a dangerous race!"

“It wasn't intentional." Lysander replies, gently nuzzling Cassia's head before giving her a tender kiss.

“Sticking your cock into a beast woman is always intentional, and releasing your seed by mistake is an error made only by the young and inexperienced! Why do you think parents hope their children marry as soon as possible, once their bodies begin the change?! You knew the risks, and yet you took them anyway! Do you know what you have done?!"

“Yes."

“Do you really?! Do you comprehend the situation you have placed me into?!?!"

“I thought you were looking forward to this?" Lysander raises an eyebrow.

“The fame and the rewards for my good service, yes, but not a riot!"

“You sound scared." Lysander coolly remarks, lovingly playing with one of Cassia's big, wolf ears.

“I AM!!! ... Alright... I think there's a way to fix this... Renounce the child!"

“Excuse me?" Lysander raises an eyebrow.

“Claim that she's lain with some random neighbor of yours! Claim that her child isn't yours but someone else's and we can kill them instead!"

“What?!" Lysander chuckles from shock.

“Pick someone! Anyone you don't like! Just renounce her and I can let you go, then we'll burn Cassia and your scapegoat and there won't be riot! Everyone wins!!!" Egan's eyes twinkle with joy at his diabolical suggestion.

“No!" Lysander roars.

“..."

“I'd rather burn than live without my Cassia!" He insists, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a squeeze.

“Mmm!" She coos, nuzzling the nape of his neck.

“What are you saying?!" Egan gasps.

“I spoke clearly... I've always wanted a family. Why must I sacrifice that now? Why must I slay my wife and the spawn of our love? If you wish to spare the city, if you don't have the stomach for true leadership, then simply banish us." Lysander advises.

Egan, flabbergasted, blinks and shakes his head, his eyes wide with shock and horror.

“Do you hear your own words, Lysander?! Do you not realize what it is you're saying?! Calling that house pet your wife?!"

“I understand what I said, and I mean it."

“No, you do not... I've heard from the men, about your lost love. She was slain in a raid many years ago, before you became the Captain of the guard. That woman, who long ago met the gods, was the real Cassia. This creature you call Cassia is just a Vostii slave, a female of the wolf-kin who I'm told shares hair and eyes and body of your long-lost love. She does a wonderful job of imitating her, but that Vostii is not Cassia... Cassia. Is. Dead... What you're doing is unhealthy, selfish and dangerous. You cannot pretend to live the life you lost by replacing Cassia with a beast woman!"

“She may a Vostii of the wolf-kin but she's not a beast! She's articulate and gentle and affectionate!"

“So is a dog or a tamed cat! That doesn't make them any greater. Don't pretend you don't notice how primitive the beast folk are! They live primitively, in huts made of sticks and straw and animal hides. The lucky few have caves! The most advanced of the tribes I've heard of had stone homes cut into cliffs, with ladders and ropes for entrances! Even then, they have only stone and bone tools, few have reproduced a wheel and those who do fail to utilize it! Furthermore, they rarely communicate with spoken language, let alone written ones. Even a blind man can see how they pale in comparison to us!" Egan begins an angry tirade.

“Stop..." Lysander whimpers, a hand resting on Cassia's head.

“They can't even invent their own words. They steal them from those damned Hitrosii. When left to their own devices, they live like animals, obeying instinct and bizarre hierarchies that favor raw strength above anything else. They're little more than house pets and slaves. I will admit, their form can be very appealing, and it's not unusual for us to utilize them for pleasure, which is certainly a testament to our own perversions. I'm sure she could imitate the moans of your dead lover very well!"

“Stop!" Lysander cries out.

“But that's all it ever was! A poor imitation! Even if you had merely succumbed to loneliness and chosen a towering Korutan or a lithe Sabaarii with vivid, green skin as your lover, you would still be here, for taking one of the beast folk to bed is very different from breeding with them!" Egan rambles.

“I've heard you!!!" Lysander roars.

Rising up from the bed and approaching the bars of his cell, Cassia watches as he grabs onto them, glaring at Egan who stands just beyond arm's reach.

