FSE

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It begins in a most unusual way.

I recall not the steps that took me to you, but the first glimpse I received changed the very core of me. I'd always been a man who knew what he wanted, but I'd never had quite so desperate a need.

You, of course, paid me no mind. I stand out in a crowd just as much as you do, but that only made your lack of interest all the more alluring and mysterious. Were I more sober, I'd have realized that, in spite of my appearance, I was no different from any of the other men in the room.

At the time, though, I didn't see those men at all, save for the one in front of you. But it was only because your paw was on his thigh; I had trailed my gaze all the way down your arm, wanting to take in every inch of your beauty, noticing your musculature. That much was easy, seeing you so bare, though I suppose that was the point. All I could do, though, was debate which part of you I was most taken by.

Was it your arms? You could certainly lift me in just one, and I couldn't help but find that wonderfully attractive a feature, despite that I've never thought the same among my peers.

Was it your back? Your fur must have been trimmed recently, or perhaps it was done so often, and it clung to you with a beautiful sheen that showed me every single curve.

Was it your legs? They were bringing you to your feet with with both power and grace, just as I could spot in the rest of you, but there's something wonderful about one who might be so beautiful, and yet so in touch with the world around him that he might truly work hard, unlike those fat nobles I've seen on the grounds of Montoulieu's inner walls.

The area in between those latter two parts of you had taken my attentions as well, to be frank. Covered in naught but a small cloth, you were meant for wandering eyes to notice, and, thus, I was not too intimidated to take a short glance, finding every curve and muscle just as appealing, but deciding that I would pay you the respect of staring no further, in spite of what was stirring in me.

Were it none of the above, (and, I must admit, I am rather shallow, as I was certain it were so,) it may have been the gentle sincerity with which your paw rested, reassuringly and comfortably, onto his thigh, and that, even unable to hear it over the bustling sounds of the dimly lit room, you must have been speaking to him with such honeyed tones.

I will admit, too, that, even knowing who you were to each other, I was a bit green to see you softly kiss the side of his muzzle. Yet, it was far easier to bear in mere moments, as he strode by me, looking not at you or I, but looking rather foolish as he tied his garments back in place.

And you, well... that is when you looked my way for the first time, and I was able to see those features that I know now most greatly define your outer beauty. Your mane accentuated your strong and masculine features, but there was still a softness, found so prominently in your sandy colored gaze, that would disarm anyone, were they not already taken by you.

Then, you approached me, and spoke in a voice far more suited to one of my own stature than yours. That is not to say you were meek, or that the rumble of your voice didn't meet my ears, but that there was a certain delicacy in your words that I found intriguing.

You asked how special someone like me must be to have been invited to that place. Of course, it took a mere glance around to see how I differed from the others around me-- there were those of your ilk, and those others that ate up every one of their words with a lashing tail and pointed ears, that sat back with lolling tongues.

Your words were meant for little other than flattery. I'd known many men like you to do the same. Even with my guard up, though, those words had precisely the intended effect, even if it weren't for the intended reasons. Yes, you were all the more alluring to me, as I was certain that not even those canids in this room could see that I was any different from them. To know you were not only the most stunning creature I'd ever seen, but that you were well-learned... I wanted to know all I could about you, and how you came to such a place as this.

I told you that I was not special at all, and that I was certain you knew as much, if you'd thought you had reason to ask. You smiled at that. I believe that is the moment I fell in love.

That is to say, if love were a seed, it were that very moment that it first began to sprout within me. I knew not your name, or even any much more than your appearance, but it was clear to me from those first moments that you were something special.

Of course, I knew falling in love with you would be dangerous, but this need was quickly sprouting in me just as suddenly and overwhelmingly as the more physical ones.

So, when you wordlessly offered to usher me to the very same place from which you'd just left another man, I complied, trying my best to remove that fact from my thoughts.

You made it easy. Of course, I knew what you were really doing, but I had nothing to hide. It wasn't as though those around me did not already know of my predilection, and I was far from the only one of my peers who preferred to spend my evenings far from lucid.

So, when you inquired as to my occupation, I hid nothing. I'd thought that you were only feigning impress, much the same as your previous flattery, but I know now that that wasn't quite the case. Your intrigue was genuine, but it came in the form of surprise that someone of my stature might be a skilled enough fighter to rank highly in the guard.

Still, I also knew that I was likely to hold valuable information for you, and I supposed I could only be glad that I was able to help.

Yes, a high ranking member of the guard is of appropriate predilection to attend such a place as that, whilst so drunk he recalls not how he'd arrived. While I didn't quite mention my suspicions as to how this might aid you, you were clearly thinking similarly, as you'd asked if I'd like to talk a bit more about it over a drink. I was certain you could smell the alcohol on me, and perhaps, I thought, you were intending to make use of that to get me to say more.

It was just far too easy to slip into your will. I knew that each word from me might prompt a new bout of laughter, or a new soft smile, or perhaps that you might lean just a little bit closer to me after.

And you drank with me, too, with a sly wink to both myself and the masked man tending a small bar in the corner, who agreed not to tell.

I am embarrassed to say, but I can't quite recall the words I said to you thereafter. I was simply allowing my tongue to take control, while my eyes watched each of your subtle movements. I was interested to find that each raise of your glass-- containing a darkly tinted rum, as I had taken to on that particular evening-- was delicate, but you seemed to be strong of constitution, never so much as flinching at the liquor's strength, the sort that might make a man of the seas turn up his nose at the very least.

It was when we were both finished with our drinks that you placed your paw on my lower thigh, still listening attentively. But, I must admit, I stumbled over my words, as I'd lost all senses. I wanted you to leave your paw exactly where it was just as much as I wanted you to move it to far less chaste places, and I was suddenly overwhelmed, now that you were even closer still, by the lovely floral scent-- lavender, if my nose did not deceive me-- that was far, far too lovely for such a place as this, where I should expect any man leaving to smell of more bodily odors than just his sweat, and perhaps the tinge of alcohol.

You apologized quickly, noticing my falter, but you did not move your paw, as you knew exactly what I wanted. And, for that matter, you even prompted me onwards, saying that you were very interested in whatever it had been that I was talking about, but that you just found me so alluring that you couldn't help yourself.

That, I now know for certain, was only flattery, but I'm not certain that I read it as such at the time, because each of your soft nods, your bright laughter, your loving smile, all came together to make me truly believe that I was overcoming all odds to gain your favor.

In spite of this, though, I knew already that I would return for you, and, as such, it mattered not if I planted those same feelings in you as you had done to me, because I would return to you again and again.

So, I suggested you continue.

Yet, I second guessed myself as your confident paw trailed its way up my thigh, just as I'd wanted you to do, but the room seemed to take advantage of my newly heightened state of awareness, as I could now hear every murmur, every breath, every grunt, and I could see each and every cause for those noises, and while I knew that I might find myself lost within you once more, focusing only on you, and your eyes, and fulfilling the overbearing need in me, I thought that my love might be better suited for closed doors.

You were amiable to the idea. It was our first meeting after all; you could do something special for me, you said. I couldn't help but feel some detestable satisfaction in your saying that you might be reprimanded for it, as I only felt that I had, in fact, begun to plant those seeds, and this was the first true evidence of their sprouting, the very first indication that you were acting outside of the bounds of what was required of you.

Taking my paw in yours, you confidently led me into the depths, and, I had the time to feel the pads on your paws, far less calloused than my own, but far softer and more delicate than any man of your stature ought to have.

When you pulled me into a room, it was clear it was not yours, nor was it likely meant for anyone at all. I could pick out the scents of so many other men and their musk, their sweat, a combination of scent that was reminiscent of one I knew all too well, only differing in the fact that it was impossible to perform certain activities in those barracks, and, here, scents of that sort clearly overpowered the rest.

However, underneath it all, your scent lingered, and that eased my comfort reminding me that, in spite of what my nose might be telling me, we were alone.