“I accept that many of these things are true, but that doesn't change the fact that I cannot see Cassia as anything less than the reincarnation of my lost love. She is everything in my life that matters, and I could never sacrifice her and our child to save myself... What kind of beast would that make me?"

“A smart one..."

“Intelligence without heart still sounds foolish to me... Isn't that why we oppose the Hitrosii?"

“We are nothing like those damned elves!" Egan snarls.

“Prove it..."

“... Fine! Be stubborn! You certainly are not leaving, so I suggest you use this time to consider my offer. It's the only chance for survival you have..." Egan growls before storming off.

Returning to the uncomfortable wooden bed, he sits beside Cassia, who is eager to slither into his arms once again. He leans into the corner, trying to make himself comfortable while giving her something to lay against. He pets her head and kisses her as she slips a leg between his, her arms clinging to his torso. She tilts her head back and gazes into his emerald eyes. Lysander loses himself in her sapphire pools, a hand so tenderly stroking her face.

“Lu'bu, Zahn'dur." She speaks softly.

Even her voice is so much like the human Cassia's; he cannot fathom her being anything other than her reincarnation. With a little smile, he leans in, kisses her lips so lovingly and then brushes the tip of his nose against hers.

“Lu'bu, Cassia."

“Mmm!" She coos, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Well, well, well..."

Looking toward the bars, Lysander is shocked to see Kyril standing on the other side.

“You..." Lysander glares.

“And I thought you'd be happy to see me! Not so funny now, is it?" Kyril snickers.

“Why would you do this? They're going to kill us, you know..."

“Yes, I know!" Kyril chirps.

“Then why?!"

“Because... I really love a good joke! Isn't that why you're always berating me?" Kyril glares.

“I reprimand you because you cannot take your job seriously, because when faced with true conflict you shrink to the size of your dolls."

“They're figurines!" Kyril shouts, grabbing onto the bars and gritting his teeth in anger.

“This is a job for men, and you're just a little boy..."

“Well, if that's the case, then you were defeated by a child. How does that make you feel?!"

Kyril doesn't give Lysander the opportunity to answer, turning away and storming down the hall, following Egan's path. As they sit back atop their bed, Cassia's ears suddenly twitch. Lifting her head from his chest, she looks toward the opposite end of the hall. Just as Lysander takes notice of her behavior, he hears the soft footfalls. They echo faintly, drawing ever closer. After a short and tense wait, a shadowy figure emerges from the furthest end of the jails, stopping at the edge of their cell.

“Are those beds as uncomfortable as they appear?"

“Jace!" Lysander tries not to shout as he sits up.

“Hello, Lysander. Looks like you didn't leave fast enough." Jace says as he approaches the bars.

“How did you get in here?"

“A man came to my door and banged on it quite loudly, rousing me from a good dream. Once I wriggled my way from between Lyra's and Theodora's naked bodies - which was an arduous task, mind you - I met him and he told me that Tomin needed to see me right away. I was led to a large crowd surrounding the fence before our barracks. There, Tomin told me of your predicament." Jace begins.

“I'm glad you would drop such pressing business to come to my aid, but that still doesn't answer my question." Lysander smirks.

“Tomin told me of what you did for Orrin and Circe. I was surprised to learn you'd kept a secret from me. He showed me to the rear entrance, and with him guarding the door, I slipped inside." Jace finishes.

“I see... And now what do you intend to do?"

Jace flashes Lysander a little grin.

“I see!"

Making his way to the front of the barracks, Egan is met by the chief of his security, a steadfast man who rarely utters fear. The look in his eyes when he removes his helm comes as a shock to the Regent, who listens to the crowd outside.

“If they press forward, I don't believe we can hold them back."

“What?! Why not?! W-what about the city guards?!" Egan's voice quivers as he listens to the gates shaking.

“Most were not on duty, so they were not armed. I believe it for the best, though, as most have joined the others outside. The few who were on duty became uneasy when I spoke with them about your prisoner... They've... Well... They've gone home, Egan... It's only me and my men, here."

“Won't that be enough?!"

“Against a city?!" His chief of security chuckles. “I'm sorry, but for your safety, we may need to retreat."

“This can't be happening! He's just one man!" Egan whimpers, watching as the mob begins to move closer, trying to force the gates open despite his security trying to hold them back. “Perhaps if we told them his crimes?! Perhaps their disgust would dissuade them?!?!"

“Somehow, I doubt that's going to work..."

“Why not?!"

“Considering the prevalence of such carnal unions, I think many would be inclined to forgive him." His chief of security sighs, putting his helm back on. “And he isn't just one man; he saved the city and everyone in it. He shed blood for it, and they know it. They respect it. They respect him. They respect his Vostii, too. Egan, I'm recommending we leave... Right. Now..."

“But... But I'm the Regent!"

The sealed gate suddenly rattles as the mob push against it even harder. Suddenly, another mob forms at the rear. While the original group shouts “set them free", the new mob has their own slogan.

“Burn the traitor!" They yell.

Egan and his men watch in horror as the two groups begin to clash, but the first still presses against the gate. The men in black armor are forced to step back, forming a shield wall as the gate begins to buckle inward, the brass bending against the sheer weight of the crowd on the other side. Egan takes a step back, only to whirl around when he bumps into someone.

“Sorry, my Lord!" Kyril bows his head. “What are your orders?"

“I-I... I don't, uhm..." Egan stammers.

“We should leave, before it's too late." Egan's man once again recommends, a sternness in his voice.

“Not yet." Someone speaks from the rear.

“Jace!" Kyril whirls around and draws his sword.

Standing in their path, Jace now wears his armor and helm, which he'd taken from the armory while Egan and the others were focused on the mob outside. Beside him stands Tomin, the men who'd helped him subdue Lysander and Cassia, and nearly a dozen of the active-duty guards who had left upon seeing Lysander and Cassia in shackles. They outnumber Egan and his goons nearly two-to-one.

“What's this?!" Egan gasps.

“Surrender the keys to the cells or we will take them from you." Jace sternly demands.

“Egan, we really need to-"

Before Egan's man can finish his sentence, the gate collapses, the lock and hinges breaking simultaneously. Angry citizens storm up to the black-clad soldiers, who're forced to defend themselves. As unarmed civilians are cut down, both sides turn against them. Even those who wish to see Lysander and Cassia burn are instantly horrified by the deaths of their neighbors and family at the hands of Egan's personal guard. Egan's man steps closer to the Regent and grabs his arm, making the leader of the city jump and then quiver like a frightened child.

“We need to leave! Now!"

“But, but!" Egan stammers.

“Not without those keys!" Jace demands, he and his men stepping closer.

“We need to leave, before it's too late! Surrender the keys and we can barricade your palace! You'll be safe there!" Egan's man urges.

“I... I will not! I'm the Regent! My word is law!" Egan exclaims, trying to hold onto any semblance of power.

“So be it." Jace grins, drawing his sword.

Whirling around and fleeing behind his men, Egan makes his way toward the front door. His bodyguards raise their round shields and blackened bronze swords as Jace and the others charge. They hold nothing back, shoving their shields against those of Egan's men. For as skilled as they are, the sheer number of their equally well-armed adversaries cannot be ignored. One of Egan's men blocks Tomin's blade, his shield raised, only for another man to stab him through the chest, right beneath his armpit.

Another of Egan's men is swarmed by three guards, only to be slain in seconds. Egan yanks open the door, only to stare in horror as a bloodied citizen rams a stolen javelin into the face of one of his private security! The citizen turns to the regent and glares. Egan slams the door and pulls a board across it, just as the crowd, emboldened by their victory over Egan's men outside, try to bash their way in. For them, this conflict has long since ceased to be about Lysander and Cassia; they are fighting a ruler who would turn a sword against them without even hearing their voices.

As they beat on the sturdy wooden door, Egan whimpers as he watches the conflict unfolding inside. A town guard has his forearm slashed open, only for the black-clad soldier to be stabbed in the lower spine by another. Two more of his men fall to the sword, and Egan makes his move, hoping to run past the guards and toward the back door. Tomin swings his sword, slashing the throat of Egan's chief of security, just as he tries to call out for his fleeing master. Tripping over a body, Egan stumbles, only to be caught by Jace.