You guided me, still paw in paw, over to the only fixture in the room, a bed only just big enough to fit the two of us, and when we sat down, all movement in the world seemed to stop again, as it took ages upon ages from when I'd first noticed your intent until when your lips finally met mine, yet, when it finally happened, it felt as though it were my first time. It was anything but, and, yet, not even my first time with another man matched it. It felt as refreshing as when the afternoon breeze found its way over the walls protecting the complex, but with the lovely taste of you and the rich, almost floral taste of rum, and none of the heat or physical fatigue. Or, rather, not the same sort of heat, or the same sort of physical fatigue, because all of the warmth in my body rushed to my head, warming my cheeks and clouding my mind once more, and leaving the rest of my body aching for you.

You seemed happy to oblige, and more than in tune with my needs, which were growing as you stripped off my vest, my tunic, and, soon, unlaced my breeches, leaving me just a bit more covered than you. We finished undressing together, and you brought me to lay gently with you on the bed, the rough, bumpy mattress squeaking a bit under our collective weight. I minded not. I was far too focused on taking in those last few inches of you, and they were very impressive inches indeed-- far moreso than any other I had been with, and they even served to make me feel just a bit inadequate, a fear I'd never had before. As always, you knew just how to assuage that fear, complimenting me in that sensual, dulcet way that you do, and taking me into your muzzle.

To put your skill into words would only be to do you a disservice, as the words to adequately describe my pleasure did not exist. In the moment, it was as though I was trying to create new words just for you, a language all our own, one of grunts, and soft breaths, and held-back moans.

I must commend you, too, because you hadn't taken the easy way out, in allowing our activities to continue until a natural and beautiful conclusion, one I was sure to reach very soon. No, you wanted to give me an experience I would never forget-- and, of course, you know now that you've succeeded.

You did so by reminding me that I certainly had the time to take full advantage of the privacy I'd requested; to make use of the comfort we were finding in a bed that might be useless outside of our intended activities.

I could never resist you, and you seemed so very eager, so, while it took every ounce of strength within me to request you remove the warmth of your muzzle and tongue, I did do so.

You allowed me to hold you close, though I found myself wanting to be closer still, barely able to wrap my arms wholly around your strong frame. I did the very best I could do, because it was just what I needed. And, as I said our language was of our own creation, our actions were as much a part of that. This particular effort had never felt so collaborative, had never seemed so very different from man to man, a change I'll admit I'd made very many times. But with you, it wasn't just special. It was more than I ever thought it could be.

My time was up far sooner than I'd have ever liked, but not so soon that you were incorrect in your assumption that we might have the time to enjoy ourselves in other ways. I can assure you, you gave me everything I'd ever wanted and more. So much so, indeed, that it arose a very real ache in my heart as I made my departure, but you reassured me with a gentle kiss, saying sweetly that you would welcome me back any time I'd like.

That time came rather soon-- hardly more than a day later, in fact.

I was greeted this time not by you, but a rail-thin but otherwise beautiful young spotted cat, another exotic sort as you were, though to say I am so well-educated that I could determine his species from the brief glance I got, even in spite of the fact that I was rather taken by his looks, would be insincere of me. In any other situation, I'd have been incredibly satisfied that he might be the one I'd spend my evening with. However, I informed him rather hastily that I was after you alone, and he replied that I may have to wait a short time, and offered his company in the meantime. Of course, this was not quite in the same regard I was after your company, and I am certain that that may have contributed to his eagerness to sit down with me, as any reprieve would likely be welcome in such a place as this, with its rather rude and demanding guests, and how demeaning some of your work may be. This spotted cat seemed to be far more comfortable upon sitting with me than he'd been in the moments before, and, while he still seemed to keep himself rather open to indicate that, should I change my mind, I was more than welcome to, I'm certain that he showed me a side that he had not shown any others in his work.

He looked a bit regretful when you'd emerged from behind the very same hall you'd dragged me down in our previous encounter, but he beckoned for you nonetheless, informing you that, once you'd seen the man upon your arm to the exit, I would be waiting.

With bated breath, I did, and it felt as though it were the first breath I had taken in a lifetime of waiting when I was finally able to see you, wrap my arms around you, and press your lips to mine.

You stayed with me until my time ran out (and a few minutes beyond, because you have always been quite devious. 'Accidentally' losing track of my allotted time was one of my favorite ways you would show it).

My return trips became more and more frequent, almost as a ritual. I was becoming far more used to the idea of performing out in the darkened hall, but you would still sneak me into the same room whenever you felt you could do so. I was quick to realize that I should only expect this whenever the bartender, whom you always took me to for at least one drink, which we'd share while mindlessly chatting away, was the very same gentleman as my first night.

I began to befriend your peers, as well, though I spoke to that same spotted cat more than any other, being greeted at the door upon many of my visits. A lovely young man, he was, yet he began to start to pity me. That is, as I saw it.

I didn't mind. I knew that I did not need his pity, as long as I had your love.

I knew that I had it. Our time together was Heaven on earth. You needn't have snuck me into private rooms. You needn't have stayed to chat with me after our intended time together had expired. You needn't have told me each time I left how much you were looking forward to my next visit, or to kiss me quite so tenderly.

All of this made me certain. Even more telling, were that not the case, was the ease with which you opened up to me, doing so far beyond anything I'd expect of a relationship such as ours. I truly knew you, perhaps better than I'd known anyone.

It took many nights, filled with many drinks, and even more moments of closeness and passion, but I did come to know you, and that seed of love that I had felt from the first moment I had seen you had blossomed into something astoundingly real and true.

Until, one day, you disappeared.

I had arrived one day, just as I had been doing each day, subsisting on a paltry diet of oft-stale bread and very little else so that I might have the coin to do so, and, the spotted cat, who was looking just as ragged as I thought I might, gave me a decidedly downtrodden glance, looking as though he must deliver news I would prefer not to hear. As such, I knew immediately that something might have been wrong, and thought it even more strange when he took me by the arm, bringing me back to the very same bed you and I had spent our first evening of pleasure upon. That he might do so even in absence of the bartender whom I had come to know that might not think it odd, (one I had since learned through more intimate chats was, as I had suspected, a raccoon), was a cause for even greater concern.

I could not hold back tears when he told me you had gone. Even though he expressed his certainty at your eventual return, I could not help but lament every day that I might lose you for, seeing my coming days as though they were right in front of me, and cursing each and every one as it was filled with the same loneliness, the same lack of purpose and meaning as my days had had before I had come to know you. To have that happiness stripped from me as suddenly as I'd stumbled upon it was shattering, and the spotted cat's reassurances that he believed you might come back only served to deliver me the concern that falls hand in hand with having to discuss the matter at all.

He sweetly offered me a shoulder to cry on, and I graciously accepted, until the call of the bottle and the need to forget all about you overcame my tears, and he accompanied me through my many drinks, as many as it would take. I wanted not to forget your touch, and the love that we shared, but recalling them as vividly as I would would only serve to strengthen the longing and need I was already feeling.

It is rather embarrassing to say, but I must admit that my newly sanctifying relationship with a bottle did not end when I left the side of the spotted cat and returned to the newly detestable Montoulieu streets and what I felt to be the eyes of every passerby boring into me. That much only made matters worse, in fact.

With little else to do, (as I'm sure you will recall the day I had excitedly informed you of my departure from the guard, glad to be free of responsibility), I continued to seek the same sanctity in the comfort of my home, and it did me well. Despite the fact that each and every touch of a bottle to my muzzle brought back memories of why I had been driven to such in the first place, it still managed to calm and soothe me, and I took efforts to assure that the feeling did not leave me.

I believe that that is how I had made my way back to those halls. Memories of you were painful, but they stirred something in me that I will admit I could not bear without at this point, and, as such, I would seek that comfort in the place that, now further removed with time from the memories of you, would suit me the best.

The spotted cat was once again the one to greet me. I speculated as to how skilled he might be to be available for company as often as he was, but it mattered very little. I knew him well.

When I'd informed him of the reason for my visit, he looked at me with that same pity he'd offered the weeks prior. And, yet, he was still willing to do his duty, as I'd asked him to his knees right there. He was not you, but he stayed with me afterwards, just as you had, comforting me even if he refused my offers to join me in a drink.