Without hesitation, Jace rams his sword through Egan's gut. The petrified Regent looks into the eyes of his killer, feebly gripping to his shoulders as the blood oozes from his mouth. Jace twists the blade in his stomach, only to push Egan away and stab him again. Two more thrusts and the Regent falls backward, but not before Tomin has lifted the keys from the ring which jingles from his black leather belt. There's no time to admire their handiwork; the front door begins to buckle and splinter.

“We must move quickly!" Jace instructs.

Racing down the hall and toward the jails, Tomin unlocks the cell door with the key while Jace yanks it open. He hands Lysander a blackened sword, stolen from one of Egan's guards.

“Come, Captain. We need to go. You should take this, just in case."

“Thank you, Jace. All of you. I don't know what to say." Lysander replies, visibly touched by their bravery and loyalty.

“You can think of something thoughtful and moving as we escape." Tomin says, motioning for them to follow.

Without a moment to spare, the group make their way to the back, bursting through the door and into a darkened alley. No one takes notice as they slip outside, though they can hear the mob inside of the barracks. It sounds as though they're ripping the place apart.

“I hope this isn't the end of our fair city." Tomin quietly remarks.

“If you're worried, you could always come with us." Lysander turns to them.

“No. We need to stay. The city will need us, after this." Jace replies, cracking open the old gate. “But you will always be in my heart."

“And mine. I doubt I will ever serve under a greater man." Tomin adds.

One by one, the men wish Lysander and Cassia well, before passing them a sack with some food, a water bag made of a sheep's bladder, and a small pouch with some silver and copper coins.

“I wish I could do more for you, for what you're doing. This whole situation could've been avoided." Lysander murmurs, shaking his head, visibly ashamed.

“It is what it is, Lysander. Just take care of yourself, and take care of her... There's just one thing I need to ask."

“Yes, Jace?"

“Can I have that cloak, now?" Jace smirks.

“You can lay claim to the bulk of my belongings, Jace, but share with the others. Hopefully, whatever you find in my house will serve as payment for what all of you have done tonight." Lysander says, looking between his saviors.

He returns his attention to Jace, and with a final embrace of his longest and closest friend, he ushers Lysander and Cassia through the gate. They slip into the darkness beyond the walls, just in time for some of the citizens to emerge into the alley. They do not seem to notice the guards in the darkness, who seal the gate and quickly disperse, nor do Lysander or Cassia notice anyone else. They walk all night, listening to the crowd and seeing several fires springing up. The guilt inside of Lysander is unfathomable. Had he known this was going to happen, he'd have left a long time ago. He only hopes that his friends will be alright.

To Lysander's surprise, Cassia hasn't lost an ounce of instinct in her time living with him in the city, nor has the loss of their home or status done anything to sway her feelings for him. She begins to construct a simple hut of sticks and leaves, humming the song he'd sung her on the night of the storm. Lysander crafts and uses a fire bow to start a campfire, which he places in a small pit, built near the door of their new hut. The couple sit by the fire, eating a meal of day-old bread, some jerky and a cache of red berries which Cassia had plucked from a bush near their little hut.

Though Mogashen is a tropical region, the night brings a chill. Cassia snuggles up to him, resting against him and warming his flesh as much as the fire ever could. As they eat and snuggle, Lysander looks toward the Vostii. This beast woman has caused him so much trouble, but she's also brought him so much joy. He could never imagine life without her, not after all they've been through. She looks at a pile of uneaten berries and stares. He cannot help but wonder what she's thinking. Resting his chin atop her head and between her ears, he gains her attention. The red wolf girl looks up at her lover and smiles.

They share a kiss, and as soon as their lips part ways, she finds herself gazing into her lover's eyes. What a strange and frightening night this has been, but she still has her Yasheriit partner. Though he helped to destroy and subjugate her tribe, bought her as a slave at auction and kept her in his home, in many ways, she's grateful for it. She would've never known a bond like theirs and may never have had a proper mate where it not for him. Even when they fought the Sabaarii tribals together, she was grateful to witness his love and protection, which she returned in kind.