Even though he was not you, I still wanted him again before my time was up, and he didn't protest when I wanted to reciprocate his prior actions, as I was hoping that the new sensations would serve to remind me that my own wants and needs brought me back, not the search for a replacement for you.

The next day found me a black cat with patches of white and a far less cheery disposition, but who was enjoyable to chat with nonetheless. Though, he was also not you.

The day after was a burly lynx. In spite of his stature being the most similar, he was the furthest from you I had found, and I was not as reassured as I would have hoped.

Through each and every encounter, with each and every one of your peers, I could not find the same love, the same passion.

You were greater than them in every way. That is not to say they were bad-- each one would have satisfied me endlessly before I had met you. But, to compare, I saw you as the sun, as your glowing mane might have likened you to, and I could not persist without your light. Those other men, the stars, who did not serve to provide me anything I did not need to subsist. Perhaps they might provide for someone far off, but I could do little more than appreciate them for what they were.

I supposed, though, that in the absence of a sun, with the stars being all that I know, I should allow myself the pleasure of knowing them. And that, perhaps, I could adapt to a world with many lights that, even all together, did not shine quite as bright as one.

So, I continued as I had been, finding my comfort at missing you in the bottom of a bottle, and finding my pleasure with whomever might have me. I had those I favored, and on those days where I met them, continuing on wasn't quite so difficult.

That spotted cat had become the closest thing I had to a friend, and, still, I had seen nothing wrong with drunkenly losing myself in his company, as I had begun to lose hope that you might ever return.

He was beautiful, and had learned well to take care of me physically, but seemed as lost as I was when it came to addressing the less than physical aspects in which I needed to be healed.

Then, I saw you again.

I'll admit I'd been having an especially difficult time, so I took to the market in search of something that might do a better job at soothing me than what I might find rather easily, finding that, if nothing else, a change, as small as it might be, may very well do me good.

I will admit to you that I had been having an especially difficult time, when it had occurred. You will understand, as some days are easier, others must, by the same virtue, be a bit more challenging. A thread of several such days drove me in search of a change, wanting to lose the slight bleariness that had taken over my perception rather endlessly. Instead, and I do ask that you not take very much pity on me, I had wanted to lose every sense of awareness. I was much, much happier in those brief moments in which the drink took over fully, and I could rest my weary heart at last, and no sight, or sound, or thought could bring me back to you.

This is all to say, I had taken, for the first time in some time, to the market square, in search of whatever might best allow me to pass the time.

And there, behind a stall across the bustling market crowd, a lion's mane sat atop broad shoulders lifted into my vision.

I was very near to tears, shoving through the crowds to reach you as quickly as I could, earning more than my share of rather rude jabs in response, and trying to ensure that each time I lost sight of you, you came back just as quickly.

Of course, I'm certain your own memories live in you well enough to allow you to realize by now that this wasn't you. I hadn't realized it until it was nearly too late, and I was prepared to call out your name in jubilation. No, it was simply a merchant, one who I wasn't certain resembled you any more than your species.

I thought his fur color was wrong. Where your mane was my sun, his was formed of the sand. His shoulders may have been broad, but they held not your power, as he clearly lived the comfortable life that some time as a merchant might afford you, and it certainly showed itself in his gut as well, even further differing from you.

And, it took comparing this lie to you to realize I was beginning to forget you in the months I had spent without you. Was your mane truly quite so golden, or was that my ideation? What were the words that flew from your lips so gently, those you might whisper into my ear in our most intimate moments?

I sped off, in search of the company that might distract me from you, and, forgive me, but I thrust every single last coin I had into the paw of the dog ushering me into that Damned place.

I would have as many hours as I could take, and I needn't worry about what comes after.

I wasted not a single moment of that time. I was as a king, you can be sure. My sour affect had not taken hold of my tongue, at least. Rather, each sip was sweet, even sweeter still than the one before it, washing over me in waves as I descended into pure bliss. They kept allowing me drinks, and allowing me to bring company to the private rooms, (as I had given them more than enough coin to earn the privilege). As I had said, I was like a king, but I was a rather gracious one. In times of recovery, I was certain to take care of the needs of others.