Still, a part of her missed her old life, not the tribe or her low status but the connection with nature. She'd enjoyed walking amongst the trees, smelling the untainted air, and hearing the fauna in the distance. Cassia had long hoped to birth her child and raise him or her to know the world as she had known it before she met Lysander, and now she may have that chance. She didn't even have to sacrifice keeping her mate for it. In fact, now may be as good a time as any to make her final claims to him. She gives him a little peck on the lips, then looks away from her mate, searching the ground for the appropriate tool.

Lysander cocks his head, watching with great curiosity as she removes her robes. With a straight and relatively smooth stick in-hand, the nude Cassia uses her robes as a blanket and places a handful of berries atop it, only to use the stick to mush them together. After pressing and rolling the stick over the berries, she takes the pulp into a palm and dabs her fingertips into it. She turns to Lysander and holds up two dainty fingers, which drip with burgundy juice. Leaning closer, she gently, even lovingly, wipes the juice onto his chin. She paints a long, thick stripe from his bottom lip to the end of his chin.

He doesn't speak a word, enthralled by this strange ritual that she performs. Dabbing her fingers into her palm, she examines the thickness of the stripe, only to spread her fingers apart and paint two thin stripes over her own chin. The juice of the berries stains her fur. Holding out her hand, she then feeds Lysander the remaining pulp, being careful not to touch his chin. She then licks her palm clean. Resting her hands atop his shoulders, she gives him a long and very straight kiss, their chins pressing together. It smears their respective stripes, adding a faint line to the middle of her chin and two faint lines onto his.

Taking a few dry leaves, she grabs hold of his wrists and has him cup his hands together. She's so gentle, so tender as she places a damp leaf and kindling into his palm. Taking the same stick she'd used to mush the berries, she sets an end alight. Moving quickly, she ignites the kindling in Lysander's hands, only to blow it out. He furls his brow, thoroughly perplexed by this strange ritual. Cassia isn't done yet. Cupping her hands together, she lifts them up and nods her head. After a brief moment of hesitation, Lysander imitates her actions, placing a wet leaf and kindling into her palm before lighting it with the flame of the stick and then blowing it out.

Cassia's lips curl into the happiest of grins, her sharp teeth glinting in the light of the fire and the moon. It is done. Having completed the ritual of bonding, Lysander is now her mate, forever. In the eyes of the gods, they have become one. She'd long considered partaking in the ritual before that night, especially when she discovered that she was with child. It was all she could hope for, to bind her spirit to him, but a part of her always feared that he may one day seek another female or buy another slave. Would she eventually be forced to share him, as Lyra shares Jace with Theodora? Though his eyes spoke his love, it wasn't until his refusal to abandon her, under penalty of death, that she knew for certain.

Alone in the jungle that was once her home, all they have is each other, and after all that they've endured, she hasn't a doubt in her mind or heart that should they find themselves in another village or city, he would never abandon her or accept another female. Lysander is her mate, for better or worse, and as they've blown out the flames, symbolizing their own lifespans, she knows that she will be with him for a very long time. Lysander breaks their stare only to glance at the still-flaming stick. Cassia knows that he is unaware of the ritual, and so she blows out the flame before using it to draw in the dirt.

As he wipes away a bit of ash from his flesh, he watches her. She draws two figures, holding hands beneath a symbol that she'd seen. It is the sign of the pantheon of the gods. She draws the figures again, still holding hands but beneath mourning stones, and again she places the symbol high above them. Finally, she draws lines emerging from the chests of the figures beneath the mourning stones, only to swirl them together and draw a single line toward the heavens. After a moment to ponder this, Lysander's lips curl.

“Have I just become married? Are you now my wife?" He turns to her.

Cassia nods her head.

“Kass'ya, Zahn'dur, lu'bu na'se'da." She coos, before leaning in and giving him a kiss.

Her kisses become heavier and more intense, and as their tongues entwine, Lysander quickly finds himself lying atop his back, his naked Vostii wife climbing up and straddling his waist. Her clawed hands grip his wrists, which she pins against the grass. Her lips move away from his, only to run along his cheek and then his neck, which she promptly licks with the carnal passion of an animal.

“Oohhh, Cassia... This is our tradition, too." He wrenches his hands away, only to caress her furry body, touching every inch of her from her shoulders to her perky buttocks. “I've never made love as a husband before."

“So'vo." She says through labored breaths, her hands frantically removing his robes before stroking his manhood. “So'vo huz'bahnd."

“Yes. So'vo wife." He says, feeling her pushing him into her loins. “Ooohhh-yes... Much so'vo." He adds, already panting as she begins to ride him.

After enjoying sex so passionate it could only be called 'making love', the human holds his Vostii wife, who basks in the warmth and comfort of her new husband. It makes it surprisingly easy to sleep on a bed of grass in a little hut. The next morning, Lysander awakens to find Cassia has already repurposed her robes, keeping only the bottom half while leaving her breasts exposed. The upper portion she'd torn and tied into a satchel, where she's placed berries and fruits that she's already begun to forage.

“You waste no time. Shouldn't I be supporting you?" He asks with a little chuckle.

He holds her and kisses her, his hands rubbing her back. Cassia coos and nuzzles him, then silently asks for direction. He doesn't speak a word, as he doesn't need to. They share a bond that runs deeper than anything they've ever experienced or enjoyed before, a connection so deep they share thoughts unspoken. Taking her by the hand, Lysander carries his sword in the other and uses it to clear the brush as they make their way through the wilderness. They walk for some time, only to stop when Cassia needs to rest. Looking to the sky, Lysander wonders how far they've gone, only to turn to his bride and silently debate when they should make camp for the night.

Suddenly, Cassia's ears perk. She twists her upper body but doesn't rise to her feet, as Lysander does that for her. With sword in-hand, he prepares for a fight. The rustling of leaves becomes clear to his inferior ears, and he can hear several people making their way closer.

“Who goes there?!" He calls out, adding extra bass to his voice.

“Friendly!" A man shouts back.

“Come out! Show yourself!"

“I'm trying!" The man chuckles.

The voice is so familiar! Lysander furls his brow, eager to see if his ears deceive him or not. Suddenly, the stranger emerges from the brush.

“Orrin!"

“Lysander!"

The bushes rustle and a reddish-brown Vostii of the rabbit-kin emerges. Her cream-colored breasts are visible, as she wears no top, but her belly is no longer swollen. Lysander swiftly ceases his examination when he notices that she wears nothing to cover her lower half.

“Circe!"

With a little smile, Circe lifts a clawed hand and waves to Lysander and then to Cassia.

“What are you doing out here?" Orrin asks.

“That's a very long story, but... Well..."

Turning his head, Lysander points to Cassia's belly. Rising to her paw-like feet, she takes hold of her husband's hand, while Orrin looks toward her belly, which is very obviously in the early stages of pregnancy.

“I see... Couldn't help but follow my lead, Lysander?" Orrin smirks.

“You always did set trends. What are you doing out here? Where's your child?"

“Afra? We left our daughter in the village, while we left to hunt."

“Village? Hunt?" Lysander raises an eyebrow.

“Yes. Shortly after you banished us, we wandered until we encountered a hunter. This hunter was a young Polotan girl. She saw my Circe's belly and questioned us, and when she learned I had fathered the child, she invited us to a camp. I'd heard stories from the guards so I prepared myself for a brutal end, but she brought us to a little village made of refugees. Some come from very far away, while others lived near the city, and some of them in it."

“And who are these refugees?"

“Yasheriit and Vostii, mostly. Some Sabaarii and Korutan, too. All of them made the mistake that you and I did. All of the children there are Polotan, and so we were welcomed with open arms. We've been there ever since. We try not to come this close to the city while hunting, but the game is harder to come by these days. The tribe may move to find better." Orrin explains.

“Understandable. We certainly don't make it easy for the wildlife, do we?" Lysander smirks.

“Not at all... There's rumors of a city of the kingdom where Polotan and their parents are not slain, but if it sounds too good to be real..."

“It would be lovely if it were real." Lysander nods in agreement.

“... I don't suppose you're looking for a new home, are you?" Orrin abruptly asks.