It felt a lifetime that I was floating effortlessly (so literally as it appeared to my inebriated senses) between the rooms, finding myself a nice routine-- I would find whosoever may be free to enjoy my company, have a few drinks in a brief conversation, and invite them to bed.

Truly, I thought, nothing could be better.

I even allowed the spotted cat to do things I had never even done with you. And, when he pressed into me, panting as our muzzles were mere inches apart, his smelling slightly of the alcohol he'd humored me enough to sip with me, I was finally free.

This could not remind me of you. This could only remind me of a life lived long ago, before I'd ever come to this wretched city, with this wretched place, that saved me just as quickly and thoughtlessly as it had ruined me, that caused me pleasure and pain like I'd never before known possible.

This time, as he was assisting me in finding my breeches, the cat did not seem to pity me-- he seemed to have felt the same sadness as I, struck deep into his very core. I wished in that moment that I could love him. He was not you, but seeing such profound sadness in him still wounded me in its own way. I thought that, maybe if I could come to love him, I would be able to learn the reason for that sorrow.

Yet, I knew I would not be seeing him again. I would never return to that place. He ushered me to the door, and I made sure to grant him a parting kiss, (admittedly, in my drunkenness, with a bit more strength behind it than I'd intended, but he humored me nonetheless, as he always did).

And, thus, I was a king no longer.

It was dark, with hardly a sliver of the moon to light my way home. I hadn't truly wanted to go home, though-- home was where I brought all of my thoughts of you, thoughts I had just rigorously and thoroughly removed myself from.

I took myself far away from those streets I knew so well, and hoped I would end up somewhere beautiful.

The world began to spin around me, and I thought in my inebriation that I should spin with it-- the stars were beautiful, after all, and, if you weren't watching any one, and the streaks of light that seemed to follow their movement, it was as though they might disappear at any moment.

In my inebriation, it was rather difficult to maintain footing on the uneven, rocky back streets of Montoulieu, so I stumbled a bit, finding my footing with a paw on the wall of an alley, where I subsequently felt something rising in me.

Suffice to say, alcohol and spinning were not a particularly good combination, and I'm certain that what little else I had ingested did not help the matter.

I wretched, and, after, I couldn't help but laugh. The sound was horrid, even to my own ears, and that on its own was laughable. However, I also hadn't been without alcohol for long enough to be particularly clear of mind in my waking hours since the last new moon, which we were about to see again. To think that I might have gone so long without feeling this same sickness, only to ruin it with a bit of childlike fun, was worthy of my laughter.

It was far less amusing when I wretched again, unable to keep my head up as I did, and unable to keep my eyes open.

The world turned white, first, and then filled suddenly with darkness, and a pain unlike any I'd felt before.

Then, I saw your face, and it was easy to forget my pain.

I knew, even then, that it must have been my imagination, but I thought that it wouldn't be so bad of a final thought.

But you didn't seem to want it to be my last thought. At least, the you I had imagined did not, because I began to imagine you lifting me to my feet, and, strong as you are, carrying me to safety. I could practically feel the soft bounce of each step, knowing that your strength must have allowed them to come quite easily.

Then, after some time, you laid me to rest.

I was satisfied to see you once again. I was incorrect, at the market-- I wasn't forgetting you. Your image was real, and as true as the first moment I'd ever seen you, because, as I realized, those first moments were permanently etched into me.

You spent a lifetime with me. We didn't need to exchange words or touches. Unsure of just how real you were, I didn't even want to try, for fear that any slight change may take you from me. So, you loomed overhead, looking after me.

Then, I jolted up with a start, coughing loudly.

It was painfully bright. Morning light streamed in from behind the white curtains of a small window, while a small bed creaked under my weight.

The single cough quickly became a fit, preventing me from giving any thought to my surroundings. At least, not in time for them to change, as I noticed the doorway, and a man's movement in it. Within a few blinks, my hazy mind played tricks on me, telling me the raccoon in front of me was the only raccoon I'd personally met up to that point, the bartender whose face I had never truly seen before he had disappeared altogether. My instinct was to shy away from him, for that very same reason-- he reminded me of the litany of mistakes I'd made, culminating in the one to bring me to this unknown place.