“Are you making an offer?"

“I wouldn't say that. Circe and I love our privacy, and if Afra is to have brothers and sisters to keep her company on rainy days, we will need it. There is, however, a nice plot of land beside our hut. Perhaps someone could build there? Perhaps a man with experience as a Captain of the guard? Of course, he could bring his Vostii woman." Orrin casually remarks.

“Sounds promising. If no one else like that has taken it, we may wish to claim that plot for ourselves." Lysander says, turning to Cassia, who smiles and squeezes his hand.

“Good! Follow us!" Orrin chirps.

“Sa'diit zo'pas." Circe speaks, motioning to Cassia to follow.

Following Orrin and his bunny girl, the young man shares many details of the tribe with Lysander and Cassia. As it happens, many of the beast folk know a handful of Hitrosian words, handed down generationally from Sabaarii influence. An older man who knows the elves' language eagerly teaches newcomers, increasing their bond with their partners. The children are as wise as Egan and his ilk have feared, and grow up intuitively comprehending both their beast folk parents, while also speaking with the humans. Everyone lives in harmony, working to survive the harsh world they've been banished to.

As they walk, Lysander feels more and more comfortable with the prospect of living with them, and Cassia seems quite pleased to have a new home already. However, there's something that bothers him, something he wishes to know. Stopping Orrin mid-ramble, Lysander questions him about the strange ritual that Cassia had performed the night before.

“Don't worry. That was just the ceremony of bonding."

“Ceremony of bonding? Is that like marriage?"

“Oh, yes! It's a rare thing for Vostii to perform. In their native tribes, they rarely bond to a single mate, instead choosing polygamy and ritualistic breeding."

“But why?"

“All those years as a soldier and you never questioned that?" Orrin chuckles. “Life is dangerous out here, as I'm sure you know. The ritual of bonding ties two souls in the eyes of the gods. Even after death, neither of you should find a new mate. As young and vibrant as your Cassia or my Circe are, that would be foolish of them; we may easily die in the next raid, and they have many years of fertility left." Orrin explains.

“I suppose that makes sense. It's flattering that she would choose me to be her husband." Lysander smiles, looking to Cassia, who smiles back and squeezes his hand. “Did you and Circe perform the ritual?"

“Of course. As you know, I fancy myself a scholar, when I had access to tomes. I'd studied some Hitrosian before, so when Circe asked me to be loyal to her, I agreed. We performed it and conceived our Afra that night, the only night she didn't use neberum. You know, we had plans to leave." Orrin glances back.

“No, I didn't know that."

“We were going to leave by the next moon, after I'd sold my shop, but that nosy Kyril saw Circe's belly and told Egan before I could find a buyer... Damn that Kyril... If I could get my hands on him, I'd-"

“You don't have to worry about them. They're dead." Lysander interjects.

“Egan, too?!" Orrin gasps.

“Yes."

“Oh... Good!" Orrin chirps.

“Indeed." Lysander grins.

“It seems much has happened since we were banished."

After a long walk, the sun reaches its zenith. Just as Cassia begins to tire, Orrin and Circe stop and face each other. They stand before a crooked tree and a bushy fern, which blocks their view of the path ahead. With little smiles on their faces, the young man and his bunny girl grab the fern and the palm fronds respectively. Pulling them apart, they reveal a humble village to Lysander and Cassia, whose eyes widen at the sight. More than a dozen huts of sticks, grass and animal hide encircle a communal fire pit, where dozens of half-breed children are running in circles around a cooking deer, which is tended to by a human, his Korutan wife and their teenage son.

The towering horse woman nuzzles the top of her husband's head, only to glance toward the newcomers. Her son, born with a snout, ears and horse-like tail but devoid of fur and hooves, also takes an interest in the strangers. From the twitching of their ears, it's clear they'd heard the rustling. Stepping through the leafy portal, Cassia and Lysander see many families enjoying their lives. Following after them, Orrin and Circe move past the flabbergasted couple, only to stop and look back. Circe holds out a hand to Cassia, while Orrin rests a hand on Lysander's shoulder.

“Welcome home."