Though, I corrected myself, feeling quickly as though I might offend this man, who, by my assumptions, had saved me. He was not familiar beyond his species, and I would do well to treat him as such.

I thought he might not have noticed my flinching away from him, or else it had not bothered him, as he greeted me kindly, as though perhaps I'd be expected to remember him from the prior night.

I couldn't help my curiosity from taking over, though, and giving me away. The ensuing conversation informed me that he was, in fact, my savior-- I wasn't imagining being carried and laid to rest, though it goes without saying that it was not you that had done it. I had been bleeding, and had fainted in a pool of bile. My nose confirmed that much just as easily as my bandaged paws.

He asked not what had brought me to such depths, only offering me a fairly humble stew and, contrasting it to great surprise, a silver mug of perfectly fresh water. The contrast in those two things shocked me, of course. I couldn't stop myself from thinking too hard about it, though, and mentally chastised myself when I had come to the conclusion that, with his home looking as humble as the stew might have me believe, the mug may very well have been stolen.

I'm glad to have since learned that that isn't the case, as I'd felt particularly bad for making such an assumption on his character.

He had taken far greater care of me than I would expect from just any stranger, even going so far as to allow myself to use his wash basin and gifting me a tunic and trousers, (as he had even washed mine whilst I was incapacitated), that he had said were old and worn, yet looked to me to be of far higher quality than what I might wear myself. It was a lovely gesture, even if they'd likely still fit him better than they fit I.

I had found myself, soon, making a rather fair acquaintance with this raccoon. I learned that his knowledge in caring for inebriated individuals came from his experience owning a tavern-- a fact I found amusing, considering his identity I had initially mistaken-- and that he was simply a kind soul, even so far as assisting me as I attempted to recover from what I was now certain was far worse than a mistake. Injuring myself was one thing, but ridding myself of every coin I had, with no way to gain them back, was something else entirely.

Within a moon, I had not yet returned to the place in which I had first met you, and was back to standing on my feet without the aid of my new companion, and my thoughts of you became less and less frequent. So infrequent, indeed, that I don't believe I'd thought of you in days when I'd eventually come to see you again.

I had begun to make a concerted effort not to pay any mind to my surroundings whilst walking the city street, as I'd needed to break my old habits I had fallen into whilst working as a guardsman, and, so, my gaze passed you with very little thought otherwise, and it took two, three looks to be reassured that, this time, I had not been dreaming, or convoking my imaginations into the real world.

Yet, I was not immediately elated to see you, as I had always expected to be, and you were not immediately elated to see me, either.

You hushed me before we could exchange any other words, as though the crowd may be listening, and asked that I follow behind you as you brought me somewhere private. For any thought I'd given it, I would have always said I'd have wanted to go somewhere private with you upon your return, but it was clear that this wasn't what I might have imagined.

I will admit to you that I'd never considered that you might have a home of your own, that you might have a life of your own outside of those halls. You informed me, there, of the reason for your absence, with as many details as you seemed able to give. You explained that you had been hired to aid in escorting a caravan along a rather far journey, and it did not take very much thought on my part to consider what your true task in this caravan may have been, especially as you informed me that you were given no choice, and very little notice.

As you spoke, I began to find differences in the person you had been and the one I could see in front of me, that I could reach out and touch should I desire to. Of course, I did not, as I felt it might not be quite as welcome as it once was. Your eyes were dark and strong, holding not the same loving gaze I had come to remember you by, and your tone, even your words themselves, held not the same care and gentleness that I had always appreciated.

Was it all an act, to care for me? I had been certain that you were different. The other men-- I may have been paying for them, but the differences between how each one acted certainly made their thoughts of me clear. There were those for whom I was clearly no more than another patron, and those, like the spotted cat, who might treat me as a friend.

Now, however, outside of the context of a relationship spawned solely of your obligations, had it meant nothing?

No, I thought. If I meant nothing to you, you would have no reason at all to bring me aside, to inform me as to what had come to pass, and how I had lost you.

With this fear, though, and before I could find a resolution of any comforting sort, I had realized that I should not have wanted you back. It may only cause a return to my old ways, to force me into that place, to see you again and again. While spending time with a man who owned a tavern for quite as long as I had been by this point meant that I was not particularly staying away from a drink, I hadn't been very drunk since what had happened on that day that I believed that I had seen you, and I feared I might return to that habit, as well. Though, I was not drinking myself near to death when I had you to comfort me, either, and that, too, was a dangerous thing remembered by a devilish part of me.

I may not have asked you if it weren't for those thoughts, but I am glad that I did, despite the fact that your pained expression told me all I needed to know before I received my answer.

You had given me everything you knew that I wanted, and that was all.

I struggled to hold in my emotions as I listened to you explain, as you desperately attempted to justify each of your actions that I had convinced myself meant that you cared.

Of course you cared, as you had said, and that much I wanted so badly to believe. Yet, it was impossible to reconcile your actions with the very real hurt they had caused me, and continued to cause me, or to come to the conclusion that you truly saw me as different from any other man you spent your time with.

You knew very well just how much you might dig your way into my heart. I was a fool for allowing it to happen, but you had done so much to convince me that your love was true. Might it not have been better, I asked, to perhaps inform me sooner?

I was taken by you enough such that I would certainly want to see you again, and I'd have much preferred a true friend to the lie you created.

You showed me your true colors then. A jab that I thought might earn your contempt only seemed to strengthen you-- and that, of course, is what finally convinced me of your true emotions. The apology you gave me, one I did not feel I had earned, as you began to speak it, came from the very reaches of your soul.

It very nearly reignited the flame inside of me to see you so kind, so emotional, and so vulnerable, but I knew that that would only serve to destroy what good thing we might be able to create together. You offered an olive branch, and an agreement to see me again soon, on your own time.

Each time we met, it pained me, as I could not help but remember those things that drew me to you in the first place. And, yet, other aspects of you reminded me that I had never known you at all. Much like the sun I likened you to, you had always been something unknowable to me, something that, whilst it managed to sustain me, could do very little more.

Then, in your absence, I had created this perfect memory of you, or, rather, a version of you that did not truly exist. Yes, who you truly were was a man who was confident yet gentle, caring yet cool, and, these things certainly manifested as the aspects of your inner beauty I was most enamored by, the ways in which you would show them to me differed to make up who it was that I had loved, and who was slowly becoming another close companion.

The seeds of love began to sprout anew, as I learned who you truly were, but I did not allow them to grow into the same monstrous beast, taking control of those parts of me that I might not be proud to lose. No; this time, it was a tender love, a beautiful flower that we had cultivated together. We took extra care of it as it began to bloom, knowing that a mistake might create a monster.

When you had to leave again, it hurt, but not because I was yearning for your touch, or your kiss, or any other shallow things I had yearned for prior to these moons with you. I may have had my new raccoon friend, of course, who you had grown to care for as well, but I would still be lonesome without my greatest companion.

Many years of this suited us just fine. Time without you became easier, and, yet, I was always just as overjoyed to see you again. We needed not romance, or physical intimacy, to have something together that was just as beautiful.

You had left again, as you so often had, and you'd been gone longer than ever before, much to my dismay, but I'd managed quite a lot in your absence. I'd even made another new companion, whom I could waste my nights away with, and it was less lonely than ever.

And, so, I wasn't expecting it at all when it happened.

Ask not why, if you would, but I was atop the roofs nearby the square, looking carefully at the crowd forming in the square. Every head, tail, set of ears, all were trained to the task in front of them, be it walking the streets or performing their duties, or simply watching. You know now, though, that there was an exception, and he stuck out as such.

White tipped ears scanned the sounds, and eyes looked on with a wonder that I hadn't looked at the Montoulieu streets with in ages, so pure in their interest that I could not help my smile. He was most certainly about to get swept up into the commotion, one he might not have been ready for.

That is how it had begun all over, in a most unusual way.